/^BERKELEY 

I  LIBRARY 

NlViRSnfV  01 


THE   WORKS 


OF 


WASHINGTON    IRVING, 


THE    WORKS 


OF 


WASHINGTON      IRVING. 


CONTAINING 


THE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF 
NEW  YORK. 

BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST 
OF  GRANADA. 

THE  ALHAMBRA. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


WITH  A  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


VOL.  II. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

LEA    AND    BLANC  HARD. 
1840. 


H 


ENTERED,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress, 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


LOAN  STACK 


C.  SHERMAN  AND  CO.  PniN 


CONTENTS    OF    VOL.    II. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


To  THE  READER         -  11 
PART  I. — STRANGE  STORIES,  BY  A  NERVOUS 

GENTLEMAN         -             -             -  12 

The  Great  Unknown   -                          -  12 

The  Hunting  Dinner          -  13 

The  Adventure  of  My  Uncle    -             -  15 

The  Adventure  of  My  Aunt  21 
The  Bold  Dragoon ;  or,  the  Adventure  of 

my  Grandfather  -  24 
The  Adventure  of  the  German  Student  28 
The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Picture  31 
The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Stran 
ger  -  -  -  -  -  ,  35 
The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian  -  '39 

PART  II. BUCKTHORNE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  53 

Literary  Life  53 

A  Literary  Dinner       -  54 

The  Club  of  Queer  Fellows  56 

The  Poor-Devil  Author             -             -  59 

Notoriety  -  68 

A  Practical  Philosopher            -            -  70 


Buckthorne;  or,  the  Young  Man  of  Great 

Expectations             -                          -  71 

Grave  Reflections  of  a  Disappointed  Man  97 

The  Booby  Squire        -  100 

The  Strolling  Manager      -  102 

PART  III.— THE  ITALIAN  BANDITTI       -  110 

The  Inn  at  Terracina         -  110 

The  Adventure  of  the  Little  Antiquary  116 

The  Belated  Travellers      -  120 

The  Adventure  of  the  Popkins  Family  128 

The  Painter's  Adventure    -             -  131 

The  Story  of  the  Bandit  Chieftain        -  135 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Robber     -  141 

The  Adventure  of  the  Englishman       -  146 

PART  IV.— THE  MONEY.DIGGERS  -  149 
Hell-Gate  .  -  -  -  149 
Kidd  the  Pirate  ...  151 
The  Devil  and  Torn  Walker  -  -  154 
Wolfert  Webber,  or,  Golden  Dreams  161 
The  Adventure  of  the  Black  Fisher 
man  -  -  -  -  172 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


INTRODUCTION  -  -  191 

CHAP.  I. — Of  the  kingdom  of  Granada, 
and  the  tribute  which  it  paid  to  the 
Castilian  crown  -  -192 

CHAP.  II. — How  the  Catholic  Sovereigns 
sent  to  demand  arrears  of  tribute  from 
the  Moor,  and  how  the  Moor  replied  194 

CHAP.  III. — How  the  Moor  determined  to 
strike  the  first  blow  in  the  war  -  195 

CHAP.  IV. — Expedition  of  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  against  the  fortress  of  Zahara  196 

CHAP.  V. — Expedition  of  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  against  Albania  -  -  198 

CHAP.  VI. — How  the  people  of  Granada 
were  affected  on  hearing  of  the  capture 
of  Albania,  and  how  the  Moorish  king 
sallied  forth  to  regain  it  .  -  202 

CHAP.  VII.— How  the  Duke  of  Medina 
Sidonia  and  the  chivalry  of  Andalusia 
hastened  to  the  relief  of  Albania  -  205 

CHAP.  VIII. — Sequel  of  the  events  at  Al- 
hama  .....  207 


CHAP.  IX. — Events  at  Granada,  and  rise 
of  the  Moorish  King  Boabdil  el  Chico  209 

CHAP.  X. — Royal  expedition  against  Loxa   211 

CHAP.  XI. — How  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
made  a  foray  into  the  lands  of  Medina 
Sidonia,  and  how  he  was  received  215 

CHAP.  XII. — Foray  of  the  Spanish  ccrVa- 
liers  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga  218 

CHAP.  XIII. — Effects  of  the  disasters 
among  the  mountains  of  Malaga  224 

CHAP.  XIV.— How  King  Boabdil  el  Chico 
marched  over  the  border  -  225 

CHAP.  XV. — How  the  Count  de  Cabra 
sallied  forth  from  his  castle,  in  quest  of 
King  Boabdil  -  -  -  -  227 

CHAP.  XVI.— The  battle  of  Lucena.         -  229 

CHAP.  XVII. — Lamentations  of  the  Moors 
for  the  battle  of  Lucena  -  232 

CHAP.  XVIII.— How  Muley  Aben  Has 
san  profited  by  the  misfortunes  of  his 
son  Boabdil  -  -  234 

CHAP.  XIX.— Captivity  of  Boabdil  el  Chico.  235 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  XX.— Of  the  treatment  of  Boabdil 
by  the  Castilian  Sovereigns  -  -  236 

CHAP.  XXI. — Return  of  Boabdil  from  cap- 
livitv  -  -  238  | 

CHAP.  XXII.— Foray  of  the  Moorish  al- 
caydes,  and  battle  of  Lopera  -  -  240 

CHAP.XXIH. — Retreat  of  Hamet  el  Zegri, 
alcayde  of  Ronda  ...  244 

CHAP.  XXIV. — Of  the  high  and  ceremo 
nious  reception  at  court  of  the  Count 
de  Cabra  and  the  alcayde  de  los  Don- 
zeles  -  -  246 

CHAP.  XXV. — How  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz 
concerted  to  surprise  Zahara,  and  the 
result  of  his  enterprise  -  247 

CHAP.  XXVI. — Of  the  fortress  of  Alhama ; 
and  how  wisely  it  was  governed,  by  the 
Count  de  Tendilla  -  -  -  249 

CHAP.  XXVII.— Foray  of  Christian 
knights  into  the  territories  of  the 
Moors  -  -  252 

CHAP.  XXVIII.— Attempt  of  El  Zagal  to 
surprise  Boabdil  in  Alrneria  -  -  255 

CHAP.  XXIX.— How  King  Ferdinand 
commenced  another  campaign  against 
the  Moors,  and  how  he  laid  siege  to 
Coin  and  Cartarna  ...  256 

CHAP.  XXX.— Siege  of  Ronda      .  -258 

CHAP.  XXXI.— How  the  people  of  Gra 
nada  invited  El  Zagal  to  the  throne ; 
and  how  he  marched  to  the  capital  -  261 

CHAP.  XXXII.— How  the  Count  de  Cabra 
attempted  to  capture  another  king,  and 
how  he  fared  in  his  attempt  -  -  263 

CHAP.  XXXIII. — Expedition  against  the 
castles  of  Cambil  and  Albahar  -  266 

CHAP.  XXXIV.— Enterprise  of  the  knights 
of  Calatrava  against  Zalea  -  -  269 

CHAP.  XXXV.— Death  of  old  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  -  -  -  -  271 

CHAP.  XXXVI.— Of  the  Christian  army, 
which  assembled  at  the  city  of  Cordova  272 

CHAP.  XXXVII. — How  fresh  commotions 
broke  out  in  Granada,  and  how  the 
people  undertook  to  allay  them  -  275 

CHAP.  XXXVIII.— How  King  Ferdinand 
held  a  council  of  war  at  the  Rock  of 
the  Lovers  -  -  -  276 

CHAP.  XXXIX. — How  the  royal  army  ap. 
pcared  before  the  city  of  Loxa,  and 
how  it  was  received,  and  of  the  doughty 
achievements  of  the  English  earl  -  277 

CHAH*  XL. — Conclusion  of  the  siege  of 
Loxa 280 

CHAP.  XLI. — Capture  of  Illora     -  -  281 

CHAP.  XLII. — Of  the  arrival  of  Queen 
Isabella  at  the  camp  before  Moclin,  and 
the  pleasant  sayings  of  the  English  earl  282 
CHAP.  XLIII. — How  King  Ferdinand  at 
tacked  Moclin,  and  of  the  strange  events 
that  attended  its  capture  -  284 

CHAP.  XLIV. — How  King  Ferdinand  fo 
raged  the  Vega  ;  and  of  the  fate  of  the 
two  Moorish  brothers  -  286 

CHAP.  XLV. — Attempt  of  El  Zagal  upon 
the  life  of  Boabdil ;  and  how  the  latter 
was  roused  to  action  -  -  289 

CHAP.  XL VI.— How  Boabdil  returned  se- 


cretly  to  Granada  ;  and   how   he  was 
received  -  -  290 

CHAP.   XLVII. — How    King    Ferdinand 

laid  siege  to  Velez  Malaga        -  -  291 

CHAP.  XLVIIL— How   King  Ferdinand 
and   his   army  were  exposed  to  immi 
nent  peril  before  Velez  Malaga  -  295 
CHAP.  XLIX.— Result  of  the  stratagem  of 

El  Zagal  to  surprise  King  Ferdinand    -  297 
CHAP.  L. — How  the  people  of  Granada  re- 

warde'd  the  valour  of  El  Zagal  -  299 

CHAP.  LI. — Surrender  of  Velez  Malaga, 

and  other  places  -  -  301 

CHAP.  LII.— Of  the  city  of  Malaga  and 

its  inhabitants  -  -  302 

CHAP.   LIII. — Advance   of  King   Ferdi 
nand  against  Malaga    -  -  304 
CHAP.  LI  V.— Siege  of  Malaga.     -             -306 
CHAP.  LV. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued. 

Obstinacy  of  Hamet  el  Zegri    -  -  307 

CHAP.  LVI. — Attack  of  the  Marquis  of 

Cadiz  upon  Gibralfaro  -  308 

CHAP.  LVII. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued. 

Stratagems  of  various  kinds     -  -310 

CHAP.  LVIII. — Sufferings  of  the  people 

of  Malaga         -  -  312 

CHAP.  LIX. — How  a  Moorish  santon  un 
dertook  to  deliver  the  city  of  Malaga 
from  the  power  of  its  enemies  -  313 

CHAP.  LX. — How  Hamet  el  Zegri  was 
hardened  in  his  obstinacy  by  the  arts 
of  a  Moorish  astrologer  -  -  315 

CHAP.  LXI. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued. 
Destruction  of  a  tower  by  Francisco 
Ramirez  de  Madrid  -  -  317 

CHAP.  LXII. — How  the  people  of  Malaga 

expostulated  with  Hamet  el  Zegri         -  317 
CHAP.  LXIII. — How  Hamet  el  Zegri  sal 
lied  forth,  with   the  sacred   banner,  to 
attack  the  Christian  camp        -  -  319 

CHAP.  LXIV.— How  the  city  of  Malaga 

capitulated        -  -  -  321 

CHAP.  LXV. — Fulfilment  of  the  prophecy 

of  the  dervise.     Fate  of  Hamet  el  Zegri  323 
CHAP.  LXVI.— How  the  Castilian  Sove 
reigns   took  possession   of  the  city  of 
Malaga,  and  how  King  Ferdinand  sig 
nalized  himself  by  his  skill  in  bargain 
ing  with  the  inhabitants  for  their  ran 
som      -  -  -  324 
CHAP.    LXVIL— How    King    Ferdinand 
prepared  to  carry  the  war  into  a  dif 
ferent    part   of  the    territories    of  the 
Moors              -            -            -            -  326 
CHAP.  LXVIII.— How   King   Ferdinand 
invaded  the  eastern  side  of  the  king 
dom  of  Granada;  and  how  he  was  re 
ceived  by  El  Zagal       -  -  328 
CHAP.   LXIX. — How   the    Moors    made 
various  enterprises  against  the  Chris 
tians    -  -  330 
CHAP.  LXX. — How  King  Ferdinand  pre 
pared  to  besiege  the  city  of  Baza  ;  and 
how  the  city  prepared  for  defence         -  331 
CHAP.  LXXI.— The  battle  of  the  gardens 

before  Baza      ....  334 
CHAP.  LXXIL— Siege  of  Baza.     Embar 
rassment  of  the  army  -  -  336 


CONTENTS. 


vn 


CHAP.  LXXIII. — Siege  of  Baza  continued. 
How  King  Ferdinand  completely  in- 
vested  the  city  -  337 

CHAP.  LXXIV. — Exploit  of  Hernando 
Perez  del  Pulgar,  and  other  cavaliers  338 

CHAP.  LXXV. — Continuation  of  the  siege 
of  Baza  -  -  340 

CHAP.  LXXVI. — How  two  friars  arrived 
at  the  camp,  and  how  they  came  from 
the  Holy  Land  -  .  -  341 

CHAP.  LXXVII.— How  Queen  Isabella 
devised  means  to  supply  the  army  with 
provisions  ....  344 

CHAP.  LXXVIII.— Of  the  disasters  which 
befel  the  camp  -  -  -  345 

CHAP.  LXXIX. — Encounter  between  the 
Christians  and  Moors  before  Baza  ;  and 
the  devotion  of  the  inhabitants  to  the 
defence  of  the  city  -  -346 

CHAP.  LXXX. — How  Queen  Isabella  ar 
rives  at  the  camp  ;  and  the  conse 
quences  of  her  arrival  -  -  348 

CHAP.  LXXXI.— Surrender  of  Baza          -  349 

CHAP  LXXXII.— Submission  of  El  Zagal 
to  the  Castilian  Sovereigns  -  -  353 

CHAP.  LXXXIII.— Events  at  Granada 
subsequent  to  the  submission  of  El 
Zagal  -  .  354 

CHAP.  LXXX IV. — How  King  Ferdinand 
turned  his  hostilities  against  the  city  of 
Granada  -  .  .  356 

CHAP.  LXXXV.— The  fate  of  the  castle  of 
Roma  .....  358 

CHAP.  LXXX VI  —  How  Boabdil  el  Chico 
took  the  field;  and  his  expedition  against 
Alhendin  -  -  .  360 


CHAP.  LXXXVIL— Exploit  of  the  Count 
de  Tendilla  -  .  .  .361 

CHAP.  LXXX VI 1 1.— Expedition  of  Boab 
dil  el  Chico  against  Salobrena.  Exploit 
of  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar  .  363 

CHAP.  LXXXIX.— How  King  Ferdinand 
treated  the  people  of  Guadix,  and  how 
El  Zagal  finished  his  royal  career  -  365 

CHAP.  XC. —  Preparations  of  Granada  for 
a  desperate  defence  ...  367 

CHAP.  XCI. — How  King  Ferdinand  con 
ducted  the  siege  cautiously,  and  how 
Queen  Isabella  arrived  at  the  camp  -  369 

CHAP.  XCIL— Of  the  insolent  defiance  of 
Tarfe,  the  Moor,  and  the  daring  exploit 
of  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar  -  370 

CHAP.  XCIIL— How  Queen  Isabella  took 
a  view  of  the  city  of  Granada,  and  how 
her  curiosity  cost  the  lives  of  many 
Christians  and  Moors  -  -  -  371 

CHAP.  XCI  V.— Conflagration  of  the  Chris 
tian  camp  -  .  374 

CHAP.  XCV. — The  last  ravage  before  Gra 
nada  -  ...  375 

CHAP.  XCVI.— Building  of  the  city  of 
Santa  Fe.  Despair  of  the  Moors  -  377 

CHAP.  XCVII. — Capitulation  of  Granada    379 

CHAP. XCVIII.— Commotions  in  Granada  380 

CHAP.  XCIX.— Surrender  of  Granada       -  382 

CHAP.  C. — How  the  Castilian  Sovereigns 

took  possession  of  Granada      -  -  384 

APPENDIX  -  .  .  .385 

Fate  of  Boabdil  El  Chico     -  -  .385 

Death  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz         -  -387 

The  legend  of  the  death  of  Don  Alonso  dc 
Aguilar  .... 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  Journey  .  .  397 

Government  of  the  Alhambra          -  -  405 

Interior  of  the  Alharnbra     -  -  .  406 

The  Tower  of  Comares        -  .  .  409 

Reflections  on  the  Moslem  Domination  in 

Spain 412 

The  Household        -  -  .  .413 

The  Truant  .  .  .415 

The  Author's  Chamber        -  .  -417 

The  Alhambra  by  Moonlight  -  .  419 

Inhabitants  of  the  Alhambra  -  .  420 

The  Court  of  Lions  -  .  -422 

Boabdil  el  Chico      ....  424 
Mementos  of  Boabdil  -  .  .  426 

The  Balcony  .  .  .  427 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mason  .  .  430 

A  Ramble  among  the  Hills  .  .  432 


Local  Traditions     - 

The  House  of  the  Weathercock 

Legend  of  the  Arabian  Astrologer  - 

The  Tower  of  Las  Infantas 

Legend  of  the  Three  Beautiful  Princesses  - 

Visiters  to  the  Alhambra     - 

Legend   of  Prince  Ahmed   al  Kamel ;   or, 

the  Pilgrim  of  Love     - 
Legend  of  the  Moor's  Legacy 
Legend  of  the  Rose  of  the  Alhambra;  or  the 

Page  and  the  Ger-Falcon 
The  Veteran 

The  Governor  and  the  Notary 
Governor  Manco  and  the  Soldier     - 
Legend  of  the  Two  Discreet  Statues 
Muhamed  Abu  Alahmar     - 
Yusef  Abul  Hagig 


388 


435 
436 
437 
445 
446 
457 

460 
474 

484 
491 
492 
495 
503 
511 
514 


TALES 


OF 


A        TRAVELLER. 


BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE   SKETCH  BOOK,"   "BRACEBRIDGE   HALL,' 
"KNICKERBOCKER'S   NEW  YORK,"  &c. 


I  am  neither  your  minotaure,  nor  your  centaure,  nor  your  satyr,  nor  your  hyaena, 

nor  your  babion,  but  your  meer  traveller,  believe  me. 

BEN  JONSON. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

LEA     AND    B  L  A  N  C  H  A  R  D. 
1840. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836, 

By  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


C.  SHERMAN  AND  CO.  PRINTERS. 


TALES    OF    A    TRAVELLER. 


TO  THE  READER. 

WORTHY  AND  DEAR  READER ! 

HAST  thou  ever  been  waylaid  in  the 
midst  of  a  pleasant  tour  by  some  treach 
erous  malady ;  thy  heels  tripped  up,  and 
thou  left  to  count  the  tedious  minutes  as 
they  passed,  in  the  solitude  of  an  inn- 
chamber  ?  If  thou  hast,  thou  wilt  be 
able  to  pity  me.  Behold  me,  interrupted 
in  the  course  of  my  journeying  up  the 
fair  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  laid  up  by 
indisposition  in  this  old  frontier  town  of 
Mentz.  I  have  worn  out  every  source  of 
amusement.  I  know  the  sound  of  every 
clock  that  strikes,  and  bell  that  rings,  in 
the  place.  I  know  to  a  second  when  to 
listen  for  the  first  tap  of  the  Prussian 
drum,  as  it  summons  the  garrison  to 
parade ;  or  at  what  hour  to  expect  the 
distant  sound  of  the  Austrian  military 
band.  All  these  have  grown  wearisome 
to  me ;  and  even  the  well-known  step  of 
my  doctor,  as  he  slowly  paces  the  cor 
ridor,  with  healing  in  the  creak  of  his 
shoes,  no  longer  affords  an  agreeable 
interruption  to  the  monotony  of  my 
apartment. 

For  a  time  I  attempted  to  beguile  the 
weary  hours  by  studying  German  under 
the  tuition  of  my  host's  pretty  little 
daughter,  Katrine ;  but  I  soon  found  even 
German  had  not  power  to  charm  a  lan 
guid  ear,  and  that  the  conjugating  of  ich 
Hebe  might  be  powerless,  however  rosy 
the  lips  which  uttered  it. 

I  tried  to  read,  but  my  mind  would 
not  fix  itself;  I  turned  over  volume  after 
volume,  but  threw  them  by  with  distaste : 


"  Well,  then,"  said  I  at  length,  in  despair, 
"  if  I  cannot  read  a  book,  I  will  write 
one."  Never  was  there  a  more  lucky 
idea  ;  it  at  once  gave  me  occupation  and 
amusement. 

The  writing  of  a  book  was  considered, 
in  old  times,  as  an  enterprise  of  toil  and 
difficulty,  insomuch  that  the  most  trifling 
lucubration  was  denominated  a  "  work," 
and  the  world  talked  with  awe  and  re 
verence  of  "  the  labours  of  the  learned." 
These  matters  are  better  understood  now- 
a-days.  Thanks  to  the  improvements  in 
all  kind  of  manufactures,  the  art  of  book- 
making  has  been  made  familiar  to  the 
meanest  capacity.  Every  body  is  an 
author.  The  scribbling  of  a  quarto  is 
the  mere  pastime  of  the  idle ;  the  young 
gentleman  throws  off  his  brace  of  duode 
cimos  in  the  intervals  of  the  sporting 
season,  and  the  young  lady  produces  her 
set  of  volumes  with  the  same  facility 
that  her  great-grandmother  worked  a  set 
of  chair-bottoms. 

The  idea  having  struck  me,  therefore, 
to  write  a  book,  the  reader  will  easily 
perceive  that  the  execution  of  it  was  no 
difficult  matter.  I  rummaged  my  port 
folio,  and  cast  about,  in  my  recollection, 
for  those  floating  materials  which  a  man 
naturally  collects  in  travelling ;  and 
here  I  have  arranged  them  in  this  little 
work. 

As  I  know  this  to  be  a  story-telling 
and  a  story-reading  age,  and  that  the 
world  is  fond  of  being  taught  by  apologue, 
I  have  digested  the  instruction  I  would 
convey  into  a  number  of  tales.  They 
may  not  possess  the  power  of  amusement 


12 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


which  the  tales  told  by  many  of  my  con 
temporaries  possess ;  but  then  I  value 
myself  on  the  sound  moral  which  each 
of  them  contains.  This  may  not  be  ap 
parent  at  first,  but  the  reader  will  be  sure 
to  find  it  out  in  the  end.  I  am  for  curing 
the  world  by  gentle  alteratives,  not  by 
violent  doses  ;  indeed  the  patient  should 
never  be  conscious  that  he  is  taking  a 
dose.  I  have  learnt  this  much  from  my 
experience  under  the  hands  of  the  worthy 
Hippocrates  of  Mentz. 

I  am  not,  therefore,  for  those  bare 
faced  tales  which  carry  their  moral  on 
the  surface,  staring  one  in  the  face ;  they 
are  enough  to  deter  the  squeamish  reader. 
On  the  contrary,  I  have  often  hid  my 
moral  from  sight,  and  disguised  it  as 
much  as  possible  by  sweets  and  spices  ; 
so  that  while  the  simple  reader  is  listen 
ing  with  open  mouth  to  a  ghost  or  a  love 
story,  he  may  have  a  bolus  of  sound 
morality  popped  down  his  throat,  and  be 
never  the  wiser  for  the  fraud. 

As  the  public  is  apt  to  be  curious  about 
the  sources  from  whence  an  author  draws 
his  stories,  doubtless  that  it  may  know 
how  far  to  put  faith  in  them,  I  would 
observe,  that  the  Adventure  of  the  Ger 
man  Student,  or  rather  the  latter  part  of 
it,  is  founded  on  an  anecdote  related  to 
me  as  existing  somewhere  in  French  ; 
and,  indeed,  I  have  been  told,  since 
writing  it,  that  an  ingenious  tale  has  been 
founded  on  it  by  an  English  writer ;  but 
I  have  never  met  with  either  the  former 
or  the  latter  in  print.  Some  of  the  cir 
cumstances  in  the  Adventure  of  the  Mys 
terious  Picture,  and  in  the  Story  of  the 
Young  Italian,  are  vague  recollections  of 
anecdotes  related  to  me  some  years  since  ; 
but  from  what  source  derived  I  do  not 
know.  The  Adventure  of  the  Young 
Painter  among  the  banditti  is  taken  al 
most  entirely  from  an  authentic  narrative 
in  manuscript. 

As  to  the  other  tales  contained  in  this 
work,  and,  indeed,  to  my  tales  generally, 
I  can  make  but  one  observation.  I  am 
an  old  traveller.  I  have  read  somewhat, 
heard  and  seen  more,  and  dreamt  more 
than  all.  My  brain  is  filled,  therefore, 
with  all  kinds  of  odds  and  ends.  In 
travelling,  these  heterogeneous  matters 
have  become  shaken  up  in  my  mind,  as 
the  articles  are  apt  to  be  in  an  ill-packed 


travelling-trunk  ;  so  that  when  I  attempt 
to  draw  forth  a  fact,  I  cannot  determine 
whether  I  have  read,  heard,  or  dreamt  it ; 
and  I  am  always  at  a  loss  to  know  how 
much  to  believe  of  my  own  stories. 

These  matters  being  premised,  fall  to, 
worthy  reader,  with  good  appetite,  and 
above  all,  with  good  humour,  to  what  is 
here  set  before  thee.  If  the  tales  I  have 
furnished  should  prove  to  be  bad,  they 
will  at  least  be  found  short ;  so  that  no 
one  will  be  wearied  long  on  the  same 
theme.  "  Variety  is  charming,"  as  some 
poet  observes.  There  is  a  certain  relief 
in  change,  even  though  it  be  from  bad 
to  worse  ;  as  I  have  found  in  travelling 
in  a  stage-coach,  that  it  is  often  a  comfort 
to  shift  one's  position  and  be  bruised  in  a 
new  place. 

Ever  thine, 

GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 

Dated  from  the  HOTEL  DE  DARMSTADT, 

ci-devant  HOTEL  DE  PARIS, 
MENTZ,  otherwise  called  MAYENCE. 


PART  I. 
STRANGE    STORIES. 

BY 

A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

I'll  tell  you  more,  there  was  a  fish  taken, 

A  monstrous  fish,  with  a  sword  by  's  side,  a  long 

sword, 

A  pike  in  's  neck,  and  a  gun  in  's  nose,  a  huge  gun, 
And  letters  of  mart  in  's  mouth  from  the  Duke  of 

Florence. 

Cleanthes.    This  is  a  monstrous  lie. 
Tony.  I  do  confess  it. 

Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  truths  ? 

FLETCHER'S  WIFE  FOR  A  MONTH. 


THE  GREAT  UNKNOWN. 

THE  following  adventures  were  related 
to  me  by  the  same  nervous  gentleman 
who  told  me  the  romantic  tale  of  the 
Stout  Gentleman,  published  in  Brace- 
bridge  Hall.  It  is  very  singular,  that 
although  I  expressly  stated  that  story  to 
have  been  told  to  me,  and  described  the 
very  person  who  told  it,  still  it  has  been 
received  as  an  adventure  that  happened 
to  myself.  Now  I  protest  I  never  met 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


13 


with  any  adventure  of  the  kind.  I  should 
not  have  grieved  at  this  had  it  not  been 
intimated  by  the  author  of  Waverley,  in 
an  introduction  to  his  novel  of  Peveril  of 
the  Peak,  that  he  was  himself  the  stout 
gentleman  alluded  to.  I  have  ever  since 
been  importuned  by  questions  and  letters 
from  gentlemen,  and  particularly  from 
ladies  without  number,  touching  what  I 
had  seen  of  the  Great  Unknown. 

Now  all  this  is  extremely  tantalizing. 
It  is  like  being  congratulated  on  the  high 
prize  when  one  has  drawn  a  blank ;  for 
I  have  just  as  great  a  desire  as  any  one 
of  the  public  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of 
that  very  singular  personage,  whose  voice 
fills  every  corner  of  the  world,  without 
any  one  being  able  to  tell  from  whence  it 
comes. 

My  friend,  the  nervous  gentleman, 
also,  who  is  a  man  of  very  shy  retired 
habits,  complains  that  he  has  been  ex 
cessively  annoyed  in  consequence  of  its 
getting  about  in  his  neighbourhood  that 
he  is  the  unfortunate  personage.  Inso 
much,  that  he  has  become  a  character  of 
considerable  notoriety  in  two  or  three 
country-towns,  and  has  been  repeatedly 
teased  to  exhibit  himself  at  blue-stocking 
parties,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of 
being  "  the  gentleman  who  has  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  author  of 'Waverley." 

Indeed  the  poor  man  has  grown  ten 
times  as  nervous  as  ever,  since  he  has 
discovered,  on  such  good  authority,  who 
the  stout  gentleman  was  ;  and  will  never 
forgive  himself  for  not  having  made  a 
more  resolute  effort  to  get  a  full  sight  of 
him.  He  has  anxiously  endeavoured  to 
call  up  a  recollection  of  what  he  saw  of 
that  portly  personage;  and  has  ever 
since  kept  a  curious  eye  on  all  gentlemen 
of  more  than  ordinary  dimensions,  whom 
he  has  seen  getting  into  stage-coaches. 
All  in  vain  !  The  features  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  seem  common  to  the  whole 
race  of  stout  gentlemen,  and  the  Great 
Unknown  remains  as  great  an  unknown 
as  ever. 


Having  premised  these  circumstances, 
I  will  now  let  the  nervous  gentleman 
proceed  with  his  stories. 


THE  HUNTING  DINNER. 

I  WAS  once  at  a  hunting  dinner,  given 
by  a  worthy  fox-hunting  old  baronet, 
who  kept  bachelor's  hall  in  jovial  style, 
in  an  ancient  rook-haunted  family  man 
sion,  in  one  of  the  middle  counties.  He 
had  been  a  devoted  admirer  of  the  fair 
sex  in  his  young  days ;  but,  having 
travelled  much,  studied  the  sex  in  various 
countries  with  distinguished  success,  and 
returned  home  profoundly  instructed,  as 
he  supposed,  in  the  ways  of  woman,  and 
a  perfect  master  of  the  art  of  pleasing, 
he  had  the  mortification  of  being  jilted 
by  a  little  boarding-school  girl,  who  was 
scarcely  versed  in  the  accidence  of  love. 

The  baronet  was  completely  overcome 
by  such  an  incredible  defeat ;  retired 
from  the  world  in  disgust ;  put  himself 
under  the  government  of  his  housekeeper; 
and  took  to  fox-hunting  like  a  perfect 
Nimrod.  Whatever  poets  may  say  to 
the  contrary,  a  man  will  grow  out  of 
love  as  he  grows  old  ;  and  a  pack  of 
fox-hounds  may  chase  out  of  his  heart 
even  the  memory  of  a  boarding-school 
goddess.  The  baronet  was,  when  I  saw 
him,  as  merry  and  mellow  an  old  bache 
lor  as  ever  followed  a  hound ;  and  the 
love  he  had  once  felt  for  one  woman  had 
spread  itself  over  the  whole  sex ;  so  that 
there  was  not  a  pretty  face  in  the  whole 
country  round  but  came  in  for  a  share. 

The  dinner  was  prolonged  till  a  late 
hour ;  for  our  host  having  no  ladies  in 
his  household  to  summon  us  to  the  draw 
ing-room,  the  bottle  maintained  its  true 
bachelor  sway,  unrivalled  by  its  potent 
enemy  the  tea-kettle.  The  old  hall  in 
which  we  dined  echoed  to  bursts  of  ro 
bustious  fox-hunting  merriment,  that 
made  the  ancient  antlers  shake  on  the 
walls.  By  degrees,  however,  the  wine 
and  the  wassail  of  mine  host  began  to 
operate  upon  bodies  already  a  little  jaded 
by  the  chase.  The  choice  spirits  which 
flashed  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  dinner, 
sparkled  for  a  time,  then  gradually  went 
out  one  after  another,  or  only  emitted 
now  and  then  a  faint  gleam  from  the 
socket.  Some  of  the  briskest  talkers, 
who  had  given  tongue  so  bravely  at  the 
first  burst,  fell  fast  asleep ;  and  none 
kept  on  their  way  but  certain  of  those 
long-winded  prosers,  who,  like  short- 


14 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


legged  hounds,  worry  on  unnoticed  at 
the  bottom  of  conversation,  but  are  sure 
to  be  in  at  the  death.  Even  these  at 
length  subsided  into  silence;  and  scarcely 
any  thing  was  heard  but  the  nasal  com 
munications  of  two  or  three  veteran  mas 
ticators,  who  having  been  silent  while 
awake,  were  indemnifying  the  company 
in  their  sleep. 

At  length  the  announcement  of  tea 
and  coffee  in  the  cedar-parlour  roused 
all  hands  from  this  temporary  torpor. 
Every  one  awoke  marvellously  reno 
vated,  and  while  sipping  the  refreshing 
beverage  out  of  the  baronet's  old- 
fashioned  hereditary  china,  began  to 
think  of  departing  for  their  several 
homes.  But  here  a  sudden  difficulty 
arose.  While  we  had  been  prolonging 
our  repast,  a  heavy  winter  storm  had  set 
in,  with  snow,  rain,  and  sleet,  driven  by 
such  bitter  blasts  of  wind,  that  they 
threatened  to  penetrate  to  the  very  bone. 

"  It's  all  in  vain,"  said  our  hospitable 
host,  "  to  think  of  putting  one's  head  out 
of  doors  in  such  weather.  So,  gentle 
men,  I  hold  you  my  guests  for  this  night 
at  least,  and  will  have  your  quarters  pre 
pared  accordingly." 

The  unruly  weather,  which  became 
more  and  more  tempestuous,  rendered 
the  hospitable  suggestion  unanswerable. 
The  only  question  was,  whether  such  an 
unexpected  accession  of  company  to  an 
already  crowded  house  would  not  put 
the  housekeeper  to  her  trumps  to  accom 
modate  them. 

«*  Pshaw,"  cried  mine  host,  "  did  you 
ever  know  of  a  bachelor's  hall  that  was 
not  elastic,  and  able  to  accommodate 
twice  as  many  as  it  could  hold?"  So, 
out  of  a  good-humoured  pique,  the  house 
keeper  was  summoned  to  a  consultation 
before  us  all.  The  old  lady  appeared  in 
her  gala  suit  of  faded  brocade,  which 
rustled  with  flurry  and  agitation ;  for,  in 
spite  of  our  host's  bravado,  she  was  a 
little  perplexed.  But  in  a  bachelor's 
house,  and  with  bachelor  guests,  these 
matters  are  readily  managed.  There  is 
no  lady  of  the  house  to  stand  upon 
squeamish  points  about  lodging  gentle 
men  in  odd  holes  and  corners,  and  ex 
posing  the  shabby  parts  of  the  establish 
ment.  A  bachelor's  housekeeper  is  used 
to  shifts  and  emergencies ;  so,  after 


much  worrying  to  and  fro,  and  divers 
consultations  about  the  red-room,  and 
the  blue-room,  and  the  chintz-room,  and 
the  damask-room,  and  the  little  room 
with  the  bow-window,  the  matter  was 
finally  arranged. 

When  all  this  was  done,  we  were 
once  more  summoned  to  the  standing 
rural  amusement  of  eating.  The  time 
that  had  been  consumed  in  dozing  after 
dinner,  and  in  the  refreshment  and  con 
sultation  of  the  cedar-parlour,  was  suffi 
cient,  in  the  opinion  of  the  rosy-faced 
butler,  to  engender  a  reasonable  appetite 
for  supper.  A  slight  repast  had,  there 
fore,  been  tricked  up  from  the  residue  of 
dinner,  consisting  of  a  cold  sirloin  of 
beef,  hashed  venison,  a  devilled  leg  of  a 
turkey  or  so,  and  a  few  other  of  those 
light  articles  taken  by  country  gentle 
men  to  insure  sound  sleep  and  heavy 
snoring. 

The  nap  after  dinner  had  brightened 
up  every  one's  wit ;  and  a  great  deal  of 
excellent  humour  was  expended  upon 
the  perplexities  of  mine  host  and  his 
housekeeper,  by  certain  married  gentle 
men  of  the  company,  who  considered 
themselves  privileged  in  joking  with  a 
bachelor's  establishment.  From  this 
the  banter  turned  as  to  what  quarters 
each  would  find,  on  being  thus  suddenly 
billeted  in  so  antiquated  a  mansion. 

"  By  my  soul,"  said  an  Irish  captain 
of  dragoons,  one  of  the  most  merry  and 
boisterous  of  the  party,  "  by  my  soul,  but 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some  of 
those  good-looking  gentlefolks  that  hang 
along  the  walls  should  walk  about  the 
rooms  of  this  stormy  night ;  or  if  I 
should  find  the  ghost  of  one  of  those 
long-waisted  ladies  turning  into  my  bed 
in  mistake  for  her  grave  in  the  church 
yard." 

"  Do    you    believe  in  ghosts,   then  7" 
said  a  thin  hatchet-faced  gentleman,  with  j 
projecting  eyes  like  a  lobster. 

I  had    remarked    this   last  personage  j 
during  dinner-time  for  one  of  those  inces-  j 
sant   questioners,  who  have  a  craving, 
unhealthy  appetite  in  conversation.     He 
never  seemed  satisfied  with  the  whole  of 
a    story ;    never   laughed    when    others 
laughed  ;  but  always  put  the  joke  to  the 
question.       Fie    never   could   enjoy    the 
kernel  of  the  nut,  but  pestered  himself  to 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


15 


get  more  out  of  the  shell. — "  Do  you 
believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?"  said  the  inqui 
sitive  gentleman. 

"  Faith  but  I  do,"  replied  the  jovial 
Irishman.  "  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
fear  and  belief  of  them.  We  had  a 
Benshee  in  our  own  family,  honey. "_ 

«  A  Benshee  !  and  what's  that  ?"  cried 
the  questioner. 

"  Why,  an  old  lady  ghost  that  tends 
upon  your  real  Milesian  families,  and 
waits  at  their  window  to  let  them  know 
when  some  of  them  are  to  die." 

"  A  mighty  pleasant  piece  of  informa 
tion  !"  cried  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a 
knowing  look,  and  with  a  flexible  nose, 
to  which  he  could  give  a  whimsical  twist 
when  he  wished  to  be  waggish. 

"  By  my  soul,  but  I'd  have  you  to 
know  it's  a  piece  of  distinction  to  be 
waited  on  by  a  Benshee.  It's  a  proof 
that  one  has  pure  blood  in  one's  veins. 
But  i'faith,  now  we  are  talking  of  ghosts, 
there  never  was  a  house  or  a  night  better 
fitted  than  the  present  for  a  ghost  adven 
ture.  Pray,  Sir  John,  haven't  you  such 
a  thing  as  a  haunted  chamber  to  put  a 
guest  in  ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  baronet,  smiling, 
"  I  might  accommodate  you  even  on  that 
point." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my 
jewel.  Some  dark  oaken  room,  with 
ugly,  wo-begone  portraits,  that  stare  dis 
mally  at  one;  and  about  which  the 
housekeeper  has  a  power  of  delightful 
s-tories  of  love  and  murder.  And  then  a 
dim  lamp,  a  table  with  a  rusty  sword 
across  it,  and  a  spectre  all  in  white,  to 
draw  aside  one's  curtains  at  midnight — " 

"  In  truth,"  said  an  old  gentleman  at 
one  end  of  the  table,  "  you  put  me  in 
mind  of  an  anecdote — " 

"  Oh,  a  ghost  story  !  a  ghost  story  !" 
was  vociferated  round  the  board,  every 
one  edging  his  chair  a  little  nearer. 

The  attention  of  the  whole  company 
was  now  turned  upon  the  speaker.  He 
was  an  old  gentleman,  one  side  of  whose 
face  was  no  match  for  the  other.  The 
eyelid  drooped  and  hung  down  like  an 
unhinged  window-shutter.  Indeed  the 
whole  side  of  his  head  was  dilapidated, 
and  seemed  like  the  wing  of  a  house  shut 
up  and  haunted.  I'll  warrant  that  side 
was  well  stuffed  with  ghost  stories. 


time  before 
my    uncle   had 


MANY  years  since,  some 
the  French  revolution, 
passed  several  months  at  Paris.  The 
English  and  French  were  on  better 
terms  in  those  days  than  at  present,  and 
mingled  cordially  together  in  society. 
The  English  went  abroad  to  spend  mo 
ney  then,  and  the  French  were  always 
ready  to  help  them :  they  go  abroad  to 
save  money  at  present,  and  that  they 
can  do  without  French  assistance.  Per 
haps  the  travelling  English  were  fewer 
and  choicer  then  than  at  present,  when 
the  whole  nation  has  broke  loose  and 
inundated  the  continent.  At  any  rate, 
they  circulated  more  readily  and  cur 
rently  in  foreign  society,  and  my  uncle, 
during  his  residence  in  Paris,  made  many 
very  intimate  acquaintances  among  the 
French  noblesse. 

Some  time  afterwards,  he  was  making 
a  journey  in  the  winter  time  in  that  part 
of  Normandy  called  the  Pays  de  Caux, 
when,  as  evening  was  closing  in,  he  per- 


There  was  a  universal  demand  for  the 
tale. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  it's 
a  mere  anecdote,  and  a  very  common 
place  one ;  but  such  as  it  is  you  shall 
have  it.     It  is  a  story  that  I  once  heard 
my  uncle   tell   as    having   happened  to 
himself.     He  was   a   man  very  apt  to  j 
meet  with  strange  adventures.     I  have  | 
heard  him  tell  of  others  much  more  sin 
gular." 

"What  kind  of  a  man  was  your 
uncle  ?"  said  the  questioning  gentleman. 

"  Why,  he  was  rather  a  dry,  shrewd  | 
kind  of  body  ;  a  great  traveller,  and  fond  | 
of  telling  his  adventures." 

"  Pray,  how  old  might  he  have  been 
when  that  happened  ?" 

"  When  what  happened  ?"  cried  the 
gentleman  with  the  flexible  nose,  impa 
tiently.  "  Egad,  you  have  not  given 
any  thing  a  chance  to  happen.  Come, 
never  mind  your  uncle's  age ;  let  us  have 
his  adventures." 

The  inquisitive  gentleman  being  for  | 
the  moment  silenced,  the  old  gentleman  ! 
with  the  haunted  head  proceeded. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 


16 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


ceived  the  turrets  of  an  ancient  chateau 
rising  out  of  the  trees  of  its  walled  park  ; 
each  turret,  with  its  high  conical  roof  of 
gray  slate,  like  a  candle  with  an  extin 
guisher  on  it. 

"  To  whom  does  that  chateau  belong, 
friend  ?"  cried  my  uncle  to  a  meagre  but 
fiery  postilion,  who,  with  tremendous 
jack-boots  and  cocked  hat,  was  flounder 
ing  on  before  him. 

"  To  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  de 
said  the  postilion,  touching  his 


hat,  partly  out  of  respect  to  my  uncle, 
and  partly  out  of  reverence  to  the  noble 
name  pronounced. 

My  uncle  recollected  the  marquis  for 
a  particular  friend  in  Paris,  who  had 
often  expressed  a  wish  to  see  him  at  his 
paternal  chateau.  My  uncle  was  an  old 
traveller,  one  who  knew  well  how  to 
turn  things  to  account.  He  revolved  for 
a  few  moments  in  his  mind  how  agreea 
ble  it  would  be  to  his  friend  the  marquis 
to  be  surprised  in  this  sociable  way  by  a 
pop  visit ;  and  how  much  more  agreeable 
to  himself  to  get  into  snug  quarters  in  a 
chateau,  and  have  a  relish  of  the  mar 
quis's  well-known  kitchen,  and  a  smack 
of  his  superior  Champagne  and  Bur 
gundy,  rather  than  put  up  with  the  mise 
rable  lodgment  and  miserable  fare  of  a 
provincial  inn.  In  a  few  minutes,  there 
fore,  the  meagre  postilion  was  cracking 
his  whip  like  a  very  devil,  or  like  a  true 
Frenchman,  up  the  long  straight  avenue 
that  led  to  the  chateau. 

You  have  no  doubt  all  seen  French 
chateaus,  as  every  body  travels  in  France 
now-a-days.  This  was  one  of  the  oldest ; 
standing  naked  and  alone  in  the  midst  of 
a  desert  of  gravel  walks  and  cold  stone 
terraces ;  with  a  cold-looking  formal 
garden,  cut  into  angles  and  rhomboids ; 
and  a  cold  leafless  park,  divided  geome 
trically  by  straight  alleys ;  and  two  or 
three  cold-looking  noseless  statues  ;  and 
fountains  spouting  cold  water  enough  to 
make  one's  teeth  chatter.  At  least  such 
was  the  feeling  they  imparted  on  the 
wintry  day  of  my  uncle's  visit ;  though, 
in  hot  summer  weather,  I'll  warrant 
there  was  glare  enough  to  scorch  one's 
eyes  out. 

The  smacking  of  the  postilion's  whip, 
which  grew  more  and  more  intense  the 
nearer  they  approached,  frightened  a 


flight  of  pigeons  out  of  the  dove-cot,  and 
rooks  out  of  the  roofs,  and  finally  a 
crew  of  servants  out  of  the  chateau,  with 
the  marquis  at  their  head.  He  was  en 
chanted  to  see  my  uncle,  for  his  chateau, 
like  the  house  of  our  worthy  host,  had 
not  many  more  guests  at  the  time  than 
it  could  accommodate.  So  he  kissed  my 
uncle  on  each  cheek,  after  the  French 
fashion,  and  ushered  him  into  the  castle. 

The  marquis  did  the  honours  of  his 
house  with  the  urbanity  of  his  country. 
In  fact,  he  was  proud  of  his  old  family 
chateau,  for  part  of  it  was  extremely  old. 
There  was  a  tower  and  chapel  which 
had  been  built  almost  before  the  memory 
of  man  ;  but  the  rest  was  more  modern, 
the  castle  having  been  nearly  demolished 
during  the  wars  of  the  League.  The 
marquis  dwelt  upon  this  event  with  great 
satisfaction,  and  seemed  really  to  enter 
tain  a  grateful  feeling  towards  Henry  the 
Fourth,  for  having  thought  his  paternal 
mansion  worth  battering  down.  He  had 
many  stories  to  tell  of  the  prowess  of  his 
ancestors ;  and  several  scull-caps,  hel 
mets,  and  cross-bows,  and  divers  huge 
boots,  and  buff  jerkins,  to  show,  which 
had  been  worn  by  the  Leaguers.  Above 
all,  there  was  a  two-handed  sword,  which 
he  could  hardly  wield,  but  which  he  dis 
played,  as  a  proof  that  there  had  been 
giants  in  his  family. 

In  truth,  he  was  but  a  small  descend 
ant  from  such  great  warriors.  When 
you  looked  at  their  bluff  visages  and 
brawny  limbs,  as  depicted  in  their  por 
traits,  and  then  at  the  little  marquis, 
with  his  spindle  shanks,  and  his  sallow 
lantern  visage,  flanked  with  a  pair  of 
powdered  ear-locks,  or  ailes  de  pigeon, 
that  seemed  ready  to  fly  away  with  it, 
you  could  hardly  believe  him  to  be  of 
the  same  race.  But  when  you  looked  at 
the  eyes  that  sparkled  out  like  a  beetle's 
from  each  side  of  his  hooked  nose,  you 
saw  at  once  that  he  inherited  all  the  fiery 
spirit  of  his  forefathers.  In  fact,  a  French 
man's  spirit  never  exhales,  however  his 
body  may  dwindle.  It  rather  rarifies, 
and  grows  more  inflammable,  as  the 
earthy  particles  diminish ;  and  I  have 
seen  valour  enough  in  a  little  fiery- 
hearted  French  dwarf  to  have  furnished 
out  a  tolerable  giant. 

When  once  the  marquis,  as  he  was 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


17 


wont,  put  on  one  of  the  old  helmets  that 
were  stuck  up  in  his  hall,  though  his 
head  no  more  filled  it  than  a  dry  pea  its 
peascod,  yet  his  eyes  flashed  from  the 
bottom  of  the  iron  cavern  with  the  bril 
liancy  of  carbuncles;  and  when  he  poised 
the  ponderous  two-handed  sword  of  his 
ancestors,  you  would  have  thought  you 
saw  the  doughty  little  David  wielding 
the  sword  of  Goliath,  which  was  unto 
him  like  a  weaver's  beam. 

However,  gentlemen,  I  am  dwelling 
too  long  on  this  description  of  the  mar 
quis  and  his  chateau,  but  you  must  ex 
cuse  me ;  he  was  an  old  friend  of  my 
uncle ;  and  whenever  my  uncle  told  the 
story,  he  was  always  fond  of  talking  a 
great  deal  about  his  host.  Poor  little 
marquis !  He  was  one  of  that  handful 
of  gallant  courtiers  who  made  such  a 
devoted  but  hopeless  stand  in  the  cause 
of  their  sovereign,  in  the  chateau  of  the 
Tuileries,  against  the  irruption  of  the 
mob  on  the  sad  tenth  of  August.  He 
displayed  the  valour  of  a  preux  French 
chevalier  to  the  last ;  flourished  feebly 
his  little  court-sword  with  a  ca-ca !  in 
face  of  a  whole  legion  of  sans-culottes  : 
but  was  pinned  to  the  wall  like  a  butter 
fly,  by  the  pike  of  a  poissarde,  and  his 
heroic  soul  was  borne  up  to  Heaven  on 
his  aiks  de  pigeon. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
story.  To  the  point  then — When  the 
hour  arrived  for  retiring  for  the  night, 
my  uncle  was  shown  to  his  room  in  a 
venerable  old  tower.  It  was  the  oldest 
part  of  the  chateau,  and  had  in  ancient 
times  been  the  donjon  or  stronghold ;  of 
course  the  chamber  was  none  of  the  best. 
The  marquis  had  put  him  there,  how 
ever,  because  he  knew  him  to  be  a  tra 
veller  of  taste,  and  fond  of  antiquities ; 
and  also  because  the  better  apartments 
were  already  occupied.  Indeed,  he  per 
fectly  reconciled  my  uncle  to  his  quar 
ters  by  mentioning  the  great  personages 
who  had  once  inhabited  them,  all  of 
whom  were,  in  some  way  or  other,  con 
nected  with  the  family.  If  you  would 
take  his  word  for  it,  John  Baliol,  or  as 
he  called  him,  Jean  de  Bailleul,  had  died 
of  chagrin  in  this  very  chamber,  on 
hearing  of  the  success  of  his  rival,  Ro 
bert  the  Bruce,  at  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn.  And  when  he  added  that  the 


Duke  de  Guise  had  slept  in  it,  my  uncle 
was  fain  to  felicitate  himself  on  being 
honoured  with  such  distinguished  qaar- 
ters. 

The  night  was  shrewd  and  windy,  and 
the  chamber  none  of  the  warmest.  An 
old  long-faced,  long-bodied  servant,  in 
quaint  livery,  who  attended  upon  my 
uncle,  threw  down  an  armful  of  wood 
beside  the  fireplace,  gave  a  queer  look 
about  the  room,  and  then  wished  him 
bon  repos  with  a  grimace  and  a  shrug 
that  would  have  been  suspicious  from 
any  other  than  an  old  French  servant. 

The  chamber  had  indeed  a  wild  crazy 
look,  enough  to  strike  any  one  who  had 
read  romances  with  apprehension  and 
foreboding.  The  windows  were  high  and 
narrow,  and  had  once  been  loopholes, 
but  had  been  rudely  enlarged,  as  well  as 
the  extreme  thickness  of  the  walls  would 
permit ;  and  the  ill-fitted  casements  rat 
tled  to  every  breeze.  You  would  have 
thought,  on  a  windy  night,  some  of  the 
old  leaguers  were  tramping  and  clanking 
about  the  apartment  in  their  huge  boots 
and  rattling  spurs.  A  door  which  stood 
ajar,  and,  like  a  true  French  door,  would 
stand  ajar  in  spite  of  every  reason  and 
effort  to  the  contrary,  opened  upon  a 
long  dark  corridor,  that  led  the  Lord 
knows  whither,  and  seemed  just  made 
for  ghosts  to  air  themselves  in,  when 
they  turned  out  of  their  graves  at  mid 
night.  The  wind  would  spring  up  into 
a  hoarse  murmur  through  this  passage, 
and  creak  the  door  to  and  fro,  as  if  some 
dubious  ghost  were  balancing  in  its  mind 
whether  to  come  in  or  not.  In  a  word, 
it  was  precisely  the  kind  of  comfortless 
apartment  that  a  ghost,  if  ghost  there 
were  in  the  chateau,  would  single  out 
for  its  favourite  lounge. 

My  uncle,  however,  though  a  man 
accustomed  to  meet  with  strange  adven 
tures,  apprehended  none  at  the  time.  He 
made  several  attempts  to  shut  the  door, 
but  in  vain.  Not  that  he  apprehended 
any  thing,  for  he  was  too  old  a  traveller 
to  be  daunted  by  a  wild-looking  apart 
ment  ;  but  the  night,  as  I  have  said,  was 
cold  and  gusty,  and  the  wind  howled 
about  the  old  turret  pretty  much  as  it 
does  round  this  old  mansion  at  this  mo 
ment  ;  and  the  breeze  from  the  long  dark 
corridor  came  in  as  damp  and  chilly  as 


18 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


if  from  a  dungeon.  My  uncle,  therefore, 
since  he  could  not  close  the  door,  threw 
a  quantity  of  wood  on  the  fire,  which 
soon  sent  up  a  flame  in  the  great  wide- 
mouthed  chimney  that  illumined  the 
whole  chamber,  and  made  the  shadow 
of  the  tongs  on  the  opposite  wall  look 
like  a  long-legged  giant.  My  uncle  now 
clambered  on  the  top  of  the  half-score 
of  mattresses  which  form  a  French  bed, 
and  which  stood  in  a  deep  recess ;  then 
tucking  himself  snugly  in,  and  burying 
himself  up  to  the  chin  in  the  bed-clothes, 
he  lay  looking  at  the  fire,  and  listening 
to  the  wind,  and  thinking  how  knowingly 
he  had  come  over  his  friend  the  marquis 
for  a  night's  lodging — and  so  he  fell 
asleep. 

He  had  not  taken  above  half  of  his 
first  nap  when  he  was  awakened  by  the 
clock  of  the  chateau,  in  the  turret  over 
his  chamber,  which  struck  midnight.  It 
was  just  such  an  old  clock  as  ghosts  are 
fond  of.  It  had  a  deep,  dismal  tone,  and 
struck  so  slowly  and  tediously  that  my 
uncle  thought  it  would  never  have  done. 
He  counted  and  counted  till  he  was  con 
fident  he  counted  thirteen,  and  then  it 
stopped. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  blaze 
of  the  last  fagot  was  almost  expiring, 
burning  in  small  blue  flames,  which  now 
and  then  lengthened  up  into  little  white 
gleams.  My  uncle  lay  with  his  eyes  half 
closed,  and  his  nightcap  drawn  almost 
down  to  his  nose.  His  fancy  was  already 
wandering,  and  began  to  mingle  up  the 
present  scene  with  the  crater  of  Vesu 
vius,  the  French  Opera,  the  Coliseum  at 
Rome,  Dolly's  chop-house  in  London, 
and  all  the  farrago  of  noted  places  with 
which  the  brain  of  a  traveller  is  crammed: 
in  a  word,  he  was  just  falling  asleep. 

Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  the  sound 
of  footsteps,  that  appeared  to  be  slowly 
pacing  along  the  corridor.  My  uncle, 
as  I  have  often  heard  him  say  himself, 
was  a  man  not  easily  frightened.  So  he 
lay  quiet,  supposing  that  this  might  be 
some  other  guest,  or  some  servant  on 
his  way  to  bed.  The  footsteps,  however, 
approached  the  door;  the  door  gently 
opened ;  whether  of  its  own  accord,  or 
whether  pushed  open,  my  uncle  could 
not  distinguish :  a  figure  all  in  white 
glided  in.  It  was  a  female,  tall  and 


stately  in  person,  and  of  a  most  com 
manding  air.  Her  dress  was  of  an 
ancient  fashion,  ample  in  volume,  and 
sweeping  the  floor.  She  walked  up  to  the 
fireplace,  without  regarding  my  uncle, 
who  raised  his  nightcap  with  one  hand, 
and  stared  earnestly  at  her.  She  re 
mained  for  some  time  standing  by  the 
fire,  which,  flashing  up  at  intervals,  cast 
blue  and  white  gleams  of  light,  that  ena 
bled  my  uncle  to  remark  her  appearance 
minutely. 

Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  per 
haps  rendered  still  more  so  by  the  bluish 
light  of  the  fire.  It  possessed  beauty, 
but  its  beauty  was  saddened  by  care  and 
anxiety.  There  was  the  look  of  one 
accustomed  to  trouble,  but  of  one  whom 
trouble  could  not  cast  down  or  subdue ; 
for  there  was  still  the  predominating  air 
of  proud  unconquerable  resolution.  Such 
at  least  was  the  opinion  formed  by  my 
uncle,  and  he  considered  himself  a  great 
physiognomist. 

The  figure  remained,  as  I  said,  for 
some  time  by  the  fire,  putting  out  first 
one  hand,  then  the  other;  then  each 
foot  alternately,  as  if  warming  itself; 
for  your  ghosts,  if  ghost  it  really  was, 
are  apt  to  be  cold.  My  uncle,  further 
more,  remarked  that  it  wore  high-heeled 
shoes,  after  an  ancient  fashion,  with 
paste  or  diamond  buckles,  that  sparkled 
as  though  they  were  alive.  At  length 
the  figure  turned  gently  round,  casting  a 
glassy  look  about  the  apartment,  which, 
as  it  passed  over  my  uncle,  made  his 
blood  run  cold,  and  chilled  the  very 
marrow  in  his  bones.  It  then  stretched 
its  arms  towards  heaven,  clasped  its 
hands,  and  wringing  them  in  a  suppli 
cating  manner,  glided  slowly  out  of  the 
room. 

My  uncle  lay  for  some  time  meditating 
on  this  visitation,  for  (as  he  remarked 
when  he  told  me  the  story)  though  a 
man  of  firmness,  he  was  also  a  man  of 
reflection,  and  did  not  reject  a  thing  be 
cause  it  was  out  of  the  regular  course  of 
events.  However,  being,  as  I  have  be 
fore  said,  a  great  traveller,  and  accus 
tomed  to  strange  adventures,  he  drew 
his  nightcap  resolutely  over  his  eyes, 
turned  his  back  to  the  door,  hoisted  the 
bed-clothes  high  over  his  shoulders,  and 
gradually  fell  asleep. 


n 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


19 


How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  say, 
when  he  was  awakened  by  the  voice  of 
some  one  at  his  bedside.  Fie  turned 
round,  and  beheld  the  old  French  ser 
vant,  with  his  oarlocks  in  tight  buckles 
on  each  side  of  a  long  lantern-faqe,  on 
which  habit  had  deeply  wrinkled  an 
everlasting  smile.  He  made  a  thousand 
grimaces,  and  asked  a  thousand  pardons 
for  disturbing  Monsieur,  but  the  morning 
was  considerably  advanced.  While  my 
uncle  was  dressing,  he  called  vaguely  to 
mind  the  visiter  of  the  preceding  night. 
He  asked  the  ancient  domestic  what  lady 
was  in  the  habit  of  rambling  about  this 
part  of  the  chateau  at  night.  The  old 
valet  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  high  as 
his  head,  laid  one  hand  on  his  bosom, 
threw  open  the  other  with  every  finger 
extended,  made  a  most  whimsical  gri 
mace,  which  he  meant  to  be  compli 
mentary  : 

"  It  was  not  for  him  to  know  any  thing 
of  les  bonnes  fortunes  of  Monsieur." 

My  uncle  saw  there  was  nothing 
satisfactory  to  be  learnt  in  this  quarter. 
After  breakfast,  he  was  walking  with  the 
Marquis  through  the  modern  apartments 
of  the  chateau,  sliding  over  the  well- 
waxed  floors  of  silken  saloons,  amidst 
furniture  rich  in  gilding  and  brocade, 
until  they  came  to  a  long  picture-gallery, 
containing  many  portraits,  some  in  oil 
and  some  in  chalks. 

Here  was  an  ample  field  for  the  elo 
quence  of  his  host,  who  had  all  the  pride 
of  a  nobleman  of  the  ancien  regime. 
There  was  not  a  grand  name  in  Nor 
mandy,  and  hardly  one  in  France,  which 
was  not,  in  some  way  or  other,  con 
nected  with  his  house.  My  uncle  stood 
listening  with  inward  impatience,  resting 
sometimes  on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the 
other,  as  the  little  marquis  descanted, 
with  his  usual  fire  and  vivacity,  on  the 
achievements  of  his  ancestors,  whose 
portraits  hung  along  the  wall ;  from  the 
martial  deeds  of  the  stern  warriors  in 
steel,  to  the  gallantries  and  intrigues  of 
the  blue-eyed  gentlemen,  with  fair  smiling 
faces,  powdered  ear-locks,  laced  ruffles, 
and  pink  and  blue  silk  coats  and  breeches ; 
— not  forgetting  the  conquests  of  the  love 
ly  shepherdesses  with  hooped  petticoats 
and  waists  no  thicker  than  an  hour-glass, 
who  appeared  ruling  over  their  sheep  and 


their  swains,  with  dainty  crooks  deco 
rated  with  fluttering  ribands. 

In  the  midst  of  his  friend's  discourse, 
my  uncle  was  startled  on  beholding  a 
full-length  portrait,  which  seemed  to  him 
the  very  counterpart  of  his  visiter  of  the 
preceding  night. 

"  Methinks,"  said  he,  pointing  to  it, 
"  I  have  seen  the  original  of  this  por 
trait." 

"  Pardonnez-moi,"  replied  the  marquis 
politely,  "  that  can  hardly  be,  as  the  lady 
has  been  dead  more  than  a  hundred 
years.  That  was  the  beautiful  Duchess 
de  Longueville,  who  figured  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth." 

"  And  was  there  any  thing  remarkable 
in  her  history  ?" 

Never  was  question  more  unlucky. 
The  little  marquis  immediately  threw 
himself  into  the  attitude  of  a  man  about 
to  tell  a  long  story.  In  fact,  my  uncle 
had  pulled  upon  himself  the  whole  his 
tory  of  the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde,  in 
which  the  beautiful  duchess  had  played 
so  distinguished  a  part.  Turenne,  Co- 
ligny,  Mazarine,  were  called  up  from 
their  graves  to  grace  his  narration ;  nor 
were  the  affairs  of  the  Barricadocs,  nor 
the  chivalry  of  the  Port  Cocheres  forgot 
ten.  My  uncle  began  to  wish  himself  a 
thousand  leagues  off  from  the  marquis 
and  his  merciless  memory,  when  sud 
denly  the  little  man's  recollections  took 
a  more  interesting  turn.  He  was  relating 
the  imprisonment  of  the  Duke  de  Lon 
gueville  with  the  Princes  Conde  and 
Conti  in  the  chateau  of  Vincennes,  and 
the  ineffectual  efforts  of  the  duchess  to 
rouse  the  sturdy  Normans  to  their  rescue. 
He  had  come  to  that  part  where  she  was 
invested  by  the  royal  forces  in  the  Castle 
of  Dieppe. 

"  The  spirit  of  the  duchess,"  pro 
ceeded  the  marquis,  "  rose  with  her  trials. 
It  was  astonishing  to  see  so  delicate 
and  beautiful  a  being  buffet  so  resolutely 
with  hardships.  She  determined  on  a 
desperate  means  of  escape.  You  may 
have  seen  the  chateau  in  which  she  was 
mewed  up  ;  an  old  ragged  wart  of  an 
edifice  standing  on  the  knuckle  of  a  hill, 
just  above  the  rusty  little  town  of  Dieppe. 
One  dark  unruly  night  she  issued  se 
cretly  out  of  a  small  postern-gate  of  the 
castle,  which  the  enemy  had  neglected 


20 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


to  guard.  The  postern-gate  is  there  to 
this  very  day  ;  opening  upon  a  narrow 
bridge  over  a  deep  fosse  between  the 
castle  and  the  brow  of  the  hill.  She  was 
followed  by  her  female  attendants,  a  few 
domestics,  and  some  gallant  cavaliers, 
who  still  remained  faithful  to  her  for 
tunes.  Her  object  was  to  gain  a  small 
port  about  two  leagues  distant,  where 
she  had  privately  provided  a  vessel  for 
her  escape  in  case  of  emergency. 

"  The  little  band  of  fugitives  were 
obliged  to  perform  the  distance  on  foot. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  port  the  wind 
was  high  and  stormy,  the  tide  contrary, 
the  vessel  anchored  far  off  in  the  road  ; 
and  no  means  of  getting  on  board  but  by 
a  fishing  shallop  that  lay  tossing  like  a 
cockle-shell  on  the  edge  of  the  surf.  The 
duchess  determined  to  risk  the  attempt. 
The  seamen  endeavoured  to  dissuade  her, 
but  the  imminence  of  her  danger  on 
shore,  and  the  magnanimity  of  her  spirit, 
urged  her  on.  She  had  to  be  borne  to  the 
shallop  in  the  arms  of  a  mariner.  Such 
was  the  violence  of  the  winds  and  waves 
that  he  faltered,  lost  his  foothold,  and 
let  his  precious  burthen  fall  into  the  sea. 

"  The  duchess  was  nearly  drowned, 
but  partly  through  her  own  struggles, 
partly  by  the  exertions  of  the  seamen, 
she  got  to  land.  As  soon  as  she  had  a 
little  recovered  strength,  she  insisted  on 
renewing  the  attempt.  The  storm,  how 
ever,  had  by  this  time  become  so  violent 
as  to  set  all  efforts  at  defiance.  To 
delay,  was  to  be  discovered  and  taken 
prisoner.  As  the  only  resource  left,  she 
procured  horses,  mounted,  with  her  fe 
male  attendants,  en  croupe  behind  the 
gallant  gentlemen  who  accompanied  her, 
and  scoured  the  country  to  seek  some 
temporary  asylum. 

"  While  the  duchess,"  continued  the 
marquis,  laying  his  forefinger  on  my 
uncle's  breast  to  arouse  his  flagging  at 
tention,  "  while  the  duchess,  poor  lady, 
was  wandering  amid  the  tempest  in  this 
disconsolate  manner,  she  arrived  at  this 
chateau.  Her  approach  caused  some 
uneasiness ;  for  the  clattering  of  a  troop 
of  horse  at  dead  of  night  up  the  avenue 
of  a  lonely  chateau,  in  those  unsettled 
times,  and  in  a  troubled  part  of  the  coun 
try,  was  enough  to  occasion  alarm. 

"  A   tall,   broad-shouldered   chasseur, 


armed  to  the  teeth,  galloped  ahead,  and 
I  announced  the  name  of  the  visiter.     All  j 
I  uneasiness  was   dispelled.     The   house- 
!  hold  turned  out  with  flambeaux  to  re 
ceive  her ;  and  never  did  torches  gleam 
on  a  more  weatherbeaten,  travel-stained 
band  than  came  tramping  into  the  court. 
Such    pale,    care-worn   faces,  such    be 
draggled   dresses,  as  the  poor  duchess 
and  her  females  presented,  each  seated 
behind    her   cavalier :    while    the    half- 
drenched,  half-drowsy  pages  and  atten 
dants   seemed-  ready  to  fall  from  their 
horses  with  sleep  and  fatigue. 

"  The  duchess  was  received  with  a 
hearty  welcome  by  my  ancestor.  She 
was  ushered  into  the  hall  of  the  chateau, 
and  the  fires  soon  crackled  and  blazed, 
to  cheer  her  and  her  train  ;  and  every 
spit  and  stewpan  was  put  in  requisition 
to  prepare  ample  refreshments  for  the 
wayfarers. 

"  She  had  a  right  to  our  hospitalities," 
continued  the  marquis,  drawing  himself 
up  with  a  slight  degree  of  stateliness, 
"  for  she  was  related  to  our  family.  I'll 
tell  you  how  it  was.  Her  father,  Henry 
de  Bourbon,  Prince  of  Conde " 

"  But,  did  the  Duchess  pass  the  night 
in  the  chateau?"  said  my  uncle  rather 
abruptly,  terrified  at  the  idea  of  getting 
involved  in  one  of  the  marquis's  genea 
logical  discussions. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  duchess,  she  was  put 
into  the  very  apartment  you  occupied 
last  night,  which  at  that  time  was  a  kind 
of  state-apartment.  Her  followers  we-re 
quartered  in  the  chambers  opening  upon 
the  neighbouring  corridor,  and  her  fa 
vourite  page  slept  in  an  adjoining  closet. 
Up  and  down  the  corridor  walked  the 
great  chasseur  who  had  announced  her 
arrival,  and  who  acted  as  a  kind  of  sen 
tinel  or  guard.  He  was  a  dark,  stern, 
powerful-looking  fellow  ;  and  as  the  light 
of  a  lamp  in  the  corridor  fell  upon  his 
deeply-marked  face  and  sinewy  form,  he 
seemed  capable  of  defending  the  castle 
with  his  single  arm. 

"  It  was  a  rough,  rude  night ;  about 
this  time  of  year — apropos  ! — now  I 
think  of  it,  last  night  was  the  anniversary 
of  her  visit.  I  may  well  remember  the 
precise  date,  for  it  was  a  night  not  to  be 
forgotten  by  our  house.  There  is  a  sin 
gular  tradition  concerning  it  in  our  fami- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


21 


ly."  Here  the  marquis  hesitated,  and  a 
cloud  seemed  to  gather  about  his  bushy 
eyebrows.  "  There  is  a  tradition — that  a 
strange  occurrence  took  place  that  night 
— a  strange,  mysterious,  inexplicable  oc 
currence — "  Here  he  checked  himself, 
and  paused. 

"  Did  it  relate  to  that  lady  ?"  inquired 
my  uncle  eagerly. 

"  It  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight," 
resumed  the  marquis, — "  when  the  whole 

chateau "     Here  he   paused  again. 

My  uncle  made  a  movement  of  anxious 
curiosity. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  marquis,  a 
slight  blush  streaking  his  sallow  visage. 
"  There  are  some  circumstances  con 
nected  with  our  family  history  which  I 
do  not  like  to  relate.  That  was  a  rude 
period.  A  time  of  great  crimes  among 
great  men  :  for  you  know  high  blood, 
when  it  runs  wrong,  will  not  run  tamely 
like  blood  of  the  canaille — poor  lady  ! — 
But  I  have  a  little  family  pride — that — 
excuse  me — we  will  change  the  subject, 
if  you  please — " 

My  uncle's  curiosity  was  piqued.  The 
pompous  and  magnificent  introduction 
had  led  him  to  expect  something  won 
derful  in  the  story  to  which  it  served  as 
a  kind  of  avenue.  He  had  no  idea  of 
being  cheated  out  of  it  by  a  sudden  fit  of 
unreasonable  squeamishness.  Besides, 
being  a  traveller  in  quest  of  information, 
he  considered  it  his  duty  to  inquire  into 
every  thing. 

The  marquis,  however,  evaded  every 
question.  "  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  a 
little  petulantly,  "  whatever  you  may 
think  of  it,  I  saw  that  lady  last  night." 

The  marquis  stepped  back  and  gazed 
at  him  with  surprise. 

"  She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  chamber." 

The  marquis  pulled  out  his  snuff-box 
with  a  shrug  and  a  smile ;  taking  this 
no  doubt  for  an  awkward  piece  of  English 
pleasantry,  which  politeness  required  him 
to  be  charmed  with. 

My  uncle  went  on  gravely,  however, 
and  related  the  whole  circumstance.  The 
marquis  heard  him  through  with  pro- 
|  found  attention,  holding  his  snuff-box 
unopened  in  his  hand.  When  the  story 
was  finished,  he  tapped  on  the  lid^of  his 
box  deliberately,  took  a  long,  sonorous 
pinch  of  snuff 


"  Bah  !"  said  the  Marquis,  and  walked 
towards  the  other  end  of  the  gallery. 

Here  the  narrator  paused.  The  com 
pany  waited  for  some  time  for  him  to 
resume  his  narration ;  but  he  continued 
silent. 

"  Well,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentle 
man — "  and  what  did  your  uncle  say 
then?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  other. 

"  And  what  did  the  marquis  say  fur 
ther?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?" 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  narrator,  filling 
a  glass  of  wine. 

"  I  surmise,"  said  the  shrewd  old  gen 
tleman  with  the  waggish  nose,  "  I  sur 
mise  the  ghost  must  have  been  the  old 
housekeeper  walking  her  rounds  to  see 
that  all  was  right." 

"  Bah  !"  said  the  narrator.  "  My  uncle 
was  too  much  accustomed  to  strange 
sights  not  to  know  a  ghost  from  a  house 
keeper  !" 

There  was  a  murmur  round  the  table 
half  of  merriment,  half  of  disappointment. 
I  was  inclined  to  think  the  old  gentle 
man  had  really  an  afler-part  of  his  story 
in  reserve ;  but  he  sipped  his  wine  and 
said  nothing  more  ;  and  there  was  an 
odd  expression  about  his  dilapidated 
countenance  that  left  me  in  doubt  whe 
ther  he  were  in  drollery  or  earnest. 

"  Egad,"  said  the  knowing  gentleman, 
with  the  flexible  nose,  "  the  story  of  your 
uncle  puts  me  in  mind  of  one  that  used 
to  be  told  of  an  aunt  of  mine,  by  the 
mother's  side  ;  though  I  don't  know  that 
it  will  bear  a  comparison,  as  the  good 
lady  was  not  so  prone  to  meet  with 
strange  adventures.  But  at  any  rate  you 
shall  have  it." 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 

MY  aunt  was  a  lady  of  large  frame, 
strong  mind,  and  great  resolution :  she 
was  what  might  be  termed  a  very  manly 
woman.  My  uncle  was  a  thin,  puny, 
little  man,  very  meek  and  acquiescent, 
and  no  match  for  my  aunt.  It  was  ob 
served  that  he  dwindled  and  dwindled 
gradually  away,  from  the  day  of  his 


22 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


marriage.  His  wife's  powerful  mind  was 
too  much  for  him ;  it  wore  him  out.  My 
aunt,  however,  took  all  possible  care  of 
him ;  had  half  the  doctors  in  town  to 
prescribe  for  him;  made  him  take  all 
their  prescriptions,  and  dosed  him  with 
physic  enough  to  cure  a  whole  hospital. 
All  was  in  vain.  My  uncle  grew  worse 
and  worse  the  more  dosing  and  nursing 
he  underwent,  until  in  the  end  he  added 
another  to  the  long  list  of  matrimonial 
victims  who  have  been  killed  with  kind 
ness. 

«*  And  was  it  his  ghost  that  appeared 
to  her?"  asked  the  inquisitive  gentleman, 
who  had  questioned  the  former  story 
teller. 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  the  nar 
rator.  My  aunt  took  on  mightily  for 
the  death  of  her  poor  dear  husband. 
Perhaps  she  felt  some  compunction  at 
having  given  him  so  much  physic,  and 
nursed  him  into  his  grave.  At  any  rate, 
she  did  all  that  a  widow  could  do  to  ho 
nour  his  memory.  She  spared  no  ex 
pense  in  either  the  quantity  or  quality  of 
her  mourning  weeds  ;  she  wore  a  minia 
ture  of  him  about  her  neck  as  large  as  a 
little  sun-dial ;  and  she  had  a  full-length 
portrait  of  him  always  hanging  in  her 
bedchamber.  All  the  world  extolled  her 
conduct  to  the  skies ;  and  it  was  deter 
mined  that  a  woman  who  behaved  so 
well  to  the  memory  of  one  husband  de 
served  soon  to  get  another. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  she 
went  to  take  up  her  residence  in  an  old 
country-seat  in  Derbyshire,  which  had 
long  been  in  the  care  of  merely  a  steward 
and  housekeeper,  She  took  most  of  her 
servants  with  her,  intending  to  make  it 
her  principal  abode.  The  house  stood 
in  a  lonely,  wild  part  of  the  country, 
among  the  gray  Derbyshire  hills,  with  a 
murderer  hanging  in  chains  on  a  bleak 
height  in  full  view. 

The  servants  from  town  were  half 
frightened  out  of  their  wits  at  the  idea  of 
living  in  such  a  dismal,  pagan-looking 
place  ;  especially  when  they  got  together 
in  the  servants'  hall  in  the  evening,  and 
compared  notes  on  all  the  hobgoblin 
stories  they  had  picked  up  in  the  course 
of  the  day.  They  were  afraid  to  ven 
ture  alone  about  the  gloomy,  black-look 
ing  chambers.  My  lady's  maid,  who 


was  troubled  with  nerves,  declared  she 
could  never  sleep  alone  in  such  a  "  gashly 
rummaging  old  building  ;"  and  the  foot 
man,  who  was  a  kind-hearted  young 
fellow,  did  all  in  his  power  to  cheer  her 
up. 

My  aunt  herself  seemed  to  be  struck 
with  the  lonely  appearance  of  the  house. 
Before  she  went  to  bed,  therefore,  she 
examined  well  the  fastenings  of  the  doors 
and  windows ;  locked  up  the  plate  with 
her  own  hands,  and  carried  the  keys, 
together  with  a  little  box  of  money  and 
jewels,  to  her  own  room  ;  for  she  was  a 
notable  woman,  and  always  saw  to  all 
things  herself.  Having  put  the  keys 
under  her  pillow,  and  dismissed  her 
maid,  she  sat  by  her  toilet  arranging  her 
hair ;  for  being,  in  spite  of  her  grief  for 
my  uncle,  rather  a  buxom  widow,  she 
was  somewhat  particular  about  her  per 
son.  She  sat  for  a  little  while  looking 
at  her  face  in  the  glass,  first  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other,  as  ladies  are  apt  to  do 
when  they  would  ascertain  whether  they 
have  been  in  good  looks ;  for  a  roister 
ing  country  squire  of  the  neighbourhood, 
with  whom  she  had  flirted  when  a  girl, 
had  called  that  day  to  welcome  her  to 
the  country. 

All  of  a  sudden  she  thought  she  heard 
something  move  behind  her»  She  looked 
hastily  round,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen.  Nothing  but  the  grimly  painted 
portrait  of  her  poor  dear  man,  which  had 
been  hung  against  the  wall. 

She  gave  a  heavy  sigh  to  his  memory, 
as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  whenever 
she  spoke  of  him  in  company,  and  then 
went  on  adjusting  her  night-dress,  and 
thinking  of  the  squire.  Her  sigh  was  re 
echoed,  or  answered  by  a  long-drawn 
breath.  She  looked  round  again,  but  no 
one  was  to  be  seen.  She  ascribed  these 
sounds  to  the  wind  oozing  through  the 
rat-holes  of  the  old  mansion,  and  pro 
ceeded  leisurely  to  put  her  hair  in  papers, 
when  all  at  once,  she  thought  she  per 
ceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the  portrait 
move. 

"  The  back  of  her  head  being  toward 
it !"  said  the  story-teller  with  the  ruined 
head,  ««  good !" 

"  Yes,  sir !"  replied  drily  the  narra 
tor;  "  her  back  being  toward  the  portrait, 
but  her  eyes  fixed  on  its  reflection  in  the 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


glass."  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  she 
perceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the  portrait 
move.  So  strange  a  circumstance,  as 
you  may  well  suppose,  gave  her  a  sudden 
shock.  To  assure  herself  of  the  fact, 
she  put  one  hand  to  her  forehead  as  if 
rubbing  it,  peeped  through  her  ringers, 
and  moved  the  candle  with  the  other 
hand.  The  light  of  the  taper  gleamed 
on  the  eye,  and  was  reflected  from  it. 
She  was  sure  it  moved.  Nay  more,  it 
seemed  to  give  her  a  wink,  as  she  had 
sometimes  known  her  husband  to  do 
when  living !  It  struck  a  momentary 
chill  to  her  heart ;  for  she  was  a  lone 
woman,  and  felt  herself  fearfully  situated. 
The  chill  was  but  transient.  My  aunt, 
who  was  almost  as  resolute  a  personage 
as  your  uncle,  sir  [turning  to  the  old 
story-teller],  became  instantly  calm  and 
collected.  She  went  on  adjusting  her 
dress.  She  even  hummed  an  air,  and 
did  not  make  a  single  false  note.  She 
casually  overturned  a  dressing-box  ;  took 
a  candle  and  picked  up  the  articles  one 
by  one  from  the  floor ;  pursued  a  rolling 
pincushion  that  was  making  the  best  of 
its  way  under  the  bed ;  then  opened  the 
door  ;  looked  for  an  instant  into  the  cor 
ridor,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  go  ;  and 
then  walked  quietly  out. 

She  hastened  down  stairs,  ordered  the 
servants  to  arm  themselves  with  the 
weapons  that  first  came  to  hand,  placed 
herself  at  their  head,  and  returned  almost 
immediately. 

Her  hastily-levied  army  presented  a 
formidable  force.  The  steward  had  a 
rusty  blunderbuss,  the  coachman  a  load 
ed  whip,  the  footman  a  pair  of  horse- 
pistols,  the  cook  a  huge  chopping-knife, 
and  the  butler  a  bottle  in  each  hand. 
My  aunt  led  the  van  with  a  red-hot 
poker,  and  in  my  opinion,  she  was  the 
most  formidable  of  the  party.  The  wait 
ing-maid,  who  dreaded  to  stay  alone  in 
the  servants'  hall,  brought  up  the  rear, 
smelling  to  a  broken  bottle  of  volatile 
salts,  and  expressing  her  terror  of  the 
ghosteses. 

"  Ghosts !"  said  my  aunt  resolutely. 
"  I'll  singe  their  whiskers  for  them  !" 

They  entered  the  chamber.  All  was 
still  and  undisturbed  as  when  she  had 
left  it.  They  approached  the  portrait  of 
mv  uncle. 


"  Pull  me  down  that  picture !"  cried 
my  aunt.  A  heavy  groan,  and  a  sound 
like  the  chattering  of  teeth,  issued  from 
the  portrait.  The  servants  shrunk  back  ; 
the  maid  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  clung 
to  the  footman  for  support. 

"  Instantly !"  added  my  aunt,  with  a 
stamp  of  the  foot. 

The  picture  was  pulled  down,  and  from 
a  recess  behind  it,  in  which  had  formerly 
stood  a  clock,  they  hauled  forth  a  round- 
shouldered,  black-bearded  varlet,  with  a 
knife  as  long  as  my  arm,  but  trembling 
all  over  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Well,  and  who  was  he?  No  ghost, 
I  suppose,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentle 
man. 

"  A  Knight  of  the  Post,"  replied  the 
narrator,  ««  who  had  been  smitten  with 
the  worth  of  the  wealthy  widow ;  or 
rather  a  marauding  Tarquin,  who  had 
stolen  into  her  chamber  to  violate  her 
purse,  and  rifle  her  strong-box,  when  all 
the  house  should  be  asleep.  In  plain 
terms,"  continued  he,  "the  vagabond 
was  a  loose  idle  fellow  of  the  neighbour 
hood,  who  had  once  been  a  servant  in 
the  house,  and  had  been  employed  to 
assist  in  arranging  it  for  the  reception  of 
its  mistress.  He  confessed  that  he  had 
contrived  this  hiding-place  for  his  nefa 
rious  purposes,  and  had  borrowed  an  eye 
from  the  portrait  by  way  of  a  reconnoi 
tring-hole." 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  him  ? — 
did  they  hang  him?"  resumed  the  ques 
tioner. 

"  Hang  him ! — how  could  they  ?"  ex 
claimed  a  beetle-browed  barrister,  with 
a  hawk's  nose.  "  The  offence  was  not 
capital.  No  robbery,  no  assault  had  been 
committed.  No  forcible  entry  or  break 
ing  into  the  premises." 

"  My  aunt,"  said  the  narrator,  "  was 
a  woman  of  spirit,  and  apt  to  take  the 
law  in  her  own  hands.  She  had  her 
own  notions  of  cleanliness  also.  She 
ordered  the  fellow  to  be  drawn  through 
the  horse-pond,  to  cleanse  away  all 
offences,  and  then  to  be  well  rubbed 
down  with  an  oaken  towel." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  after 
wards  ?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 
"  I  do  not  exactly  know.  I  believe  he 
was  sent  on  a  voyage  of  improvement  to 
Botany  Bay." 


24 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  And  your  aunt,"  said  the  inquisitive 
gentleman ;  "  I'll  warrant  she  took  care 
to  make  her  maid  sleep  in  the  room  with 
her  after  that." 

"  No,  sir,  she  did  better ;  she  gave  her 
hand  shortly  after  to  the  roistering  squire ; 
for  she  used  to  observe,  that  it  was  a 
dismal  thing  for  a  woman  to  sleep  alone 
in  the  country." 

"  She  was  right,"  observed  the  inqui 
sitive  gentleman,  nodding  sagaciously; 
"  but  I  am  sorry  they  did  not  hang  that 
fellow." 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the 
last  narrator  had  brought  his  tale  to  the 
most  satisfactory  conclusion,  though  a 
country  clergyman  present  regretted  that 
the  uncle  and  aunt,  who  figured  in  the 
different  stories,  had  not  been  married 
together  :  they  certainly  would  have  been 
well  matched. 

"  But  I  don't  see,  after  all,"  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman,  "  that  there  was 
any  ghost  in  this  last  story." 

"  Oh  !  if  it's  ghosts  you  want,  honey," 
cried  the  Irish  Captain  of  Dragoons,  "  if 
it's  ghosts  you  want,  you  shall  have  a 
whole  regiment  of  them.  And  since 
these  gentlemen  have  given  the  adven 
tures  of  their  uncles  and  aunts,  faith  and 
I'll  even  give  you  a  chapter  out  of  my 
own  family  history." 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON  ; 

OR,   THE 

ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER. 

MY  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon, 
for  it's  a  profession,  d'ye  see,  that  has 
run  in  the  family.  All  my  forefathers 
have  been  dragoons,  and  died  on  the 
field  of  honour,  except  myself,  and  I 
hope  my  posterity  may  be  able  to  say 
the  same ;  however,  I  don't  mean  to  be 
vainglorious.  Weil,  my  grandfather, 
as  I  said,  was  a  bold  dragoon,  and  had 
served  in  the  Low  Countries.  In  fact, 
he  was  one  of  that  very  army,  which, 
according  to  my  uncle  Toby,  swore  so 
terribly  in  Flanders.  He  could  swear  a 
good  stick  himself;  and  moreover  was 
the  very  man  that  introduced  the  doc 
trine  Corporal  Trim  mentions  of  radical 


heat  and  radical  moisture  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  the  mode  of  keeping  out  the 
damps  of  ditch-water  by  burnt  brandy. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it's  nothing  to  the 
purport  of  my  story.  I  only  tell  it  to 
show  you  that  my  grandfather  was  a 
man  not  easily  to  be  humbugged.  He 


had  seen  service,  or, 


according  to 


his 


own  phrase,  he  had  seen  the  devil — and 
that's  saying  every  thing. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was 
on  his  way  to  England,  for  which  he 
intended  to  embark  from  Ostend — bad 
luck  to  the  place !  for  one  where  I  was 
kept  by  storms  and  head-winds  for  three 
long  days,  and  the  devil  of  a  jolly  com 
panion  or  pretty  face  to  comfort  me. 
Well,  as  I  was  saying,  my  grandfather 
was  on  his  way  to  England,  or  rather  to 
Ostend — no  matter  which,  it's  all  the 
same.  So  one  evening,  towards  night 
fall,  he  rode  jollity  into  Bruges — very 
like  you  all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen ;  a 
queer  old-fashioned  Flemish  town,  once, 
they  say,  a  great  place  for  trade  and 
money-making  in  old  times,  when  the 
Mynheers  were  in  their  glory ;  but  al 
most  as  large  and  as  empty  as  an  Irish 
man's  pocket  at  the  present  day.  Well, 
gentlemen,  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  an 
nual  fair.  All  Bruges  was  crowded ; 
and  the  canals  swarmed  with  Dutch 
boats,  and  the  streets  swarmed  with 
Dutch  merchants  ;  and  there  was  hardly 
any  getting  along  for  goods,  wares, 
and  merchandises,  and  peasants  in  big 
breeches,  and  women  in  half  a  score  of 
petticoats. 

My  grandfather  rode  jollily  along,  in 
his  easy  slashing  way,  for  he  was  a 
saucy  sunshiny  fellow, — staring  about 
him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and  the  old 
houses  with  gable-ends  to  the  street,  and 
storks'  nests  on  the  chimneys ;  winking 
at  the  yafrows  who  showed  their  faces 
at  the  windows,  and  joking  the  women 
right,  and  left  in  the  street ;  all  of  whom 
laughed,  and  took  it  in  amazing  good 
part;  for  though  he  did  not  know  a 
word  of  the  language,  yet  he  had  always 
a  knack  of  making  himself  understood 
among  the  women. 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of 
the  annual  fair,  all  the  town  was  crowded, 
every  inn  and  tavern  full,  and  my  grand 
father  applied  in  vain  from  one  to  the 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


25 


other  for  admittance.  At  length  he  rode 
up  to  an  old  rackety  inn  that  looked  ready 
to  fall  to  pieces,  and  which  all  the  rats 
would  have  run  away  from  if  they  could 
have  found  room  in  any  other  house  to 
put  their  heads.  It  was  just  such  a  queer 
building  as  you  see  in  Dutch  pictures, 

|  with  a  tall  roof  that  reached  up  into  the 
clouds,  and  as  many  garrets,  one  over  the 

|  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of  Mahomet. 
Nothing  had  saved  it  from  tumbling  down 
but  a  stork's  nest  on  the  chimney,  which 
always  brings  good  luck  to  a  house  in 
the  Low  Countries ;  and  at  the  very  time 
of  my  grandfather's  arrival  there  were 
two  of  these  long-legged  birds  of  grace 
standing  like  ghosts  on  the  chimney-top. 
Faith,  but  they've  kept  the  house  on  its 
legs  to  this  very  day,  for  you  may  see  it 
any  time  you  pass  through  Bruges,  as  it 
stands  there  yet ;  only  it  is  turned  into  a 
brewery  of  strong  Flemish  beer, — at  least 
it  was  so  when  I  came  that  way  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curi 
ously  as  he  approached.  It  might  not 
have  altogether  struck  his  fancy,  had  he 
not  seen  in  large  letters  over  the  door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK. 

My  grandfather  had  learned  enough  of 
the  language  to  know  that  the  sign  pro 
mised  good  liquor.  "  This  is  the  house 
for  me,"  said  he,  stopping  short  before 
the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing 
dragoon  was  an  event  in  an  old  inn, 
frequented  only  by  the  peaceful  sons  of 
traffic.  A  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  a 
stately  ample  man  in  a  broad  Flemish 
hat,  and  who  was  the  great  man,  and 
great  patron  of  the  establishment,  sat 
smoking  a  clean  long  pipe  on  one  side  of 
the  door ;  a  fat  little  distiller  of  Geneva, 
from  Schiedam,  sat  smoking  on  the  other  ; 
and  the  bottle-nosed  host  stood  in  the 
door  ;  and  the  comely  hostess,  in  crimped 
cap,  beside  him  :  and  the  hostess's  daugh 
ter,  a  plump  Flanders  lass,  with  long 
'  gold  pendants  in  her  ears,  was  at  a  side 
window. 

"  Humph !"  said  the  rich  burgher  of 
Antwerp,  with  a  sulky  glance  at  the 
stranger. 

"  Die  duyvel !"  said  the  fat  little  dis 
tiller  of  Schiedam. 

VOL.  ii.  3 


The  landlord  saw,  with  the  quick 
glance  of  a  publican,  that  the  new  guest 
was  not  at  all  at  all  to  the  taste  of  the 
old  ones  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did 
not  himself  like  my  grandfather's  saucy 
eye.  He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a  garret 
in  the  house  but  was  full." 

"  Not  a  garret !"  echoed  the  landlady. 

"  Not  a  garret !"  echoed  the  daughter. 

The  burgher  of  Antwerp,  and  the  little 
distiller  of  Schiedam,  continued  to  smoke 
their  pipes  sullenly,  eyeing  the  enemy 
askance  from  under  their  broad  hats,  but 
said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be 
brow-beaten.  He  threw  the  reins  on  his 
horse's  neck,  cocked  his  head  on  one  side, 
stuck  one  arm  a-kimbo,  "  Faith  and 
troth !"  said  he,  "  but  I'll  sleep  in  this 
house  this  very  night."  As  he  said  this 
he  gave  a  slap  on  his  thigh,  by  way  of 
emphasis — the  slap  went  to  the  landlady's 
heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  off 
his  horse,  and  making  his  way  past  the 
staring  Mynheers  into  the  public  room. 
Maybe  you've  been  in  the  bar-room  of  an 
old  Flemish  inn — faith,  but  a  handsome 
chamber  it  was  as  you'd  wish  to  see ; 
with  a  brick  floor,  and  a  great  fireplace, 
with  the  whole  Bible  history  in  glazed 
tiles  ;  and  then  the  mantel-piece,  pitching 
itself  head  foremost  out  of  the  wall,  with 
a  whole  regiment  of  cracked  teapots 
and  earthen  jugs  paraded  on  it ;  not  to 
mention  half  a  dozen  great  Delft  platters, 
hung  about  the  room  by  way  of  pictures  ; 
and  the  little  bar  in  one  corner,  and  the 
bouncing  bar-maid  inside  of  it,  with  a 
red  calico  cap  and  yellow  ear-drops. 

My  grandfather  snapped  his  fingers 
over  his  head,  as  he  cast  an  eye  round 
the  room — "  Faith  this  is  the  very  house 
I've  been  looking  after,"  said  he. 

There  was  some  further  show  of  re 
sistance  on  the  part  of  the  garrison  ;  but 
my  grandfather  was  an  old  soldier,  and 
an  Irishman  to  boot,  and  not  easily  re 
pulsed,  especially  after  he  had  got  into 
the  fortress.  So  he  blarneyed  the  land 
lord,  kissed  the  landlord's  wife,  tickled 
the  landlord's  daughter,  chucked  the  bar 
maid  under  the  chin  ;  and  it  was  agreed 
on  all  hands  that  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities,  and  a  burning  shame  into  the 
bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold  dragoon  into 


26 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


the  streets.  So  they  laid  their  heads  j 
together,  that  is  to  say,  my  grandfather  j 
and  the  landlady,  and  it  was  at  length  j 
agreed  to  accommodate  him  with  an  old  j 
chamber  that  had  been  for  some  time  I 
shut  up. 

"  Some  say  it's  haunted,"  whispered  j 
the  landlord's  daughter  ;  "  but  you  are  a  I 
bold  dragoon,  and  I  dare  say  don't  fear  j 
ghosts." 

"  The  divil  a  bit !"  said  my  grand 
father,  pinching  her  plump  cheek.  "  But 
if  I  should  be  troubled  by  ghosts,  I've 
been  to  the  Red  Sea  in  my  time,  and 
have  a  pleasant  way  of  laying  them,  my 
darling." 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to 
the  girl  which  made  her  laugh,  and  give 
him  a  good-humoured  box  on  the  ear. 
In  short,  there  was  nobody  knew  better 
how  to  make  his  way  among  the  petticoats 
than  my  grandfather. 

In  a  little  while,  as  was  his  usual  way, 
he  took  complete  possession  of  the  house, 
swaggering  all  over  it ;  into  the  stable  to 
look  after  his  horse,  into  the  kitchen  to 
look  after  his  supper.  Fie  had  something 
to  say  or  do  with  every  one ;  smoked  with 
the  Dutchmen,  drank  with  the  Germans, 
slapped  the  landlord  on  the  shoulder, 
romped  with  his  daughter  and  the  bar 
maid  : — never,  since  the  days  of  Alley 
Croaker,  had  such  a  rattling  blade  been 
seen.  The  landlord  stared  at  him  with 
astonishment ;  the  landlord's  daughter 
hung  her  head  and  giggled  whenever  he 
came  near ;  and  as  he  swaggered  along 
the  corridor,  with  his  sword  trailing  by 
his  side,  the  maids  looked  after  him,  and 
whispered  to  one  another,  "  What  a 
proper  man  !" 

At  supper,  rny  grandfather  took  com 
mand  of  the  table-d'hote  as  though  he 
had  been  at  home  ;  helped  every  body, 
not  forgetting  himself;  talked  with  every 
one,  whether  he  understood  their  lan 
guage  or  not ;  and  made  his  way  into 
the  intimacy  of  the  rich  burgher  of 
Antwerp,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
be  sociable  with  any  one  during  his  life. 
In  fact,  he  revolutionized  the  whole  es 
tablishment,  and  gave  it  such  a  rouse 
that  the  very  house  reeled  with  it.  He 
outsat  every  one  at  table  excepting  the 
little  fat  distiller  of  Schiedam,  who  sat 
soaking  a  long  time  before  he  broke  forth ; 


but  when  he  did,  he  was  a  very  devil 
incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affection 
for  my  grandfather  ;  so  they  sat  drinking 
and  smoking,  and  telling  stories,  and 
singing  Dutch  and  Irish  songs,  without 
understanding  a  word  each  other  said, 
until  the  little  Hollander  was  fairly 
swamped  with  his  own  gin  and  water, 
and  carried  off  to  bed,  whooping  and 
hiccuping,  and  trolling  the  burthen  of  a 
Low  Dutch  love-song. 

Welt,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was 
shown  to  his  quarters  up  a  large  stair 
case,  composed  of  loads  of  hewn  timber; 
and  through  long  rigmarole  passages, 
hung  with  blackened  paintings  of  fish, 
and  fruit,  and  game,  and  country  frolics, 
and  huge  kitchens,  and  portly  burgo 
masters,  such  as  you  see  about  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  inns,  till  at  length  he 
arrived  at  his  room. 

An  old-times  chamber  it  was,  sure 
enough,  and  crowded  with  all  kinds  of 
trumpery.  It  looked  like  an  infirmary 
for  decayed  and  superannuated  furniture, 
whe*re  every  thing  diseased  or  disabled 
was  sent  to  nurse  or  to  be  forgotten.  Or 
rather  it  might  be  taken  for  a  general 
congress  of  old  legitimate  movables, 
where  every  kind  and  country  had  a  re 
presentative.  No  two  chairs  were  alike. 
Such  high  backs  and  low  backs,  and 
leather  bottoms,  and  worsted  bottoms, 
and  straw  bottoms,  and  no  bottoms  ;  and 
cracked  marble  tables  with  curiously- 
carved  legs,  holding  balls  in  their  claws, 
as  though  they  were  going  to  play  at 
nine-pins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the 
motley  assemblage  as  he  entered,  and, 
having  undressed  himself,  placed  his  light 
in  the  fireplace,  asking  pardon  of  the 
tongs,  which  seemed  to  be  making  love 
to  the  shovel  in  the  chimney-corner,  and 
whispering  soft  nonsense  in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  by  this 
time  sound  asleep,  for  your  Mynheers 
are  huge  sleepers.  The  housemaids, 
one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning  to  their 
attics,  and  not  a  female  head  in  the  inn 
was  laid  on  a  pillow  that  night  without 
dreaming  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  his  part,  got  into 
bed,  and  drew  over  him  one  of  those 
great  bags  of  down,  under  which  they 
smother  a  man  in  the  Low  Countries ; 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


27 


and  there  he  lay,  melting  between  two 
feather-beds,  like  an  anchovy  sandwich 
between  two  slices  of  toast  and  butter. 
He  was  a  warm-complexioned  man,  and 
this  smothering  played  the  very  deuce 
with  him.  So,  sure  enough,  in  a  little 
time  it  seemed  as  if  a  legion  of  imps  .were 
twitching  at  him,  and  all  the  blood  in  his 
veins  was  in  a  fever  heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the 
house  was  quiet,  excepting  the  snoring  of 
the  Mynheers  from  the  different  cham 
bers  ;  who  answered  one  another  in  all 
kinds  of  tones  and  cadences,  like  so  many 
bull-frogs  in  a  swamp.  The  quieter  the 
house  became,  the  more  unquiet  became 
my  grandfather.  He  waxed  warmer  and 
warmer,  until  at  length  the  bed  became 
too  hot  to  hold  him. 

"  Maybe  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too 
much  ?"  said  the  curious  gentleman,  in 
quiringly. 

"  I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied 
the  Irishman — "  But,  be  that  as  it  may, 
it  grew  too  hot  for  my  grandfather." 

"  Faith,  there's  no  standing  this  any 
longer,"  says  he.  So  he  jumped  out  of 
bed,  and  went  strolling  about  the  house. 

"  What  for  ]"  said  the  inquisitive  gen 
tleman. 

"  Why  to  cool  himself,  to  be  sure — or 
perhaps  to  find  a  more  comfortable  bed — 
or  perhaps — But  no  matter  what  he  went 
for — he  never  mentioned — and  there's 
no  use  in  taking  up  our  time  in  con 
jecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for 
some  time  absent  from  his  room,  and  was 
returning,  perfectly  cool,  when  just  as  he 
reached  the  door  he  heard  a  strange 
noise  within.  He  paused  and  listened. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  one  were  trying  to 
hum  a  tune  in  defiance  of  the  asthma. 
He  recollected  the  report  of  the  room 
being  haunted ;  but  he  was  no  believer  in 
ghosts,  so  he  pushed  the  door  gently 
open  and  peeped  in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol 
carrying  on  within  enough  to  have  as 
tonished  St.  Anthony  himself.  By  the 
light  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen- 
faced  fellow  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and 
a  tall  white  nightcap  with  a  tassel  to  it, 
who  sat  by  the  fire  with  a  bellows  under 
his  arm  by  way  of  bagpipe,  from  which 
he  forced  the  asthmatical  music  that  had 


bothered  my  grandfather.  As  he  played, 
too,  he  kept  twitching  about  with  a 
thousand  queer  contortions,  nodding  his 
head,  and  bobbing  about  his  tasselled 
nightcap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  very  odd 
and  mighty  presumptuous,  and  was  about 
to  demand  what  business  he  had  to  play 
his  wind-instrument  in  another  gentle 
man's  quarters,  when  a  new  cause  of 
astonishment  met  his  eye.  From  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  a  long-backed, 
bandy-legged  chair  covered  with  leather, 
and  studded  all  over  in  a  coxcombical 
fashion  with  little  brass  nails,  got  sud 
denly  into  motion,  thrust  out  first  a  claw 
foot,  then  a  crooked  arm,  and  at  length, 
making  a  leg,  slided  gracefully  up  to  an 
easy  chair  of  tarnished  brocade,  with  a 
hole  in  its  bottom,  and  led  it  gallantly 
out  in  a  ghostly  minuet  about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and 
fiercer,  and  bobbed  his  head  and  his 
nightcap  about  like  mad.  By  degrees 
the  dancing  mania  seemed  to  seize  upon 
all  the  other  pieces  of  furniture.  The 
antique,  long-bodied  chairs  paired  off  in 
couples  and  led  down  a  country  dance  ; 
a  three-legged  stool  danced  a  hornpipe, 
though  horribly  puzzled  by  its  super 
numerary  limbs ;  while  the  amorous 
tongs  seized  the  shovel  round  the  waist, 
and  whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a  Ger 
man  waltz.  In  short,  all  the  movables 
got  in  motion  :  pirouetting,  hands  across, 
right  and  left,  like  so  many  devils  ;  all 
except  a  great  clothes-press,  which  kept 
courtseying  and  courtseying,  in  a  corner, 
like  a  dowager,  in  exquisite  time  to  the 
music ;  being  rather  too  corpulent  to 
dance,  or,  perhaps,  at  a  loss  for  a  part 
ner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to 
be  the  reason ;  so  being,  like  a  true 
Irishman,  devoted  to  the  sex,  and  at  all 
times  ready  for  a  frolic,  he  bounced  into 
the  room,  called  to  the  musician  to  strike 
up  Paddy  O'Rafferty,  capered  up  to  the 
clothes-press,  and  seized  upon  two  han 
dles  to  lead  her  out : when — whirr  ! 

the  whole  revel  was  at  an  end.  The 
chairs,  tables,  tongs,  and  shovel,  slunk 
in  an  instant  as  quietly  into  their  places 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  the 
musician  vanished  up  the  chimney,  leav 
ing  the  bellows  behind  him  in  his  hurry. 


28 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


My  grandfather  found  himself  seated  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  with  the  clothes- 
press  sprawling  before  him,  and  the  two 
handles  jerked  off,  and  in  his  hands. 

"Then,  after  all,  this  was  a  mere 
dream  !"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream  !"  replied 
the  Irishman.  "There  never  was  a 
truer  fact  in  this  world.  Faith,  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  any  man  tell  my  grand 
father  it  was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentlemen,  as  the  clothes-press 
was  a  mighty  heavy  body,  and  my 
grandfather  likewise,  particularly  in  rear, 
you  may  easily  suppose  that  two  such 
heavy  bodies  coming  to  the  ground  would 
make  a  bit  of  a  noise.  Faith,  the  old 
mansion  shook  as  though  it  had  mistaken 
it  for  an  earthquake.  The  whole  garri 
son  was  alarmed.  The  landlord,  who 
slept  below,  hurried  up  with  a  candle  to 
inquire  the  cause,  but  with  his  haste  his 
daughter  had  arrived  at  the  scene  of 
uproar  before  him.  The  landlord  was 
followed  by  the  landlady,  who  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  bouncing  bar-maid,  who 
was  followed  by  the  simpering  chamber 
maids,  all  holding  together,  as  well  as 
they  could,  such  garments  as  they  had 
first  laid  hands  on ;  but  all  in  a  terrible 
hurry  to  see  what  the  deuce  was  to  pay 
in  the  chamber  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous 
scene  he  had  witnessed,  and  the  broken 
handles  of  the  prostrate  clothes-press 
bore  testimony  to  the  fact.  There  was 
no  contesting  such  evidence;  particularly 
with  a  lad  of  my  grandfather's  complex 
ion,  who  seemed  able  to  make  good 
every  word  either  with  sword  or  shil- 
lelah.  So  the  landlord  scratched  his 
head  and  looked  silly,  as  he  was  apt  to 
do  when  puzzled.  The  landlady  scratched 
— no,  she  did  not  scratch  her  head,  but 
she  knit  her  brow,  and  did  not  seem  half 
pleased  with  the  explanation.  But  the 
landlady's  daughter  corroborated  it  by 
recollecting  that  the  last  person  who  had 
dwelt  in  that  chamber  was  a  famous 
juggler  who  had  died  of  St.  Vitus's  dance, 
and  had  no  doubt  infected  all  the  furni 
ture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particu 
larly  when  the  chambermaids  declared 
that  they  had  all  witnessed  strange  car 
ryings  on  in  that  room;  and  as  they 


declared  this  "  upon  their  honours,"  there 
could  not  remain  a  doubt  upon  the  sub 
ject. 

"  And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed 
again  in  that  room  ?"  said  the  inquisitive 
gentleman. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Where 
he  passed  the  rest  of  the  night  was  a 
secret  he  never  disclosed.  In  fact,  though 
he  had  seen  much  service,  he  was  but 
indifferently  acquainted  with  geography, 
and  apt  to  make  blunders  in  his  travels 
about  inns  at  night  which  it  would  have 
puzzled  him  sadly  to  account  for  in  the 
morning." 

"  Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  his 
sleep  ?"  said  the  knowing  old  gentleman. 

"  Never  that  I  heard  of." 

There  was  a  little  pause  after  this 
rigmarole  Irish  romance,  when  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  haunted  head  ob 
served,  that  the  stories  hitherto  related 
had  rather  a  burlesque  tendency.  "  I 
recollect  an  adventure,  however,"  added 
he,  "  which  I  heard  of  during  a  residence 
at  Paris,  for  the  truth  of  which  I  can 
undertake  to  vouch,  and  which  is  of  a 
very  grave  and  singular  nature." 


THE  ADVENTURE 

OF 

THE  GERMAN  STUDENT. 

ON  a  stormy  night,  in  the  tempestuous 
times  of  the  French  revolution,  a  young 
German  was  returning  to  his  lodgings, 
at  a  late  hour,  across  the  old  part  of 
Paris.  The  lightning  gleamed,  and  the 
loud  claps  of  thunder  rattled  through 
the  lofty  narrow  streets — but  I  should 
first  tell  you  something  about  this  young 
German. 

Gottfried  Wolfgang  was  a  young  man 
of  good  family.  He  had  studied  for 
some  time  at  Gottingen,  but  being  of  a 
visionary  and  enthusiastic  character,  he 
had  wandered  into  those  wild  and  specu 
lative  doctrines  which  have  so  often  be 
wildered  German  students.  His  secluded 
life,  his  intense  application,  and  the  sin 
gular  nature  of  his  studies,  had  an  effect 
on  both  mind  and  body.  His  health  was 
impaired  ;  his  imagination  diseased.  He 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


29 


had  been  indulging  in  fanciful  specula 
tions  on  spiritual  essences,  until,  like 
Swedenborg,  he  had  an  ideal  world  of 
his  own  around  him.  He  took  up  a  no 
tion,  I  do  not  know  from  what  cause, 
that  there  was  an  evil  influence  hanging 
over  him ;  an  evil  genius  or  spirit  seek 
ing  to  ensnare  him  and  ensure  his  perdi 
tion.  Such  an  idea  working  on  his 
melancholy  temperament,  produced  the 
most  gloomy  effects.  He  became  hag 
gard  and  desponding.  His  friends  dis 
covered  the  mental  malady  that  was 
preying  upon  him,  and  determined  that 
the  best  cure  was  a  change  of  scene  ;  he 
was  sent,  therefore,  to  finish  his  studies 
amidst  the  splendours  and  gayeties  of 
Paris. 

Wolfgang  arrived  at  Paris  at  the 
breaking  out  of  the  revolution.  The 
popular  delirium  at  first  caught  his  en 
thusiastic  mind,  and  he  was  captivated 
by  the  political  and  philosophical  theories 
of  the  day :  but  the  scenes  of  blood 
which  followed  shocked  his  sensitive 
nature,  disgusted  him  with  society  and 
the  world,  and  made  him  more  than  ever 
a  recluse.  He  shut  himself  up  in  a 
solitary  apartment  in  the  Pays  Latin, 
the  quarter  of  students.  There,  in  a 
gloomy  street  not  far  from  the  monastic 
walls  of  the  Sorbonne,  he  pursued  his 
favourite  speculations.  Sometimes  he 
spent  hours  together  in  the  great  libra 
ries  of  Paris,  those  catacombs  of  departed 
I  authors,  rummaging  among  their  hoards 
of  dusty  and  obsolete  works  in  quest  of 
food  for  his  unhealthy  appetite.  He 
was.  in  a  manner,  a  literary  goul,  feed 
ing  in  the  charnel-house  of  decayed  lite 
rature. 

Wolfgang,  though  solitary  and  recluse, 
was  of  an  ardent  temperament,  but  for  a 
time  it  operated  merely  upon  his  imagi 
nation.  He  was  too  shy  and  ignorant  of 
the  world  to  make  any  advances  to  the 
fair,  but  he  was  a  passionate  admirer  of 
female  beauty,  and  in  his  lonely  chamber 
would  often  lose  himself  in  reveries  on 
forms  and  faces  which  he  had  seen,  and 
his  fancy  would  deck  out  images  of  love 
liness  far  surpassing  the  reality. 

While  his  mind  was  in  this  excited  and 
sublimated  state,  he  had  a  dream  which 
produced  an  extraordinary  effect  upon 
him.  It  was  of  a  female  face  of  tran- 


scendcnt  beauty.  So  strong  was  the 
impression  it  made,  that  he  dreamt  of  it 
again  and  again.  It  haunted  his  thoughts 
by  day,  his  slumbers  by  night ;  in  fine, 
he  became  passionately  enamoured  of 
this  shadow  of  a  dream.  This  lasted  so 
long  that  it  became  one  of  those  fixed 
ideas  which  haunt  the  minds  of  melan 
choly  men,  and  are  at  times  mistaken  for 
madness. 

Such  was  Gottfried  Wolfgang,  and 
such  his  situation  at  the  time  I  mentioned. 
He  was  returning  home  late  one  stormy 
night,  through  some  of  the  old  and 
gloomy  streets  of  the  Marais,  the  ancient 
part  of  Paris.  The  loud  claps  of  thunder 
rattled  among  the  high  houses  of  the 
narrow  streets.  He  came  to  the  Place 
de  Greve,  the  square  where  public  exe 
cutions  are  performed.  The  lightning 
quivered  about  the  pinnacles  of  the  ancient 
Hotel  de  Ville,  and  shed  flickering  gleams 
over  the  open  space  in  front.  As  Wolf 
gang  was  crossing  the  square,  he  shrunk 
back  with  horror  at  finding  himself  close 
by  the  guillotine.  It  was  the  height  of 
the  reign  of  terror,  when  this  dreadful 
instrument  of  death  stood  ever  ready, 
and  its  scaffold  was  continually  running 
with  the  blood  of  the  virtuous  and  the 
brave.  It  had  that  very  day  been  ac 
tively  employed  in  the  work  of  carnage, 
and  there  it  stood  in  grim  array  amidst  a 
silent  and  sleeping  city,  waiting  for  fresh 
victims. 

Wolfgang's  heart  sickened  within  him, 
and  he  was  turning  shuddering  from  the 
horrible  engine,  when  he  beheld  a  sha 
dowy  form,  cowering  as  it  were  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps  which  led  up  to  the 
scaffold.  A  succession  of  vivid  flashes 
of  lightning  revealed  it  more  distinctly, 
It  was  a  female  figure,  dressed  in  black.. 
She  was  seated  on  one  of  the  lower  steps 
of  the  scaffold,  leaning  forward,  her  face 
hid  in  her  lap,  and  her  long  dishevelled 
tresses  hanging  to  the  ground,  streaming 
with  the  rain  which  fell  in  torrents. 
Wolfgang  paused.  There  was  something 
awful  in  this  solitary  monument  of  wo. 
The  female  had  the  appearance  of  being 
above  the  common  order.  He  knew  the 
times  to  be  full  of  vicissitude,  and  that 
many  a  fair  head,  which  had  once  been 
pillowed  on  down,  now  wandered  house 
less.  Perhaps  this  was  some  poor  mourner 

3* 


30 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


whom  the  dreadful  a^e  had  rendered 
desolate,  and  who  satitere  heart-broken 
on  the  strand  of  existence,  from  which 
all  that  was  dear  to  her  had  been  launch 
ed  into  eternity. 

He  approached,  and  addressed  her  in 
the  accents  of  sympathy.  She  raised 
her  head  and  gazed  wildly  at  him.  What 
was  his  astonishment  at  beholding,  by 
the  bright  glare  of  the  lightning,  the 
very  face  which  had  haunted  him  in  his 
dreams  !  It  was  pale  and  disconsolate, 
but  ravishingly  beautiful. 

Trembling  with  violent  and  conflicting 
emotions,  Wolfgang  again  accosted  her. 
He  spoke  something  of  her  being  exposed 
at  such  an  hour  of  the  night,  and  to  the 
fury  of  such  a  storm,  and  offered  to  con 
duct  her  to  her  friends.  She  pointed  to 
the  guillotine  with  a  gesture  of  dreadful 


friend  on  earth  !"    said 


signification. 

"  I  have  no 
she. 

"  But  you  have  a  home,"  said  Wolf 
gang. 

"  Yes  —  in  the  grave  !" 

The  heart  of  the  student  melted  at  the 
words. 

"  If  a  stranger  dare  make  an  offer," 
said  he,  "  without  danger  of  being  mis 
understood,  I  would  offer  my  humble 
dwelling  as  a  shelter  ;  myself  as  a  de 
voted  friend.  I  am  friendless  myself  in 
Paris,  and  a  stranger  in  the  land  ;  but  if 
my  life  could  be  of  service,  it  is  at  your 
disposal,  and  should  be  sacrificed  before 
harm  or  indignity  should  come  to  you." 

There  was  an  honest  earnestness  in 
the  young  man's  manner  that  had  its 
effect.  His  foreign  accent,  too,  was  in 
his  favour;  it  showed  him  not  to  be  a 
hackneyed  inhabitant  of  Paris.  Indeed 
there  is  an  eloquence  in  true  enthusiasm 
that  is  not  to  be  doubted.  The  homeless 
stranger  confided  herself  implicitly  to  the 
protection  of  the  student. 

He  supported  her  faltering  steps  across 
the  Pont  Neuf,  and  by  the  place  where 
the  statue  of  Henry  the  Fourth  had  been 
overthrown  by  the  populace.  The  storm 
had  abated,  and  the  thunder  rumbled  at 
a  distance.  All  Paris  was  quiet  ;  that 
great  volcano  of  human  passion  slum 
bered  for  a  while,  to  gather  fresh  strength 
for  the  next  day's  eruption.  The  stu 
dent  conducted  his  charge  though  the 


ancient  streets  of  the  Pays  Latin,  and 
by  the  dusky  walls  of  the  Sorbonne,  to 
the  great  dingy  hotel  which  he  inhabited. 
The  old  portress  who  admitted  them 
stared  with  surprise  at  the  unusual  sight 
of  the  melancholy  Wolfgang  with  a 
female  companion. 

On  entering  his  apartment,  the  student, 
for  the  first  time,  blushed  at  the  scanti 
ness  and  indifference  of  his  dwelling. 
He  had  but  one  chamber — an  old-fashion 
ed  saloon — heavily  carved,  and  fantas 
tically  furnished  with  the  remains  of 
former  magnificence,  for  it  was  one  of 
those  hotels  in  the  quarter  of  the  Lux 
embourg  Palace  which  had  once  belonged 
to  nobility.  It  was  lumbered  with  books 
and  papers,  and  all  the  usual  apparatus 
of  a  student,  and  his  bed  stood  in  a  recess 
at  one  end. 

When  lights  were  brought,  and  Wolf 
gang  had  a  better  opportunity  of  con 
templating  the  stranger,  he  was  more 
than  ever  intoxicated  by  her  beauty. 
Her  face  was  pale,  but  of  a  dazzling 
fairness,  set  off  by  a  profusion  of  raven 
hair  that  hung  clustering  about  it.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  brilliant,  with  a  sin 
gular  expression  that  approached  almost 
to  wildness.  As  far  as  her  black  dress 
permitted  her  shape  to  be  seen,  it  was  a 
perfect  symmetry.  Her  whole  appear 
ance  was  highly  striking,  though  she 
was  dressed  in  the  simplest  style.  The 
only  thing  approaching  to  an  ornament 
which  she  wore,  was  a  broad  black  band 
round  her  neck,  clasped  by  diamonds. 

The  perplexity  now  commenced  with 
the  student  how  to  dispose  of  the  helpless 
being  thus  thrown  upon  his  protection. 
He  ^thought  of  abandoning  his  chamber 
to  her,  and  seeking  shelter  for  himself 
elsewhere.  Still  he  was  so  fascinated  by 
her  charms,  there  seemed  to  be  such  a 
spell  upon  his  thoughts  and  senses,  that 
he  could  not  tear  himself  from  her  pre 
sence.  Her  manner,  too,  was  singular 
and  unaccountable.  She  spoke  no  more 
of  the  guillotine.  Her  grief  had  abated. 
The  attentions  of  the  student  had  first 
won  her  confidence,  and  then,  apparently, 
her  heart.  She  was  evidently  an  enthu 
siast  like  himself,  and  enthusiasts  soon 
understand  each  other.  ^ 

In  the  infatuation  of  the  moment, 
Wolfgang  avowed  his  passion  for  her. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


31 


He  told  her  the  story  of  his  mysterious 
dream,  and  how  she  had  possessed  his 
heart  before  he  had  even  seen  her.  She 
was  strangely  affected  by  his  recital,  and 
acknowledged  to  have  felt  an  impulse 
toward  him  equally  unaccountable.  It 
was  the  time  for  wild  theory  and  -wild 
actions.  Old  prejudices  and  superstitions 
were  done  away ;  every  thing  was  under 
the  sway  of  the  "  Goddess  of  Reason." 
Among  other  rubbish  of  the  old  times,  the 
forms  and  ceremonies  of  marriage  began 
to  be  considered  superfluous  bonds  for 
honourable  minds.  Social  compacts  were 
the  vogue.  Wolfgang  was  too  much  of 
a  theorist  not  to  be  tainted  by  the  liberal 
doctrines  of  the  day. 

"  Why  should  we  separate  ?"  said  he  : 
"our  hearts  are  united;  in -the  eye  of 
reason  and  honour  we  are  as  one.  What 
need  is  there  of  sordid  forms  to  bind  high 
souls  together  ?" 

The  stranger  listened  with  emotion : 
she  had  evidently  received  illumination 
at  the  same  school. 

"  You  have  no  home  nor  family,"  con 
tinued  he ;  "  let  me  be  every  thing  to 
you,  or  rather  let  us  be  every  thing  to 
one  another.  If  form  is  necessary,  form 
shall  be  observed — there  is  my  hand.  I 
pledge  myself  to  you  for  ever." 

"  For  ever  ?"  said  the  stranger,  so 
lemnly. 

"  For  ever !"  repeated  Wolfgang. 

The  stranger  clasped  the  hand  ex 
tended  to  her :  "  Then  I  am  yours," 
murmured  she,  and  sunk  upon  his 
bosom. 

The  next  morning  the  student  left  his 
bride  sleeping,  and  sallied  forth  at  an 
early  hour  to  seek  more  spacious  apart 
ments,  suitable  to  the  change  in  his 
situation.  When  he  returned,  he  found 
the  stranger  lying  with  her  head  hanging 
over  the  bed,  and  one  arm  thrown  over 
it.  He  spoke  to  her,  but  received  no 
reply.  He  advanced  to  awaken  her  from 
her  uneasy  posture.  On  taking  her  hand, 
it  was  cold — there  was  no  pulsation — her 
face  was  pallid  and  ghastly.  In  a  word 
— she  was  a  corpse. 

Horrified  and  frantic,  he  alarmed  the 
house.  A  scene  of  confusion  ensued. 
The  police  was  summoned.  As  the 
officer  of  police  entered  the  room,  he 
started  back  on  beholding  the  corpse. 


"  Great  heaven !"  cried  he,  "  how  did 
this  woman  come  here?" 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  her  ?" 
said  Wolfgang,  eagerly. 

"  Do  I  ?"  exclaimed  the  police  officer  : 
"  she  was  guillotined  yesterday  !" 

He  stepped  forward ;  undid  the  black 
collar  round  the  neck  of  the  corpse,  and 
the  head  rolled  on  the  floor ! 

The  student  burst  into  a  frenzy.  "  The 
fiend  !  the  fiend  has  gained  possession  of 
me  !"  shrieked  he  :  "I  am  lost  for  ever." 

They  tried  to  soothe  him,  but  in  vain. 
He  was  possessed  with  the  frightful  belief 
that  an  evil  spirit  had  reanimated  the 
dead  body  to  ensnare  him.  He  went 
distracted,  and  died  in  a  mad-house. 

Here  the  old  gentleman  with  the 
haunted  head  finished  his  narrative. 

"  And  is  this  really  a  fact  ?"  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  A  fact  not  to  be  doubted,"  replied 
the  other.  "  I  had  it  from  the  best 
authority.  The  student  told  it  me  him 
self.  I  saw  him  in  a  mad-house  at 
Paris." 


THE  ADVENTURE 

OF 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE. 

As  one  story  of  the  kind  produces 
another,  and  as  all  the  company  seemed 
fully  engrossed  by  the  subject,  and  dis 
posed  to  bring  their  relatives  and  ances 
tors  upon  the  scene,  there  is  no  knowing 
how  many  more  strange  adventures  we 
might  have  heard,  had  not  a  corpulent 
old  fox-hunter,  who  had  slept  soundly 
through  the  whole,  now  suddenly  awa 
kened,  with  a  loud  and  long-drawn  yawn. 
The  sound  broke  the  charm  :  the  ghosts 
took  to  flight,  as  though  it  had  been 
cock-crowing,  and  there  was  a  universal 
move  for  bed. 

"  And  now  for  the  haunted  chamber," 
said  the  Irish  captain,  taking  his  candle. 

"Ay,  who's  to  be  the  hero  of  the 
night?"  said  the  gentleman  with  the 
ruined  head. 

"  That  we  shall  see  in  the  morning," 
said  the  old  gentleman  with  the  nose : 
"  whoever  looks  pale  and  grizzly  will 
have  seen  the  ghost." 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  baronet, 
"  there's  many  a  true  thing  said  in  jest — 
In  fact  one  of  you  will  sleep  in  the  room 
to-night "  ' 

"  What — a  haunted  room  1 — a  haunted 
room  ? — I  claim  the  adventure — and  I — 
and  I — and  \»  said  a  dozen  guests  talk 
ing  and  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

"  No,  no,"  said  mine  host,  "  there  is  a 
secret  about  one  of  my  rooms  on  which 
I  feel  disposed  to  try  an  experiment :  so, 
gentlemen,  none  of  you  shall  know  who 
has  the  haunted  chamber  until  circum 
stances  reveal  it.  I  will  not  even  know 
it  myself,  but  will  leave  it  to  chance  and 
the  allotment  of  the  housekeeper.  At 
the  same  time,  if  it  will  be  any  satisfac 
tion  to  you,  I  will  observe,  for  the  honour 
of  my  paternal  mansion,  that  there's 
scarcely  a  chamber  in  it  but  is  well 
worthy  of  being  haunted." 

We  now  separated  for  the  night,  and 
each  went  to  his  allotted  room.  Mine 
was  in  one  wing  of  the  building,  and  I 
could  not  but  smile  at  the  resemblance  in 
style  to  those  eventful  apartments  de 
scribed  in  the  tales  of  the  supper-table. 
It  was  spacious  and  gloomy,  decorated 
with  lamp-black  portraits ;  a  bed  of 
ancient  damask,  with  a  tester  sufficiently 
lofty  to  grace  a  couch  of  state,  and  a 
number  of  massive  pieces  of  old-fashioned 
furniture.  I  drew  a  great  claw-footed 
arm-chair  before  the  wide  fireplace; 
stirred  up  the  fire  ;  sat  looking  into  it, 
and  musing  upon  the  odd  stories  I  had 
heard,  until,  partly  overcome  by  the 
fatigue  of  the  day's  hunting,  and  partly 
by  the  wine  and  wassail  of  mine  host, 
I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair. 

The  uneasiness  of  my  position  made 
my  slumber  troubled,  and  laid  me  at  the 
mercy  of  all  kinds  of  wild  and  fearful 
dreams.  Now  it  was  that  my  perfidi 
ous  dinner  and  supper  rose  in  rebellion 
against  my  peace.  I  was  hag-ridden  by 
a  fat  saddle  of  mutton ;  a  plum-pudding 
weighed  like  lead  upon  my  conscience ; 
the  merrythought  of  a  capon  filled  me 
with  horrible  suggestions  ;  and  a  devilled 
leg  of  turkey  stalked  in  all  kinds  of  dia 
bolical  shapes  through  my  imagination. 
In  short,  I  had  a  violent  fit  of  the 
nightmare.  Some  strange  indefinite  evil 
seemed  hanging  over  me  that  I  could  not 
avert ;  something  terrible  and  loathsome 


oppressed  me  that  I  could  not  shake  off. 
I  was  conscious  of  being  asleep,  and 
strove  to  rouse  myself,  but  every  effort 
redoubled  the  evil ;  until  gasping,  strug 
gling,  almost  strangling,  I  suddenly 
sprang  bolt  upright  in  my  chair,  and 
awoke. 

The  light  on  the  mantel-piece  had 
burnt  low,  and  the  wick  was  divided  ; 
there  was  a  great  winding-sheet  made  by 
the  dripping  wax  on  the  side  towards  me. 
The  disordered  taper  emitted  a  broad 
flaring  flame,  and  threw  a  strong  light 
on  a  painting  over  the  fireplace  which  I 
had  not  hitherto  observed.  It  consisted 
merely  of  a  head,  or  rather  a  face,  that 
appeared  to  be  staring  full  upon  me,  and 
with  an  expression  that  was  startling. 
It  was  without  a  frame,  and  at  the  first 
glance  I  could  hardly  persuade  myself 
that  it  was  not  a  real  face  thrusting  itself 
out  of  the  dark  oaken  panel.  I  sat  in 
my  chair  gazing  at  it,  and  the  more  I 
gazed,  the  more  it  disquieted  me.  I  had 
never  before  been  affected  in  the  same 
way  by  any  painting.  The  emotions  it 
caused  were  strange  and  indefinite.  They 
were  something  like  what  I  have  heard 
ascribed  to  the  eyes  of  the  basilisk,  or 
like  that  mysterious  influence  in  reptiles 
termed  fascination.  I  passed  my  hand 
over  my  eyes  several  times,  as  if  seeking 
instinctively  to  brush  away  the  illusion — 
in  vain.  They  instantly  reverted  to  the 
picture,  and  its  chilling,  creeping  influ 
ence  over  my  flesh  and  blood  was  re 
doubled.  I  looked  round  the  room  on 
other  pictures,  either  to  divert  my  atten 
tion  or  to  see  whether  the  same  effect 
would  be  produced  by  them.  Some  of 
them  were  grim  enough  to  produce  the 
effect,  if  the  mere  grimness  of  the  paint 
ing  produced  it.  No  such  thing — my 
eye  passed  over  them  all  with  perfect 
indifference,  but  the  moment  it  reverted 
to  this  visage  over  the  fireplace,  it  was 
as  if  an  electric  shock  darted  through 
me.  The  other  pictures  were  dim  and 
faded,  but  this  one  protruded  from  a  plain 
back-ground  in  the  strongest  relief,  and 
with  wonderful  truth  of  colouring.  The 
expression  was  that  of  agony — the  agony 
of  intense  bodily  pain  ;  but  a  menace 
scowled  upon  the  brow,  and  a  few 
sprinklings  of  blood  added  to  its  ghastli- 
ness.  Yet  it  was  not  all  these  character- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


istics ;  it  was  some  horror  of  the  mind, 
some  inscrutable  antipathy  awakened  by 
this  picture,  which  harrowed  up  my 
feelings. 

I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this 
was  chimerical ;  that  my  brain  was  con 
fused  by  the  fumes  of  mine  host's  geod 
cheer,  and  in  some  measure  by  the  odd 
stories  about  paintings  which  had  been 
told  at  supper.  I  determined  to  shake 
off  these  vapours  of  the  mind  ;  rose  from 
my  chair ;  walked  about  the  room ; 
snapped  my  fingers ;  rallied  myself ; 
laughed  aloud.  It  was  a  forced  laugh, 
and  the  echo  of  it  in  the  old  chamber 
jarred  upon  my  ear.  I  walked  to  the 
window,  and  tried  to  discern  the  land 
scape  through  the  glass.  It  was  pitch 
darkness,  and  howling  storm  without  ; 
and  as  I  heard  the  wind  moan  among 
the  trees,  I  caught  a  reflection  of  this 
accursed  visage  in  the  pane  of  glass,  as 
though  it  were  staring  through  the  win 
dow  at  me.  Even  the  reflection  of  it 
was  thrilling. 

How  was  this  vile  nervous  fit,  for  such 
I  now  persuaded  myself  it  was,  to  be 
conquered?  I  determined  to  force  my 
self  not  to  look  at  the  painting,  but  to 
undress  quickly  and  get  into  bed.  I 
began  to  undress,  but  in  spite  of  every 
effort  I  could  not  keep  myself  from  steal 
ing  a  glance  every  now  and  then  at  the 
picture ;  and  a  glance  was  now  sufficient 
to  distress  me.  Even  when  my  back 
was  turned  to  it,  the  idea  of  this  strange 
face  behind  me,  peeping  over  my  shoulder, 
was  insupportable.  I  threw  off  my  clothes 
and  hurried  into  bed,  but  still  this  visage 
gazed  upon  me.  I  had  a  full  view  of  it 
from  my  bed,  and  for  some  time  could 
not  take  my  eyes  from  it.  I  had  grown 
nervous  to  a  dismal  degree.  I  put  out 
the  light,  and  tried  to  force  myself  to 
sleep — all  in  vain.  The  fire  gleaming 
up  a  little  threw  an  uncertain  light  about 
the  room,  leaving  however  the  region  of 
the  picture  in  deep  shadow.  What, 
thought  I,  if  this  be  the  chamber  about 
which  mine  host  spoke  as  having  a  mys 
tery  reigning  over  it?  I  had  taken  his 
words  merely  as  spoken  in  jest ;  might 
they  have  a  real  import?  I  looked  around. 
— The  faintly-lighted  apartment  had  all 
the  qualifications  requisite  for  a  haunted 
chamber.  It  began  in  my  infected  ima- 


gination  to  assume  strange  appearances 
— the  old  portraits  turned  paler  and  paler, 
and  blacker  and  blacker ;  the  streaks  of 
light  and  shadow  thrown  among  the 
quaint  articles  of  furniture  gave  them 
more  singular  shapes  and  characters. 
There  was  a  huge  dark  clothes-press  of 
antique  form,  gorgeous  in  brass  and 
lustrous  with  wax,  that  began  to  grow 
oppressive  to  me. 

"  Am  I,  then,"  thought  I,  "  indeed  the 
hero  of  the  haunted  room?  Is  there 
really  a  spell  laid  upon  me,  or  is  this  all 
some  contrivance  of  mine  host  to  raise 
a  laugh  at  my  expense  ?"  The  idea  of 
being  hag-ridden  by  my  own  fancy  all 
night,  and  then  bantered  on  my  haggard 
looks  the  next  day,  was  intolerable ;  but 
the  very  idea  was  sufficient  to  produce 
the  effect,  and  to  render  me  still  more 
nervous.  "  Pish  !"  said  I,  "  it  can  be 
no  such  thing.  How  could  my  worthy 
host  imagine  that  I,  or  any  man,  would 
be  so  worried  by  a  mere  picture  ?  It  is 
my  own  diseased  imagination  that  tor 
ments  me." 

I  turned  in  bed,  and  shifted  from  side 
to  side  to  try  to  fall  asleep  ;  but  all  in 
vain ;  when  one  cannot  get  asleep  by 
lying  quiet,  it  is  seldom  that  tossing  about 
will  effect  the  purpose.  The  fire  gra 
dually  went  out,  and  left  the  room  in 
darkness.  Still  I  had  the  idea  of  that 
inexplicable  countenance  gazing  and 
keeping  watch  upon  me  through  the 
gloom — nay,  what  was  worse,  the  very 
darkness  seemed  to  magnify  its  terrors. 
It  was  like  having  an  unseen  enemy 
hanging  about  one  in  the  night.  Instead 
of  having  one  picture  now  to  worry  me, 
I  had  a  hundred.  I  fancied  it  in  every 
direction — "  And  there  it  is,"  thought  I, 
"  and  there  !  and  there  !  with  its  horrible 
and  mysterious  expression  still  gazing 
and  gazing  on  me  !  No — if  I  must  suffer 
the  strange  and  dismal  influence,  it  were 
better  face  a  single  foe  than  thus  be 
haunted  by  a  thousand  images  of  it." 

Whoever  has  been  in  a  state  of  nervous 
agitation,  must  know  that  the  longer  it 
continues  the  more  uncontrollable  it 
grows.  The  very  air  of  the  chamber 
seemed  at  length  infected  by  the  baleful 
presence  of  this  picture.  I  fancied  it 
hovering  over  me.  I  almost  felt  the 
fearful  visage  from  the  wall  approaching 


34 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


my  face — it  seemed  breathing  upon  me. 
"  This  is  not  to  be  borne,"  said  I  at 
length,  springing  out  of  bed.  "  I  can 
stand  this  no  longer — I  shall  only  tumble 
and  toss  about  here  all  night ;  make  a 
very  spectre  of  myself,  and  become  the 
hero  of  the  haunted  chamber  in  good 
earnest.  Whatever  be  the  ill  conse 
quence,  I'll  quit  this  cursed  room  and 
seek  a  night's  rest  elsewhere — they  can 
but  laugh  at  me,  at  all  events,  and  they'll 
be  sure  to  have  the  laugh  upon  me  if  I 
pass  a  sleepless  night,  and  show  them 
a  haggard  and  wo-begone  visage  in  the 
morning." 

All  this  was  half  muttered  to  myself 
as  I  hastily  slipped  on  my  clothes,  which 
having  done,  I  groped  my  way  out  of 
the  room,  and  down  the  stairs  to  the 
drawing-room.  Here,  after  tumbling 
over  two  or  three  pieces  of  furniture,  I 
made  out  to  reach  a  sofa,  and  stretching 
myself  upon  it,  determined  to  bivouac 
there  for  the  night.  The  moment  I  found 
myself  out  of  the  neighbourhood  of  that 
strange  picture,  it  seemed  as  if  the  charm 
were  broken.  All  its  influence  was  at 
an  end.  I  felt  assured  that  it  was  con 
fined  to  its  own  dreary  chamber,  for  I 
had,  with  a  sort  of  instinctive  caution, 
turned  the  key  when  I  closed  the  door. 
I  soon  calmed  down,  therefore,  into  a 
state  of  tranquillity ;  from  that  into 
a  drowsiness,  and,  finally,  into  a  deep 
sleep  ;  out  of  which  I  did  not  awake  until 
the  housemaid,  with  her  besom  and  her 
matin  song,  came  to  put  the  room  in 
order.  She  stared  at  finding  me  stretched 
upon  the  sofa,  but  I  presume  circum 
stances  of  the  kind  were  not  uncommon 
after  hunting-dinners  in  her  master's 
bachelor  establishment,  for  she  went  on 
with  her  song  and  her  work,  and  took 
no  further  heed  of  me. 

I  had  an  unconquerable  repugnance  to 
return  to  my  chamber ;  so  I  found  my 
way  to  the  butler's  quarters,  made  my 
toilet  in  the  best  way  circumstances 
would  permit,  and  was  among  the  first 
to  appear  at  the  breakfast-table.  Our 
breakfast  was  a  substantial  fox-hunter's 
repast,  and  the  company  generally  as 
sembled  at  it.  When  ample  justice  had 
been  done  to  the  tea,  coffee,  cold  meats, 
and  humming  ale,  for  all  these  were  fur 
nished  in  abundance,  according  to  the 


tastes  of  the  different  guests,  the  conver 
sation  began  to  bre,ik  out  with  all  the  live 
liness  and  freshness  of  morning  mirth. 

"  But  who  is  the  hero  of  the  haunted 
chamber,  who  has  seen  the  ghost  last 
night  1"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman, 
rolling  his  lobster  eyes  about  the  table. 

The  question  set  every  tongue  in  mo 
tion  ;  a  vast  deal  of  bantering,  criticising 
1  of  countenances,  of  mutual  accusation 
I  and  retort,  took  place.  Some  had  drunk 
deep,  and  some  were  unshaven ;  so  that 
I  there  were  suspicious  faces  enough  in 
the  assembly.  I  alone  could  not  enter 
with  ease  and  vivacity  into  the  joke — I 
felt  tongue-tied,  embarrassed.  A  recol 
lection  of  what  I  had  seen  and  felt  the 
preceding  night  still  haunted  my  mind. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  mysterious  picture 
still  held  a  thrall  upon  me.  I  thought 
also  that  our  host's  eye  was  turned  on 
me  with  an  air  of  curiosity.  In  short,  I 
was  conscious  that  I  was  the  hero  of  the 
night,  and  felt  as  if  every  one  might  read 
it  in  my  looks.  The  joke,  however, 
passed  over,  and  no  suspicion  seemed  to 
attach  to  me.  I  was  just  congratulating 
myself  on  my  escape,  when  a  servant 
came  in  saying,  that  the  gentleman  who 
had  slept  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing- 
room  had  left  his  watch  under  one  of  the 
pillows.  My  repeater  was  in  his  hand. 

"  What !"  said  the  inquisitive  gentle 
man,  "  did  any  gentleman  sleep  on  the 
sofa?" 

"Soho!  soho!  a  hare — a  hare!"  cried 
the  old  gentleman  with  the  flexible  nose. 

I  could  not  avoid  acknowledging  the 
watch,  and  was  rising  in  great  confu 
sion,  when  a  boisterous  old  squire  who 
sat  beside  me  exclaimed,  slapping  me  on 
the  shoulder,  "  'Sblood,  lad,  thou  art  the 
man  as  has  seen  the  ghost !" 

The  attention  of  the  company  was  im 
mediately  turned  to  me :  if  my  face  had 
been  pale  the  moment  before,  it  now 
glowed  almost  to  burning.  I  tried  to 
laugh,  but  could  only  make  a  grimace, 
and  found  the  muscles  of  my  face  twitch 
ing  at  sixes  and  sevens,  and  totally  out 
of  all  control. 

It  takes  but  little  to  raise  a  laugh 
among  a  set  of  fox-hunters  :  there  was  a 
world  of  merriment  and  joking  on  the 
subject,  and  as  I  never  relished  a  joke 
overmuch  when  it  was  at  my  own  ex- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


35 


pense,  I  began  to  feel  a  little  nettled.  I 
tried  to  look  cool  and  calm,  and  to  re 
strain  my  pique;  but  the  coolness  and 
calmness  of  a  man  in  a  passion  are  con 
founded  treacherous. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  I,  with  a  slight 
cocking  of  the  chin,  and  a  bad  attempt 
at  a  smile,  "  this  is  all  very  pleasant — 
ha  !  ha  ! — very  pleasant — but  I'd  have 
you  know,  I  am  as  little  superstitious  as 
any  of  you — ha !  ha  ! — and  as  to  any 
thing  like  timidity — you  may  smile, 
gentlemen,  but  I  trust  there's  no  one 
here  means  to  insinuate,  that — as  to  a 
room's  being  haunted — I  repeat,  gentle 
men  (growing  a  little  warm  at  seeing  a 
cursed  grin  breaking  out  round  me),  as 
to  a  room's  being  haunted,  I  have  as 
little  faith  in  such  silly  stories  as  any 
one.  But,  since  you  have  put  the  matter 
home  to  me,  I  will  say  that  I  have  met 
with  something  in  my  room  strange  and 
inexplicable  to  me.  (A  shout  of  laugh 
ter).  Gentlemen,  I  am  serious  ;  I  know 
well  what  I  am  saying;  I  am  calm, 
gentlemen  (striking  my  fist  upon  the 
table) ;  by  Heaven,  I  am  calm.  I  am 
neither  trifling,  nor  do  I  wish  to  be  trifled 
with.  (The  laughter  of  the  company 
suppressed,  and  with  ludicrous  attempts 
at  gravity).  There  is  a  picture  in  the 
room  in  which  I  was  put  last  night,  that 
has  had  an  effect  upon  me  the  most  sin 
gular  and  incomprehensible." 

"  A  picture  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman 
with  the  haunted  head.  "  A  picture !"  cried 
the  narrator  with  the  nose.  "  A  picture  ! 
a  picture  !"  echoed  several  voices.  Here 
there  was  an  ungovernable  peal  of 
laughter.  T  could  not  contain  myself.  I 
started  up  from  my  seat ;  looked  round 
on  the  company  with  fiery  indignation ; 
thrust  both  my  hands  into  my  pockets, 
and  strode  up  to  one  of  the  windows  as 
though  I  would  have  walked  through  it. 
I  stopped  short,  looked  out  upon  the 
landscape  without  distinguishing  a  fea 
ture  of  it,  and  felt  my  gorge  rising  almost 
to  suffocation. 

Mine  host  saw  it  was  time  to  inter 
fere.  He  had  maintained  an  air  of  gravity 
through  the  whole  of  the  scene  ;  and  now 
stepped  forth,  as  if  to  shelter  me  from  the 
overwhelming  merriment  of  my  compa 
nions. 

u  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  dislike  to 


spoil  sport,  but  you  have  had  your  laugh, 
and  the  joke  of  the  haunted  chamber  has 
been  enjoyed.  I  must  now  take  the  part 
of  my  guest.  I  must  not  only  vindicate 
him  from  your  pleasantries,  but  I  must 
reconcile  him  to  himself,  for  I  suspect 
he  is  a  little  out  of  humour  with  his  own 
feelings ;  and,  above  all,  I  must  crave 
his  pardon  for  having  made  him  the  sub 
ject  of  a  kind  of  experiment.  Yes,  gen 
tlemen,  there  is  something  strange  and 
peculiar  in  the  chamber  to  which  our 
friend  was  shown  last  night ;  there  is  a 
picture  in  my  house,  which  possesses  a 
singular  and  mysterious  influence,  and 
with  which  there  is  connected  a  very 
curious  story.  It  is  a  picture  to  which 
I  attach  a  value  from  a  variety  of  cir 
cumstances  ;  and  though  I  have  often 
been  tempted  to  destroy  it,  from  the  odd 
and  uncomfortable  sensations  which  it 
produces  in  every  one  that  beholds  it, 
yet  I  have  never  been  able  to  prevail 
upon  myself  to  make  the  sacrifice.  It  is 
a  picture  I  never  like  to  look  upon  my 
self,  and  which  is  held  in  awe  by  all  my 
servants.  I  have  therefore  banished  it 
to  a  room  but  rarely  used,  and  should 
have  had  it  covered  last  night,  had  not 
the  nature  of  our  conversation,  and  the 
whimsical  talk  about  a  haunted  chamber, 
tempted  me  to  let  it  remain,  by  way  of 
experiment,  to  see  whether  a  stranger, 
totally  unacquainted  with  its  story,  would 
be  affected  by  it." 

The  words  of  the  baronet  had  turned 
every  thought  into  a  different  channel. 
All  were  anxious  to  hear  the  story  of  the 
mysterious  picture  ;  and,  for  myself,  so 
strangely  were  my  feelings  interested, 
that  I  forgot  to  feel  piqued  at  the  experi 
ment  which  my  host  had  made  upon  ray 
nerves,  and  joined  eagerly  in  the  general 
entreaty.  As  the  morning  was  stormy, 
and  denied  all  egress,  my  host  was  glad 
of  any  means  of  entertaining  his  com 
pany  ;  so,  drawing  his  arm-chair  to 
wards  the  fire,  he  began  : 

THE  ADVENTURE 

OF  THE 

MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER. 

MANY  years  since,  when  I  was  a 
young  man,  and  had  just  left  Oxford,  1 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


was  sent  on  the  grand  tour  to  finish  my 
education.  I  believe  my  parents  had 
tried  in  vain  to  inoculate  me  with  wis 
dom ;  so  they  sent  me  to  mingle  with 
society,  in  hopes  that  I  might  take  it  the 
natural  way.  Such,  at  least,  appears  the 
reason  for  which  nine-tenths  of  our 
youngsters  are  sent  abroad.  In  the 
course  of  my  tour  I  remained  some  time 
at  Venice.  The  romantic  character  of 
that  place  delighted  me;  I  was  very 
much  amused  by  the  air  of  adventure 
and  intrigue  that  prevailed  in  this  region 
of  masks  and  gondolas ;  and  I  was  ex 
ceedingly  smitten  by  a  pair  of  languish 
ing  black  eyes,  that  played  upon  my 
heart  from  under  an  Italian  mantle ;  so 
I  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  lingering 
at  Venice  to  study  men  and  manners ;  at 
least  I  persuaded  my  friends  so,  and  that 
answered  all  my  purposes. 

I  was  a  little  prone  to  be  struck  by 
peculiarities  in  character  and  conduct, 
and  my  imagination  was  so  full  of  ro 
mantic  associations  with  Italy,  that  I 
was  always  on  the  look-out  for  adven 
ture.  Every  thing  chimed  in  with  such 
a  humour  in  this  old  mermaid  of  a  city. 
My  suite  of  apartments  was  in  a  proud, 
melancholy  palace  on  the  grand  canal, 
formerly  the  residence  of  a  magnifico, 
and  sumptuous  with  the  traces  of  de 
cayed  grandeur.  My  gondolier  was  one 
of  the  shrewdest  of  his  class,  active, 
merry,  intelligent,  and,  like  his  brethren, 
secret  as  the  grave ;  that  is  to  say,  secret 
to  all  the  world  except  his  master.  I  had 
not  had  him  a  week  before  he  put  me 
behind  all  the  curtains  in  Venice.  I 
liked  the  silence  and  mystery  of  the 
place,  and  when  I  sometimes  saw  from 
my  window  a  black  gondola  gliding 
mysteriously  along  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  with  nothing  visible  but  its  little 
glimmering  lantern,  I  would  jump  into 
my  own  zendeletta,  and  give  a  signal  for 
pursuit — "  But  I  am  running  away  from 
my  subject  with  the  recollection  of  youth 
ful  follies,"  said  the  baronet,  checking 
himself.  "  Let  us  come  to  the  point." 

Among  my  familiar  resorts  was  a 
cassino  under  the  arcades  on  one  side  of 
the  grand  square  of  St.  Mark.  Here  I 
used  frequently  to  lounge  and  take  my 
ice,  on  those  warm  summer  nights,  when 
in  Italy  every  body  lives  abroad  until 

ia- • — - — 


morning.  I  was  seated  here  one  even 
ing,  when  a  group  of  Italians  took  their 
seat  at  a  table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
saloon.  Their  conversation  was  gay 
and  animated,  and  carried  on  with 
Italian  vivacity  and  gesticulation.  I 
remarked  among  them  one  young  man, 
however,  who  appeared  to  take  no  share, 
and  find  no  enjoyment  in  the  conversa 
tion,  though  he  seemed  to  force  himself 
to  attend  to  it.  He  was  tall  and  slender, 
and  of  extremely  prepossessing  appear 
ance.  His  features  were  fine,  though 
emaciated.  He  had  a  profusion  of  black 
glossy  hair,  that  curled  lightly  about  his 
head,  and  contrasted  with  the  extreme 
paleness  of  his  countenance.  His  brow 
was  haggard ;  deep  furrows  seemed  to 
have  been  ploughed  into  his  visage  by 
care,  not  by  age,  for  he  was  evidently  in 
the  prime  of  youth.  His  eye  was  full  of 
expression  and  fire,  but  wild  and  un 
steady.  He  seemed  to  be  tormented  by 
some  strange  fancy  or  apprehension.  In 
spite  of  every  effort  to  fix  his  attention 
on  the  conversation  of  his  companions,  I 
noticed  that  every  now  and  then  he 
would  turn  his  head  slowly  round,  give 
a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  and  then 
withdraw  it  with  a  sudden  jerk,  as  if 
something  painful  had  met  his  eye. 
This  was  repeated  at  intervals  of  about 
a  minute,  and  he  appeared  hardly  to 
have  recovered  from  one  shock,  before  I 
saw  him  slowly  preparing  to  encounter 
another. 

After  sitting  some  time  in  the  cassino, 
the  party  paid  for  the  refreshment  they 
had  taken,  and  departed.  The  young 
man  was  the  last  to  leave  the  saloon, 
and  I  remarked  him  glancing  behind 
him  in  the  same  way,  just  as  he  passed 
out  of  the  door.  I  could  not  resist  the 
impulse  to  rise  and  follow  him  ;  for  I 
was  at  an  age  when  a  romantic  feeling 
of  curiosity  is  easily  awakened.  The 
party  walked  slowly  down  the  arcades, 
talking  and  laughing  as  they  went. 
They  crossed  the  Piazzetta,  but  paused 
in  the  middle  of  it  to  enjoy  the  scene. 
It  was  one  of  those  moonlight  nights,  so 
brilliant  and  clear  in  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  Italy.  The  moonbeams  streamed  on 
the  tall  tower  of  St.  Mark,  and  lighted 
up  the  magnificent  front  and  swelling 
domes  of  the  cathedral.  The  party  ex- 


T 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


37 


pressed  their  delight  in  animated  terms. 
I  kept  my  eye  upon  the  young  man. 
He  alone  seemed  abstracted  and  self- 
occupied.  I  noticed  the  same  singular, 
and,  as  it  were,  furtive  glance  over  the 
shoulder,  which  had  attracted  my  atten 
tion  in  the  cassino.  The  party  moved 
on,  and  I  followed ;  they  passed  along 
the  walk  called  the  Broglio,  turned  the 
corner  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  and  getting 
into  a  gondola,  glided  swiftly  away. 

The  countenance  and  conduct  of  this 
young  man  dwelt  upon  my  mind. 
There  was  something  in  his  appearance 
that  interested  me  exceedingly.  I  met 
him  a  day  or  two  after  in  a  gallery  of 
paintings.  He  was  evidently  a  connois 
seur,  for  he  always  singled  out  the  most 
masterly  productions,  and  the  few  re 
marks  drawn  from  him  by  his  com 
panions  showed  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  art.  His  own  taste,  however, 
ran  on  singular  extremes.  On  Salvator 
Rosa,  in  his  most  savage  and  solitary 
scenes  :  on  Raphael,  Titian,  and  Correg- 
gio,  in  their  softest  delineations  of  female 
beauty :  on  these  he  would  occasionally 
gaze  with  transient  enthusiasm.  But 
this  seemed  only  a  momentary  forgetful- 
ness.  Still  would  recur  that  cautious 
glance  behind,  and  always  quickly  with 
drawn,  as  though  something  terrible  had 
met  his  view. 

I  encountered  him  frequently  after 
wards  at  the  theatre,  at  balls,  at  con 
certs  ;  at  the  promenades  in  the  gardens 
of  San  Georgio ;  at  the  grotesque  exhi 
bitions  in  the  square  of  St.  Mark  ;  among 
the  throng  of  merchants  on  the  exchange 
by  the  Rialto.  He  seemed,  in  fact,  to 
seek  crowds ;  to  hunt  after  bustle  and 
amusement :  yet  never  to  take  any  in 
terest  in  either  the  business  or  the  gayety 
of  the  scene.  Ever  an  air  of  painful 
thought,  of  wretched  abstraction;  and 
ever  that  strange  and  recurring  move 
ment  of  glancing  fearfully  over  the 
shoulder.  I  did  not  know  at  first  but 
this  might  be  caused  by  apprehension  of 
arrest ;  or,  perhaps,  from  dread  of  assas 
sination.  But  if  so,  why  should  he  go 
thus  continually  abroad ;  why  expose 
himself  at  all  times  and  in  all  places? 

I  became  anxious  to  know  this  stran 
ger.  I  was  drawn  to  him  by  that  roman 
tic  sympathy  which  sometimes  draws 

VOL.  II.  4 


young  men  towards  each  other.  His 
melancholy  threw  a  charm  about  him  in 
my  eyes,  which  was  no  doubt  heightened 
by  the  touching  expression  of  his  counte 
nance,  and  the  manly  graces  of  his  per 
son;  for  manly  beauty  has  its  effect 
even  upon  men.  I  had  an  Englishman's 
habitual  diffidence  and  awkwardness  of 
address  to  contend  with ;  but  I  subdued 
it,  and  from  frequently  meeting  him  in 
the  cassino,  gradually  edged  myself  into 
his  acquaintance.  I  had  no  reserve  on 
his  part  to  contend  with.  He  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  court  society ;  and, 
in  fact,  to  seek  any  thing  rather  than  be 
alone. 

When  he  found  that  I  really  took  an 
interest  in  him,  he  threw  himself  entirely 
on  my  friendship.  He  clung  to  me  like 
a  drowning  man.  He  would  walk  with 
me  for  hours  up  and  down  the  Place  of 
St.  Mark — or  he  would  sit,  until  night 
was  far  advanced,  in  my  apartments. 
He  took  rooms  under  the  same  roof  with 
me ;  and  his  constant  request  was  that  I 
would  permit  him,  when  it  did  not  in 
commode  me,  to  sit  by  me  in  my  saloon. 
It  was  not  that  he  seemed  to  take  a  par 
ticular  delight  in  my  conversation,  but 
rather  that  he  craved  the  vicinity  of  a 
human  being ;  and,  above  all,  of  a  being 
that  sympathized  with  him.  "  I  have 
often  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  sincerity 
of  Englishmen — thank  God  I  have  one 
at  length  for  a  friend  !" 

Yet  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  avail 
himself  of  my  sympathy  other  than  by 
mere  companionship.  He  never  sought 
to  unbosom  himself  to  me :  there  ap 
peared  to  be  a  settled  corroding  anguish 
in  his  bosom  that  neither  could  be 
soothed  "  by  silence  nor  by  speaking." 

A  devouring  melancholy  preyed  upon 
his  heart,  and  seemed  to  be  drying  up 
the  very  blood  in  his  veins.  It  was  not 
a  soft  melancholy,  the  disease  of  the 
affections,  but  a  parching,  withering 
agony.  I  could  see  at  times  that  his 
mouth  was  dry  and  feverish ;  he  panted 
rather  than  breathed ;  his  eyes  were 
bloodshot ;  his  cheeks  pale  and  livid ; 
with  now  and  then  faint  streaks  of  red 
athwart  them,  baleful  gleams  of  the  fire 
that  was  consuming  his  heart.  As  my 
arm  was  within  his,  I  felt  him  press  it 
at  times  with  a  convulsive  motion  to  his 


38 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


side  ;  his  hands  would  clench  themselves 
involuntarily,  and  a  kind  of  shudder 
would  run  through  his  frame. 

I  reasoned  with  him  about  his  melan 
choly,  and  sought  to  draw  from  him  the 
cause;  he  shrunk  from  all  confiding: 
"  Do  not  seek  to  know  it,"  said  he,  "  you 
could  not  relieve  it  if  you  knew  it ;  you 
would  not  even  seek  to  relieve  it.  On 
the  contrary,  I  should  lose  your  sym 
pathy,  and  that,"  said  he,  pressing  my 
hand  convulsively,  "  that  I  feel  has  be 
come  too  dear  to  me  to  risk." 

I  endeavoured  to  awaken  hope  within 
him.  He  was  young ;  life  had  a  thou 
sand  pleasures  in  store  for  him  ;  there  is 
a  healthy  reaction  in  the  youthful  heart ; 
it  medicines  all  its  own  wounds — "  Come, 
come,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  grief  so  great 
that  youth  cannot  outgrow  it." — "  No  ! 
no  !"  said  he,  clenching  his  teeth,  and 
striking  repeatedly,  with  the  energy  of 
despair,  on  his  bosom — "  it  is  here  ! 
here !  deep-rooted ;  draining  my  heart's 
blood.  It  grows  and  grows,  while  my 
heart  withers  and  withers.  I  have  a 
dreadful  monitor  that  gives  me  no  repose 
— that  follows  me  step  by  step — and  will 
follow  me  step  by  step,  until  it  pushes 
me  into  my  grave  !" 

As  he  said  this,  he  involuntarily  gave 
one  of  those  fearful  glances  over  his 
shoulder,  and  shrunk  back  with  more 
than  usual  horror.  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  allude  to  this  move 
ment,  which  I  supposed  to  be  some  mere 
malady  of  the  nerves.  The  moment  I 
mentioned  it,  his  face  became  crimsoned 
and  convulsed ;  he  grasped  me  by  both 
hands — 

"  For  God's  sake,"  exclaimed  he,  with 
a  piercing  voice,  "  never  allude  to  that 
again.  Let  us  avoid  this  subject,  my 
friend ;  you  cannot  relieve  me,  indeed 
you  cannot  relieve  me,  but  you  may  add 
to  the  torments  I  suffer.  At  some  future 
day  you  shall  know  all." 

I  never  resumed  the  subject ;  for  how 
ever  much  my  curiosity  might  be  roused, 
I  felt  too  true  a  compassion  for  his  suf 
ferings  to  increase  them  by  my  intru 
sion.  I  sought  various  ways  to  divert 
his  mind,  and  to  arouse  him  from  the 
constant  meditations  in  which  he  was 
plunged.  Fie  saw  my  efforts,  and  se 
conded  them  as  far  as  in  his  power,  for 


there  was  nothing  moody  nor  wayward 
in  his  nature.  On  the  contrary,  there 
was  something  frank,  generous,  unas 
suming  in  his  whole  deportment.  All 
the  sentiments  that  he  uttered  were  noble 
and  lofty.  He  claimed  no  indulgence, 
he  asked  no  toleration.  He  seemed  con 
tent  to  carry  his  load  of  misery  in  silence, 
and  only  sought  to  carry  it  by  my  side. 
There  was  a  mute  beseeching  manner 
about  him,  as  if  he  craved  companion 
ship  as  a  charitable  boon ;  and  a  tacit 
thankfulness  in  his  looks,  as  if  he  felt 
grateful  to  me  for  not  repulsing  him. 

I  felt  this  melancholy  to  be  infectious. 
It  stole  over  my  spirits ;  interfered  with 
all  my  gay  pursuits,  and  gradually  sad 
dened  my  life ;  yet  I  could  not  prevail 
upon  myself  to  shake  off  a  being  who 
seemed  to  hang  upon  me  for  support.  In 
truth,  the  generous  traits  of  character 
that  beamed  through  all  this  gloom  had 
penetrated  to  my  heart.  His  bounty 
was  lavish  and  open-handed  :  his  charity 
melting  and  spontaneous ;  not  confined 
to  mere  donations,  which  humiliate  as 
much  as  they  relieve.  The  tone  of  his 
voice,  the  beam  of  his  eye,  enhanced 
every  gift,  and  surprised  the  poor  sup 
pliant  with  that  rarest  and  sweetest  of 
charities,  the  charity  not  merely  of  the 
hand  but  of  the  heart.  Indeed  his  libe 
rality  seemed  to  have  something  in  it  of 
self-abasement  and  expiation.  He,  in  a 
manner,  humbled  himself  before  the 
mendicant.  "  What  right  have  I  to  ease 
and  affluence" — would  he  murmur  to 
himself — "  when  innocence  wanders  in 
misery  and  rags  ?" 

The  carnival  time  arrived.  I  hoped 
that  the  gay  scenes  which  then  presented 
themselves  might  have  some  cheering 
effect.  I  mingled  with  him  in  the  mot 
ley  throng  that  crowded  the  Place  of 
St.  Mark.  We  frequented  operas,  mas 
querades,  balls — all  in  vain.  The  evil 
kept  growing  on  him.  He  became  more 
and  more  haggard  and  agitated.  Often, 
after  we  had  returned  from  one  of  these 
scenes  of  revelry,  I  have  entered  his 
room  and  found  him  lying  on  his  face 
on  the  sofa ;  his  hands  clenched  in  his 
fine  hair,  and  his  whole  countenance 
bearing  traces  of  the  convulsions  of  his 
mind. 

The  carnival  passed  away  ;  the  time 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


of  Lent  succeeded;  passion- week  arrived ; 
we  attended  one  evening  a  solemn  service 
in  one  of  the  churches,  in  the  course  of 
which  a  grand  piece  of  vocal  and  instru 
mental  music  was  performed,  relating  to 
the  death  of  our  Saviour. 

I  had  remarked  that  he  was  always 
powerfully  affected  by  music;  on  this 
occasion  he  was  so  in  an  extraordinary 
degree.  As  the  pealing-  notes  swelled 
through  the  lofty  aisles,  he  seemed  to 
kindle  with  fervour ;  his  eyes  rolled  up 
wards,  until  nothing  but  the  whites  were 
visible ;  his  hands  were  clasped  together, 
until  the  fingers  were  deeply  imprinted 
in  the  flesh.  When  the  music  expressed 
the  dying  agony,  his  face  gradually 
sunk  upon  his  knees ;  and  at  the  touch 
ing  words  resounding  through  the  church, 
"  Jcsu  mori"  sobs  burst  from  him  un 
controlled — I  had  never  seen  him  weep 
before.  His  had  always  been  agony 
rather  than  sorrow.  I  augured  well  from 
the  circumstance,  and  let  him  weep  on 
uninterrupted.  When  the  service  was 
ended,  we  left  the  church.  He  hung  on 
my  arm  as  we  walked  homewards  with 
something  of  a  softer  and  more  subdued 
manner,  instead  of  that  nervous  agita 
tion  I  had  been  accustomed  to  witness. 
He  alluded  to  the  service  we  had  heard. 
"  Music,"  said  he,  "  is  indeed  the  voice 
of  Heaven ;  never  before  have  I  felt  more 
impressed  by  the  story  of  the  atonement 
of  our  Saviour — Yes,  my  friend,"  said 
he,  clasping  his  hands  with  a  kind  of 
transport,  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer 
liveth  !" 

We  parted  for  the  night.  His  room 
was  not  far  from  mine,  and  I  heard  him 
for  some  time  busied  in  it.  I  fell  asleep, 
but  was  awakened  before  daylight.  The 
young  man  stood  by  my  bedside,  dressed 
for  travelling.  He  held  a  sealed  packet 
and  a  large  parcel  in  his  hand,  which  he 
laid  on  the  table. 

"  Farewell,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  I 
am  about  to  set  forth  on  a  long  journey  ; 
but,  before  I  go,  I  leave  with  you  these 
remembrances.  In  this  packet  you  will 
find  the  particulars  of  my  story.  When 
you  read  them  I  shall  be  far  away ;  do 
not  remember  me  with  aversion — You 
have  been  indeed  a  friend  to  me.  You 
have  poured  oil  into  a  broken  heart,  but 
you  could  not  heal  it.  Farewell !  let  me 


kiss  your  hand — I  am  unworthy  to  em 
brace  you."  He  sunk  on  his  knees — 
seized  my  hand  in  despite  of  my  efforts 
to  the  contrary,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses.  I  was  so  surprised  by  all  the 
scene,  that  I  had  not  been  able  to  say  a 
word.  "  But  we  shall  meet  again,"  said 
I  hastily,  as  I  saw  him  hurrying  towards 
the  door.  "  Never,  never  in  this  world !" 
said  he  solemnly.  He  sprang  once  more 
to  my  bedside — seized  my  hand,  pressed 
it  to  his  heart  and  to  his  lips,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room. 

Here  the  baronet  paused.  He  seemed 
lost  in  thought,  and  sat  looking  upon  the 
floor,  and  drumming  with  his  fingers  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  And  did  this  mysterious  personage 
return  ?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Never !"  replied  the  baronet,  with 
a  pensive  shake  of  the  head — "  I  never 
saw  him  again." 

"  And  pray  what  has  all  this  to  do 
with  the  picture?"  inquired  the  old  gen 
tleman  with  the  nose. 

"True,"  said  the  questioner — "Is  it  the 
portrait  of  that  crack-brained  Italian  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  baronet  drily,  not  half 
liking  the  appellation  given  to  his  hero — 
"  but  this  picture  was  enclosed  in  the  par 
cel  he  left  with  me.     The  sealed  packet 
contained  its  explanation.     There  was  a 
request  on  the  outside  that  I  would  not 
open  it  until    six  months   had   elapsed. 
I  kept  my  promise,  in  spite  of  my  curio-  i 
sity.     I  have  a  translation  of  it  by  me,  i 
and  had   meant  to  read  it,  by  way  of  ' 
accounting  for  the  mystery  of  the  cham 
ber  ;  but  I  fear  I  have  already  detained 
the  company  too  long." 

Here  there  was  a  general  wish  ex 
pressed  to  have  the  manuscript  read, 
particularly  on  the  part  of  the  inquisi 
tive  gentleman ;  so  the  worthy  baronet 
drew  out  a  fairly-written  manuscript, 
and,  wiping  his  spectacles,  read  aloud  j 
the  following  story ; 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG 
ITALIAN. 

I  WAS  born  at  Naples.  My  parents, 
though  of  noble  rank,  were  limited  in 
fortune,  or  rather,  my  father  was  osten 
tatious  beyond  his  means,  and  expended 


40 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


so  much  on  his  palace,  his  equipage, 
and  his  retinue,  that  he  was  continually 
straitened  in  his  pecuniary  circumstances. 
I  was  a  younger  son,  and  looked  upon 
with  indifference  by  my  father,  who, 
from  a  principle  of  family  pride,  wished 
to  leave  all  his  property  to  my  elder 
brother.  I  showed,  when  quite  a  child, 
an  extreme  sensibility.  Every  thing 
affected  me  violently.  While  yet  an 
infant  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  before 
I  had  learnt  to  talk,  I  could  be  wrought 
upon  to  a  wonderful  degree  of  anguish 
or  delight  by  the  power  of  music.  As  I 
grew  older,  my  feelings  remained  equally 
acute,  and  I  was  easily  transported  into 
paroxysms  of  pleasure  or  rage.  It  was 
the  amusement  of  my  relations  and  of 
the  domestics  to  play  upon  this  irritable 
temperament.  I  was  moved  to  tears, 
tickled  to  laughter,  provoked  to  fury,  for 
the  entertainment  of  company,  who  were 
amused  by  such  a  tempest  of  mighty 
passion  in  a  pigmy  frame — they  little 
thought,  or  perhaps  little  heeded,  the 
dangerous  sensibilities  they  were  foster 
ing.  I  thus  became  a  little  creature  of 
passion  before  reason  was  developed. 
In  a  short  time  I  grew  too  old  to  be  a 
plaything,  and  then  I  became  a  torment. 
The  tricks  and  passions  I  had  been  teased 
into  became  irksome,  and  I  was  disliked 
by  my  teachers  for  the  very  lessons  they 
had  taught  me.  My  mother  died ;  and 
my  power  as  a  spoiled  child  was  at  an 
end.  There  was  no  longer  any  neces 
sity  to  humour  or  tolerate  me,  for  there 
was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  it,  as  I  was 
no  favourite  of  my  father.  I  therefore 
experienced  the  fate  of  a  spoiled  child  in 
such  a  situation,  and  was  neglected,  or 
noticed  only  to  be  crossed  and  contra 
dicted.  Such  was  the  early  treatment 
of  a  heart,  which,  if  I  can  judge  of  it  at 
all,  was  naturally  disposed  to  the  ex 
tremes  of  tenderness  and  affection. 

My  father,  as  I  have  already  said, 
never  liked  me — in  fact,  he  never  under 
stood  me ;  he  looked  upon  me  as  wilful 
and  wayward,  as  deficient  in  natural 
affection.  It  was  the  stateliness  of  his 
own  manner,  the  loftiness  and  grandeur 
of  his  own  look,  that  had  repelled  me 
from  his  arms.  I  had  always  pictured 
him  to  myself  as  I  had  seen  him,  clad  in 
his  senatorial  robes,  rustling  with  pomp 


and  pride.  The  magnificence  of  his  per 
son  had  daunted  my  young  imagination. 
I  could  never  approach  him  with  the 
confiding  affection  of  a  child. 

My  father's  feelings  were  wrapt  up  in 
my  elder  brother.  He  was  to  be  the  in 
heritor  of  the  family  title  and  the  family 
dignity,  and  every  thing  was  sacrificed  to 
him — I,  as  well  as  every  thing  else. 
It  was  determined  to  devote  me  to  the 
church,  that  so  my  humours  and  myself 
might  be  removed  out  of  the  way,  either 
of  tasking  my  father's  time  and  trouble, 
or  interfering  with  the  interests  of  my 
brother.  At  an  early  age,  therefore, 
before  my  mind  had  dawned  upon  the 
world  and  its  delights,  or  known  any 
thing  of  it  beyond  the  precincts  of  my 
father's  palace,  I  was  sent  to  a  convent, 
the  superior  of  which  was  my  uncle,  and 
was  confided  entirely  to  his  care. 

My  uncle  was  a  man  totally  estranged 
from  the  world :  he  had  never  relished, 
for  he  had  never  tasted,  its  pleasures ; 
and  he  regarded  rigid  self-denial  as  the 
great  basis  of  Christian  virtue.  He  con 
sidered  every  one's  temperament  like  his 
own ;  or  at  least  he  made  them  conform 
to  it.  His  character  and  habits  had  an 
influence  over  the  fraternity  of  which  he 
was  superior — a  more  gloomy,  saturnine 
set  of  beings  were  never  assembled  to 
gether.  The  convent,  too,  was  calcu 
lated  to  awaken  sad  and  solitary  thoughts. 
It  was  situated  in  a  gloomy  gorge  of 
those  mountains  away  south  of  Vesu 
vius.  All  distant  views  were  shut  out 
by  sterile  volcanic  heights.  A  mountain- 
stream  raved  beneath  its  walls,  and  eagles 
screamed  about  its  turrets. 

I  had  been  sent  to  this  place  at  so  ten 
der  an  age  as  soon  to  lose  all  distinct 
recollection  of  the  scenes  I  had  left  be 
hind.  As  my  mind  expanded,  therefore, 
it  formed  its  idea  of  the  world  from  the 
convent  and  its  vicinity,  and  a  dreary 
world  it  appeared  to  me.  An  early  tinge 
of  melancholy  was  thus  infused  into  my 
character ;  and  the  dismal  stories  of  the 
monks,  about  devils  and  evil  spirits,  with 
which  they  affrighted  my  young  imagi 
nation,  gave  me  a  tendency  to  supersti 
tion  which  I  could  never  effectually  shake 
off*.  They  took  the  same  delight  to  work 
upon  my  ardent  feelings,  that  had  been 
so  mischievously  executed  by  my  father's 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


41 


household.  I  can  recollect  the  horrors 
with  which  they  fed  my  heated  fancy 
during  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius.  We 
were  distant  from  that  volcano,  with 
mountains  between  us ;  but  its  convulsive 
throes  shook  the  solid  foundations  of  na 
ture.  Earthquakes  threatened  to  topple 
down  our  convent  towers.  A  lurid,  bale 
ful  light  hung  in  the  heavens  at  night, 
and  showers  of  ashes,  borne  by  the  wind, 
fell  in  our  narrow  valley.  The  monks 
talked  of  the  earth  being  honeycombed 
beneath  us  ;  of  streams  of  molten  lava 
raging  through  its  veins ;  of  caverns  of 
sulphurous  flames  roaring  in  the  centre, 
the  abodes  of  demons  and  the  damned ; 
of  fiery  gulfs  ready  to  yawn  beneath  our 
feet.  All  these  tales  were  told  to  the 
doleful  accompaniment  of  the  mountain's 
thunders,  whose  low  bellowing  made  the 
walls  of  our  convent  vibrate. 

One  of  the  monks  had  been  a  painter, 
but  had  retired  from  the  world,  and  em 
braced  this  dismal  life  in  expiation  "of 
some  crime.  He  was  a  melancholy  man, 
who  pursued  his  art  in  the  solitude  of  his 
cell,  but  made  it  a  source  of  penance  to 
him.  His  employment  was  to  portray, 
either  on  canvass  or  in  waxen  models, 
the  human  face  and  human  form,  in  the 
agonies  of  death,  and  in  all  the  stages  of 
dissolution  and  decay.  The  fearful  mys 
teries  of  the  charnel-house  were  unfolded 
in  his  labours.  The  loathsome  banquet 
of  the  beetle  and  the  worm.  I  turn  with 
shuddering  even  from  the  recollection  of 
his  works :  yet,  at  the  time,  my  strong 
but  ill-directed  imagination  seized  with 
ardour  upon  his  instructions  in  his  art. 
Any  thing  was  a  variety  from  the  dry 
studies  and  monotonous  duties  of  the 
cloister.  In  a  little  while  I  became  ex 
pert  with  my  pencil,  and  my  gloomy 
productions  were  thought  worthy,  of  de 
corating  some  of  the  altars  of  the  chapel. 

In  this  dismal  way  was  a  creature  of 
feeling  and  fancy  brought  up.  Every 
thing  genial  and  amiable  in  my  nature 
was  repressed,  and  nothing  brought  out 
but  what  was  unprofitable  arid  ungra 
cious.  I  was  ardent  in  my  temperament; 
quick,  mercurial,  impetuous :  formed  to 
be  a  creature  all  love  and  adoration ;  but 
a  leaden  hand  was  laid  on  all  my  finer 
qualities.  I  was  taught  nothing  but  fear 
rittd  hatred.  I  hated  my  uncle.  I  hated 


the  monks.  I  hated  the  convent  in 
which  I  was  immured.  I  hated  the 
world ;  and  I  almost  hated  myself  for 
being,  as  I  supposed,  so  hating  and  hate 
ful  an  animal. 

When  I  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of 
sixteen,  I  was  suffered,  on  one  occasion, 
to  accompany  one  of  the  brethren  on  a 
mission  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country. 
We  soon  left  behind  us  the  gloomy  valley 
in  which  I  had  been  pent  up  for  so  many 
years,  and  after  a  short  journey  among 
the  mountains,  emerged  upon  the  volup 
tuous  landscape  that  spreads  itself  about 
the  Bay  of  Naples.  Heavens !  how 
transported  was  I,  when  I  stretched  my 
gaze  over  a  vast  reach  of  delicious  sunny 
country,  gay  with  groves  and  vineyards  : 
with  Vesuvius  rearing  its  forked  summit 
to  my  right ;  the  blue  Mediterranean  to 
my  left,  with  its  enchanting  coast,  stud 
ded  with  shining  towns  and  sumptuous 
villas  ;  and  Naples,  my  native  Naples, 
gleaming  far,  far  in  the  distance. 

Good  God  !  was  this  the  lovely  world 
from  which  I  had  been  excluded?  I  had 
reached  that  age  when  the  sensibilities 
are  in  all  their  bloom  and  freshness. 
Mine  had  been  checked  and  chilled. 
They  now  burst  forth  with  the  sudden 
ness  of  a  retarded  spring.  My  heart, 
hitherto  unnaturally  shrunk  up,  expanded 
into  a  riot  of  vague  but  delicious  emotions. 
The  beauty  of  nature  intoxicated — be 
wildered  me.  The  song  of  the  peasants  ; 
their  cheerful  looks ;  their  happy  avoca 
tions  ;  the  picturesque  gayety  of  their 
dresses ;  their  rustic  music ;  their  dances ; 
all  broke  upon  me  like  witchcraft.  My 
soul  responded  to  the  music,  my  heart 
danced  in  my  bosom.  All  the  men  ap 
peared  amiable,  all  the  women  lovely. 

I  returned  to  the  convent,  that  is  to 
say,  my  body  returned,  but  my  heart 
and  soul  never  entered  there  again.  I 
could  not  forget  this  glimpse  of  a  beauti 
ful  and  a  happy  world — a  world  so  suited 
to  my  natural  character.  I  had  felt  so 
happy  while  in  it ;  so  different  a  being 
from  what  I  felt  myself  when  in  the  con 
vent — that  tomb  of  the  living.  I  con 
trasted  the  countenances  of  the  beings  I 
had  seen,  full  of  fire  and  freshness,  and 
enjoyment,  with  the  pallid,  leaden,  lack 
lustre  visages  of  the  monks ;  the  music 
of  the  dance  with  the  droning  chaunt  of 

4* 


42 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


the  chapel.  I  had  before  found  the  exer 
cises  of  the  cloister  wearisome,  they  now 
became  intolerable.  The  dull  round  of 
duties  wore  away  my  spirit ;  my  nerves 
became  irritated  by  the  fretful  tinkling  of 
the  convent-bell,  evermore  dinging  among 
the  mountain  echoes,  evermore  calling 
me  from  my  repose  at  night,  my  pencil 
by  day,  to  attend  to  some  tedious  and 
mechanical  ceremony  of  devotion. 

I  was  not  of  a  nature  to  meditate  long 
without  putting  my  thoughts  into  action. 
My  spirit  had  been  suddenly  aroused, 
and  was  now  all  awake  within  me.  I 
watched  an  opportunity,  fled  from  the 
convent,  and  made  my  way  on  foot  to 
Naples.  As  I  entered  its  gay  and 
crowded  streets,  and  beheld  the  variety 
and  stir  of  life  around  me,  the  luxury  of 
palaces,  the  splendour  of  equipages,  and 
the  pantomimic  animation  of  the  motley 
populace,  I  seemed  as  if  awakened  to  a 
world  of  enchantment,  and  solemnly 
vowed  that  nothing  should  force  me  back 
to  the  monotony  of  the  cloister. 

I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  my  father's 
palace,  for  I  had  been  so  young  on  leav 
ing  it  that  I  knew  not  its  situation.  I 
found  some  difficulty  in  getting  admitted 
to  my  father's  presence  ;  for  the  domes 
tics  scarcely  knew  that  there  was  such  a 
being  as  myself  in  existence,  and  my 
monastic  dress  did  not  operate  in  my 
favour.  Even  my  father  entertained  no 
recollection  of  my  person.  I  told  him 
my  name,  threw  myself  at  his  feet,  im 
plored  his  forgiveness,  and  entreated  that 
I  might  not  be  sent  back  to  the  convent. 

He  received  me  with  the  condescension 
of  a  patron,  rather  than  the  fondness  of 
a  parent ;  listened  patiently,  but  coldly, 
to  my  tale  of  monastic  grievances  and 
disgusts,  and  promised  to  think  what  else 
could  be  done  for  me.  This  coldness 
blighted  and  drove  back  all  the  frank 
affection  of  my  nature,  that  was  ready 
to  spring  forth  at  the  least  warmth  of 
parental  kindness.  All  my  early  feel 
ings  towards  my  father  revived.  I  again 
looked  up  to  him  as  the  stately  magnifi 
cent  being  that  had  daunted  my  childish 
imagination,  and  felt  as  if  I  had  no  pre 
tensions  to  his  sympathies.  My  brother 
engrossed  all  his  care  and  love ;  he  inhe 
rited  his  nature,  and  carried  himself 
towards  me  with  a  protecting  rather  than 


a  fraternal  air.  It  wounded  my  pride, 
which  was  great.  I  could  brook  conde 
scension  from  my  father,  for  I  looked  up 
to  him  with  awe,  as  a  superior  being; 
but  I  could  not  brook  patronage  from  a 
brother,  who  I  felt  was  intellectually  my 
inferior.  The  servants  perceived  that  I 
was  an  unwelcome  intruder  in  the  pa 
ternal  mansion,  and,  menial-like,  they 
treated  me  with  neglect.  Thus  baffled 
at  every  point,  my  affections  outraged 
wherever  they  would  attach  themselves, 
I  became  sullen,  silent,  and  desponding. 
My  feelings,  driven  back  upon  myself, 
entered  and  preyed  upon  my  own  heart. 
I  remained  for  some  days  an  unwelcome 
guest  rather  than  a  restored  son  in  my 
father's  house.  I  was  doorrvxl  never  to 
be  properly  known  there.  I  was  made, 
by  wrong  treatment,  strange  even  to 
myself,  and  they  judged  of  me  from  my 
strangeness. 

I  was  startled  one  day  at  the  sight  of 
one  of  the  monks  of  my  convent  gliding 
out  of  my  father's  room.  He  saw  me, 
but  pretended  not  to  notice  me,  and  this 
very  hypocrisy  made  me  suspect  some 
thing.  I  had  become  sore  and  suscepti 
ble  in  my  feelings ;  every  thing  inflicted 
a  wound  on  them.  In  this  state  of  mind 
I  was  treated  with  marked  disrespect  by 
a  pampered  minion,  the  favourite  servant 
of  my  father.  All  the  pride  and  passion 
of  my  nature  rose  in  an  instant,  and  I 
struck  him  to  the  earth.  My  father  was 
passing  by ;  he  stopped  not  to  inquire 
the  reason,  nor  indeed  could  he  read  the 
long  course  of  mental  sufferings  which 
were  the  real  cause.  He  rebuked  me 
with  anger  and  scorn  ;  he  summoned  all 
the  haughtiness  of  his  nature  and  gran 
deur  of  his  look  to  give  weight  to  the 
contumely  with  which  he  treated  me.  I 
felt  that  I  had  not  deserved  it.  I  felt 
that  I  was  not  appreciated.  I  felt  that  I 
had  that  within  me  which  merited  better 
treatment.  My  heart  swelled  against  a 
father's  injustice.  I  broke  through  my 
habitual  awe  of  him — I  replied  to  him 
with  impatience.  My  hot  spirit  flushed 
in  my  cheek  and  kindled  in  my  eye ;  but 
my  sensitive  heart  swelled  as  quickly, 
and  before  I  had  half  vented  my  passion, 
I  felt  it  suffocated  and  quenched  in  my 
tears.  My  father  was  astonished  and 
incensed  at  this  turning  of  the  worm,  and 

• -— -n 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


43 


ordered  me  to  my  chamber.  I  retired 
in  silence,  choking  with  contending  emo 
tions. 

I  had  not  been  long  there  when  I 
overheard  voices  in  an  adjoining  apart 
ment.  It  was  a  consultation  between  my 
father  and  the  monk,  about  the  mean^  of 
getting  me  back  quietly  to  the  convent. 
My  resolution  was  taken.  I  had  no 
longer  a  home  nor  a  father.  That  very 
night  I  left  the  paternal  roof.  I  got  on 
board  a  vessel  about  making  sail  from  the 
harbour,  and  abandoned  myself  to  the 
wide  world.  No  matter  to  what  port  she 
steered  ;  any  part  of  so  beautiful  a  world 
was  better  than  my  convent.  No  matter 
where  I  was  cast  by  fortune ;  any  place 
would  be  more  a  home  to  me  than  the 
home  I  had  left  behind.  The  vessel  was 
bound  to  Genoa.  We  arrived  there  after 
a  voyage  of  a  few  days. 

As  I  entered  the  harbour  between  the 
moles  which  embrace  it,  and  beheld  the 
amphitheatre  of  palaces,  and  churches, 
and  splendid  gardens,  rising  one  above 
another,  I  felt  at  once  its  title  to  the  ap 
pellation  of  Genoa  the  Superb.  I  landed 
on  the  mole  an  utter  stranger,  without 
knowing  what  to  do,  or  whither  to  direct 
my  steps.  No  matter :  I  was  released 
from  the  thraldom  of  the  convent  and 
the  humiliations  of  home.  When  I  tra 
versed  the  Strada  Balbi  and  the  Strada 
Nuova,  those  streets  of  palaces,  and 
gazed  at  the  wonders  of  architecture 
around  me ;  when  I  wandered  at  close  of 
day  amid  a  gay  throng  of  the  brilliant 
and  the  beautiful,  through  the  green 
alleys  of  the  Acqua  Verde,  or  among 
the  colonnades  and  terraces  of  the  mag 
nificent  Doria  gardens ;  I  thought  it  im 
possible  to  be  ever  otherwise  than  happy 
in  Genoa. 

A  few  days  sufficed  to  show  me  my 
mistake.  My  scanty  purse  was  exhaust 
ed,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
experienced  the  sordid  distresses  of 
penury.  I  had  never  known  the  want 
of  money,  and  had  never  adverted  to  the 
possibility  of  such  an  evil.  I  was  igno 
rant  of  the  world  and  all  its  ways ;  and 
when  first  the  idea  of  destitution  came 
over  my  mind,  its  effect  was  withering. 
I  was  wandering  penniless  through  the 
streets  which  no  longer  delighted  my 
eyes,  when  ^chance  led  my  steps  into 


the  magnificent  church  of  the  Annun- 
ciata. 

A  celebrated  painter  of  the  day  was 
at  that  moment  superintending  the  placing 
of  one  of  his  pictures  over  an  altar. 
The  proficiency  which  I  had  acquired  in 
his  art  during  my  residence  in  the  con 
vent  had  made  me  an  enthusiastic  ama 
teur.  I  was  struck,  at  the  first  glance, 
with  the  painting.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
Madonna.  So  innocent,  so  lovely,  such 
a  divine  expression  of  maternal  tender 
ness  !  I  lost,  for  the  moment,  all  recol 
lection  of  myself  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
my  art.  I  clasped  my  hands  together, 
and  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  delight. 
The  painter  perceived  my  emotion.  He 
was  flattered  and  gratified  by  it.  My  air 
and  manner  pleased  him,  and  he  accosted 
me.  I  felt  too  much  the  want  of  friend 
ship  to  repel  the  advances  of  a  stranger ; 
and  there  was  something  in  this  one  so 
benevolent  and  winning,  that  in  a  moment 
he  gained  my  confidence. 

I  told  him  my  story  and  my  situation, 
concealing  only  my  name  and  rank.  He 
appeared  strongly  interested  by  my  re 
cital,  invited  me  to  his  house,  and  from 
that  time  I  became  his  favourite  pupil. 
He  thought  he  perceived  in  me  extraor 
dinary  talents  for  the  art,  and  his  enco 
miums  awakened  all  my  ardour.  What 
a  blissful  period  of  my  existence  was  it 
that  I  passed  beneath  his  roof!  Another 
being  seemed  created  within  me ;  or 
rather,  all  that  was  amiable  and  excellent 
was  drawn  out.  I  was  as  recluse  as 
ever  I  had  been  at  the  convent,  but  how 
different  was  my  seclusion  !  My  time 
was  spent  in  storing  my  mind  with  lofty 
and  poetical  ideas ;  in  meditating  on  all 
that  was  striking  and  noble  in  history 
and  fiction  ;  in  studying  and  tracing  all 
that  was  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature. 
I  was  always  a  visionary,  imaginative 
being,  but  now  my  reveries  and  imagin 
ings  all  elevated  me  to  rapture.  I  looked 
up  to  my  master  as  to  a  benevolent  genius 
that  had  opened  to  me  a  region  of  en 
chantment.  He  was  not  a  native  of 
Genoa,  but  had  been  drawn  thither  by 
the  solicitations  of  several  of  the  nobility, 
and  had  resided  there  but  a  few  years, 
for  the  completion  of  certain  works  he 
had  undertaken.  His  health  was  delicate, 
and  he  had  to  confide  much  of  the  filling 


• 


44 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


up  of  his  designs  to  the  pencils  of  his 
scholars.  He  considered  me  as  particu 
larly  happy  in  delineating  the  human 
countenance,  in  seizing  upon  characteris 
tic,  though  fleeting  expressions,  and  fixing 
them  powerfully  upon  my  canvass.  I 
was  employed  continually,  therefore,  in 
sketching  faces,  and  often,  when  some 
particular  grace  or  beauty  of  expression 
was  wanted  in  a  countenance,  it  was  in 
trusted  to  my  pencil.  My  benefactor 
was  fond  of  bringing  me  forward ;  and 
partly,  perhaps,  through  my  actual  skill, 
and  partly  through  his  partial  praises,  I 
began  to  be  noted  for  the  expressions  of 
my  countenances. 

Among  the  various  works  which  he 
had  undertaken,  was  an  historical  piece 
for  one  of  the  palaces  of  Genoa,  in  which 
were  to  be  introduced  the  likenesses  of 
several  of  the  family.  Among  these  was 
one  intrusted  to  my  pencil.  It  was  that 
of  a  young  girl,  who  as  yet  was  in  a 
convent  for  her  education.  She  came 
out  for  the  purpose  of  sitting  for  the 
picture.  I  first  saw  her  in  an  apartment 
of  one  of  the  sumptuous  palaces  of 
Genoa.  She  stood  before  a  casement 
that  looked  out  upon  the  bay ;  a  stream 
of  vernal  sunshine  fell  upon  her,  and 
shed  a  kind  of  glory  round  her,  as  it  lit 
up  the  rich  crimson  chamber.  She  was 
but  sixteen  years  of  age — and  oh,  how 
lovely  !  The  scene  broke  upon  me  like 
a  mere  vision  of  spring  and  youth  and 
beauty.  I  could  have  fallen  down  and 
worshipped  her.  She  was  like  one  of 
those  fictions  of  poets  and  painters,  when 
they  would  express  the  beau  ideal  that 
haunts  their  minds  with  shapes  of  inde 
scribable  perfection.  I  was  permitted  to 
sketch  her  countenance  in  various  posi 
tions,  and  I  fondly  protracted  the  study 
that  was  undoing  me.  The  more  I  gazed 
on  her,  the  more  I  became  enamoured; 
there  was  something  almost  painful  in  my 
intense  admiration.  I  was  but  nineteen 
years  of  age,  shy,  diffident,  and  inexpe 
rienced.  I  was  treated  with  attention  by 
her  mother  ;  for  my  youth  and  my  en 
thusiasm  in  my  art  won  favour  for  me ; 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  was 
something  in  my  air  and  manner  that 
inspired  interest  and  respect.  Still  the 
kindness  with  which  I  was  treated  could 
not  dispel  the  embarrassment  into  which 


my  own  imagination  threw  me  when  in 
presence  of  this  lovely  being.  It  elevated 
her  into  something  almost  more  than 
mortal.  She  seemed  too  exquisite  for 
earthly  use ;  too  delicate  and  exalted  for 
human  attainment.  As  I  sat  tracing  her 
charms  on  my  canvass,  with  my  eyes 
occasionally  riveted  on  her  features,  I 
drank  in  delicious  poison  that  made  me 
giddy.  My  heart  alternately  gushed 
with  tenderness,  and  ached  with  despair. 
Now  I  became  more  than  ever  sensible 
of  the  violent  fires  that  had  lain  dormant 
at  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  You,  who  are 
born  in  a  more  temperate  climate,  and 
under  a  cooler  sky,  have  little  idea  of 
the  violence  of  passion  in  our  southern 
bosoms. 

A  few  days  finished  my  task.  Bianca, 
returned  to  her  convent,  but  her  image 
remained  indelibly  impressed  upon  my 
heart.  It  dwelt  in  my  imagination  ;  it 
became  my  pervading  idea  of  beauty. 
It  had  an  effect  even  upon  my  pencil.  I 
became  noted  for  my  felicity  in  depicting 
female  loveliness :  it  was  but  because  I 
multiplied  the  image  of  Bianca.  I  soothed 
and  yet  fed  my  fancy  by  introducing  her 
in  all  the  productions  of  my  master.  I 
have  stood,  with  delight,  in  one  of  the 
chapels  of  the  Annunciata,  and  heard  the 
crowd  extol  the  seraphic  beauty  of  a  saint 
which  I  had  painted.  I  have  seen  them 
bow  down  in  adoration  before  the  paint 
ing  ;  they  were  bowing  before  the  love 
liness  of  Bianca. 

I  existed  in  this  kind  of  dream,  I  might 
almost  say  delirium,  for  upwards  of  a 
year.  Such  is  the  tenacity  of  my  ima 
gination,  that  the  image  which  was  formed 
in  it  continued  in  all  its  power  and  fresh 
ness.  Indeed,  I  was  a  solitary,  meditative 
being,  much  given  to  revery,  and  apt  to 
foster  ideas  which  had  once  taken  strong 
possession  of  me.  I  was  roused  from  this 
fond,  melancholy,  delicious  dream  by  the 
death  of  my  worthy  benefactor.  I  cannot 
describe  the  pangs  his  death  occasioned 
me.  It  left  me  alone,  and  almost  broken 
hearted.  He  bequeathed  to  me  his  little 
property,  which,  from  the  liberality  of 
his  disposition,  and  his  expensive  style  of 
living,  was  indeed  but  small :  and  he 
most  particularly  recommended  me,  in 
dying,  to  the  protection  of  a  nobleman 
who  had  been  his  patron. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


45 


The  latter  was  a  man  who  passed  for 
munificent.  He  was  a  lover  and  an 
encourager  of  the  arts,  and  evidently 
wished  to  be  thought  so.  He  fancied  he 
saw  in  me  indications  of  future  excellence ; 
my  pencil  had  already  attracted  attention ; 
he  took  me  at  once  under  his  protection. 
Seeing  that  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  and  incapable  of  exerting  myself 
in  the  mansion  of  my  late  benefactor,  he 
invited  me  to  sojourn  for  a  time  at  a  villa 
which  he  possessed  on  the  border  of  the 
sea,  in  the  picturesque  neighbourhood  of 
Sestri  di  Ponente. 

I  found  at  the  villa  the  count's  only 
son,  Filippo.  He  was  nearly  of  my  age ; 
prepossessing  in  his  appearance,  and 
fascinating  in  his  manners  ;  he  attached 
himself  to  me,  and  seemed  to  court  my 
good  opinion.  I  thought  there  was  some 
thing  of  profession  in  his  kindness,  and 
of  caprice  in  his  disposition ;  but  I  had 
nothing  else  near  me  to  attach  myself  to, 
and  my  heart  felt  the  need  of  something 
to  repose  upon.  His  education  had  been 
neglected;  he  looked  upon  me  as  his 
superior  in  mental  powers  and  acquire 
ments,  and  tacitly  acknowledged  my 
superiority.  I  felt  that  I  was  his  equal 
in  birth,  and  that  gave  independence  to 
my  manners,  which  had  its  effect.  The 
caprice  and  tyranny  I  saw  sometimes 
exercised  on  others,  over  whom  he  had 
power,  were  never  manifested  towards 
me.  We  became  intimate  friends  and 
frequent  companions.  Still  I  loved  to 
be  alone,  and  to  indulge  in  the  reveries  of 
my  own  imagination  among  the  scenery 
by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

The  villa  commanded  a  wide  view  of 
the  Mediterranean,  and  of  the  picturesque 
Ligurian  coast.  It  stood  alone  in  the 
midst  of  ornamented  grounds,  finely  de 
corated  with  statues  and  fountains,  and 
laid  out  into  groves  and  alleys,  and  shady 
lawns.  Every  thing  was  assembled  here 
that  could  gratify  the  taste,  or  agreeably 
occupy  the  mind.  Soothed  by  the  tran 
quillity  of  this  elegant  retreat,  the  tur 
bulence  of  my  feelings  gradually  subsided, 
and  blending  with  the  romantic  spell 
which  still  reigned  over  my  imagination, 
produced  a  soft,  voluptuous  melancholy. 

I  had  not  been  long  under  the  roof  of 
the  count,  when  our  solitude  was  en 
livened  by  another  inhabitant.  It  was 


la 


the  daughter  of  a  relative  of  the  count, 
who  had  lately  died  in  reduced  circum 
stances,  bequeathing  this  only  child  to  his 
protection.  I  had  heard  much  of  her 
beauty  from  Filippo,  but  my  fancy  had 
become  so  engrossed  by  one  idea  of 
beauty,  as  not  to  admit  of  any  other. 
We  were  in  the  central  saloon  of  the 
villa  when  she  arrived.  She  was  still  in 
mourning,  and  approached,  leaning  on 
the  count's  arm.  As  they  ascended  the 
marble  portico,  I  was  struck  by  the  ele 
gance  of  her  figure  and  movement,  by 
the  grace  with  which  the  mezzaro,  the 
bewitching  veil  of  Genoa,  was  folded 
about  her  slender  form.  They  entered. 
Heavens !  what  was  my  surprise  when  I 
beheld  Bianca  before  me  !  It  was  herself; 
pale  with  grief,  but  still  more  matured  in 
loveliness  than  when  I  had  last  beheld 
her.  The  time  that  had  elapsed  had  de 
veloped  the  graces  of  her  person,  and  the 
sorrow  she  had  undergone  had  diffused 
over  her  countenance  an  irresistible  ten 
derness. 

She  blushed  and  trembled  at  seeing  me, 
and  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes,  for  she 
remembered  in  whose  company  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  behold  me.  For  my 
part,  I  cannot  express  what  were  my 
emotions.  By  degrees  I  overcame  the 
extreme  shyness  that  had  formerly  pa 
ralysed  me  in  her  presence.  We  were 
drawn  together  by  sympathy  of  situation. 
We  had  each  lost  our  best  friend  in  the 
world  ;  we  were  each,  in  some  measure, 
thrown  upon  the  kindness  of  others. 
When  I  came  to  know  her  intellectually, 
all  my  ideal  picturings  of  her  were  con 
firmed.  Her  newness  to  the  world,  her 
delightful  susceptibility  to  every  thing 
beautiful  and  agreeable  in  nature,  re 
minded  me  of  my  own  emotions  when 
first  I  escaped  from  the  convent.  Her 
rectitude  of  thinking  delighted  my  judg 
ment  ;  the  sweetness  of  her  nature  wrap 
ped  itself  round  my  heart ;  and  then  her 
young,  and  tender,  and  budding  loveli 
ness,  sent  a  delicious  madness  to  my  brain. 

I  gazed  upon  her  with  a  kind  of  ido 
latry,  as  something  more  than  mortal; 
and  I  felt  humiliated  at  the  idea  of  my 
comparative  unworthiness.  Yet  she  was 
mortal ;  and  one  of  mortality's  most 
susceptible  and  loving  compounds  ; — for 
she  loved  me  ! 


46 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


How  first  I  discovered  the  transporting 
truth  I  cannot  recollect.  I  believe  it  stole 
upon  me  by  degrees  as  a  wonder  past 
hope  or  belief.  We  were  both  at  such 
a  tender  and  loving  age  ;  in  constant  in 
tercourse  with  each  other  ;  mingling  in 
the  same  elegant  pursuits ; — for  music, 
poetry,  and  painting,  were  our  mutual 
delights  ;  and  we  were  almost  separated 
from  society  among  lovely  and  romantic 
scenery.  Is  it  strange  that  two  young 
hearts,  thus  brought  together,  should 
readily  twine  round  each  other  ? 

Oh,  gods  !  what  a  dream,  a  transient 
dream  of  unalloyed  delight,  then  passed 
over  my  soul !  Then  it  was  that  the 
world  around  me  was  indeed  a  paradise  ; 
for  I  had  woman — lovely,  delicious  wo 
man,  to  share  it  with  me !  How  often 
have  I  rambled  along  the  picturesque 
shores  of  Sestri,  or  climbed  its  wild 
mountains,  with  the  coast  gemmed  with 
villas,  and  the  blue  sea  far  below  me, 
and  the  slender  Faro  of  Genoa  on  its 
romantic  promontory  in  the  distance  ; 
and  as  I  sustained  the  faltering  steps  of 
Bianca,  have  thought  there  could  no 
unhappiness  enter  into  so  beautiful  a 
world  !  How  often  have  we  listened 
together  to  the  nightingale,  as  it  poured 
forth  its  rich  notes  among  the  moonlight 
bowers  of  the  garden,  and  have  wondered 
that  poets  could  ever  have  fancied  any 
thing  melancholy  in  its  song  !  Why,  oh 
why  is  this  budding  season  of  life  and 
tenderness  so  transient !  why  is  this  rosy 
cloud  of  love,  that  sheds  such  a  glow 
over  the  morning  of  our  days,  so  prone 
to  brew  up  into  the  whirlwind  and  the 
storm ! 

I  was  the  first  to  awaken  from  this 
I  blissful  delirium  of  the  affections.  I  had 
gained  Bianca's  heart,  what  was  I  to  do 
with  it  ?  I  had  no  wealth  nor  prospect 
to  entitle  me  to  her  hand ;  was  I  to  take 
advantage  of  her  ignorance  of  the  world, 
of  her  confiding  affection,  and  draw  her 
down  to  my  own  poverty  1  Was  this 
requiting  the  hospitality  of  the  count? 
was  this  requiting  the  love  of  Bianca  ? 

Now  first  I  began  to  feel  that  even  suc 
cessful  love  may  have  its  bitterness.  A 
corroding  care  gathered  about  my  heart,  j 
I  moved  about  the  palace  like  a  guilty 
being.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  abused  its  hos 
pitality,  as  if  I  were  a  thief  within  its 


walls.  I  could  no  longer  look  with  un 
embarrassed  mien  in  the  countenance  of 
the  count.  I  accused  myself  of  perfidy 
to  him,  and  I  thought  he  read  it  in  my 
looks,  and  began  to  distrust  and  despise 
me.  His  manner  had  always  been  os 
tentatious  and  condescending ;  it  now 
appeared  cold  and  haughty.  Filippo,  too, 
became  reserved  and  distant ;  or  at  least 
I  suspected  him  to  be  so.  Heavens ! 
was  this  the  mere  coinage  of  my  brain  ? 
Was  I  to  become  suspicious  of  all  the 
world  1  A  poor,  surmising  wretch,  watch 
ing  looks  and  gestures ;  and  torturing 
myself  with  misconstructions?  Or,  if 
true,  was  I  to  remain  beneath  a  roof 
where  I  was  merely  tolerated,  and  linger 
there  on  sufferance  ?  "  This  is  not  to  be 
endured !"  exclaimed  I :  "I  will  tear 
myself  from  this  state  of  self-abasement 
— I  will  break  through  this  fascination 

and  fly Fly  !— Whither  ?— from  the 

world  ?  for  where  is  the  world  when  I 
leave  Bianca  behind  me  ?" 

My  spirit  was  naturally  proud,  and 
swelled  within  me  at  the  idea  of  being 
looked  upon  with  contumely.  Many 
times  I  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  my 
family  and  rank,  and  asserting  my 
equality  in  the  presence  of  Bianca,  when 
I  thought  her  relations  assumed  an  air  of 
superiority.  But  the  feeling  was  transient. 
I  considered  myself  discarded  and  con 
temned  by  my  family  ;  and  had  solemnly 
vowed  never  to  own  relationship  to  them 
until  they  themselves  should  claim  it. 

The  struggle  of  my  mind  preyed  upon 
my  happiness  and  my  health.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  uncertainty  of  being  loved  would 
be  less  intolerable  than  thus  to  be  assured 
of  it,  and  yet  not  dare  to  enjoy  the  con 
viction.  I  was  no  longer  the  enraptured 
admirer  of  Bianca  ;  I  no  longer  hung  in 
ecstasy  on  the  tones  of  her  voice,  nor 
drank  in  with  insatiate  gaze  the  beauty  of 
her  countenance.  Her  very  smiles  ceased 
to  delight  me,  for  I  felt  culpable  in 
having  won  them. 

She  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  the 
change  in  me,  and  inquired  the  cause 
with  her  usual  frankness  and  simplicity, 
I  could  not  evade  the  inquiry,  for  my 
heart  was  full  to  aching.  I  told  her  all 
the  conflict  of  my  soul ;  my  devouring 
passion,  my  bitter  self-upbraiding.  "Yes," 
said  I,  "  I  am  unworthy  of  you.  I  am 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


47 


an  offcast  from  my  family — a  wanderer — 
a  nameless,  homeless  wanderer — with 
nothing  but  poverty  for  my  portion  ;  and 
yet  I  have  dared  to  love  you — have  dared 
to  aspire  to  your  love !" 

My  agitation  moved  her  tears,  but  she 
saw  nothing  in  my  situation  so  hopeless 
as  I  had  depicted  it.  Brought  up  in  a 
convent,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  world — 
its  wants — its  cares  :  and  indeed  what 
woman  is  a  worldly  casuist  in  matters  of 
the  heart  ?  Nay  more — she  kindled  into 
a  sweet  enthusiasm  when  she  spoke  of 
my  fortunes  and  myself.  We  had  dwelt 
together  on  the  works  of  the  famous 
masters.  I  had  related  to  her  their  his 
tories  ;  the  high  reputation,  the  influence, 
the  magnificence,  to  which  they  had  at 
tained.  The  companions  of  princes,  the 
favourites  of  kings,  the  pride  and  boast 
of  nations.  All  this  she  applied  to  me. 
Her  love  saw  nothing  in  all  their  great 
productions  that  I  was  not  able  to  achieve  ! 
and  when  I  beheld  the  lovely  creature 
glow  with  fervour,  and  her  whole  coun 
tenance  radiant  with  visions  of  my 
glory,  I  was  snatched  up  for  the  moment 
into  the  heaven  of  her  own  imagina 
tion. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  this  part 
of  my  story;  yet  I  cannot  help  lingering 
over  a  period  of  my  life,  on  which,  with 
all  its  cares  and  conflicts,  I  look  back 
with  fondness,  for  as  yet  my  soul  was 
unstained  by  a  crime.  I  do  not  know 
what  might  have  been  the  result  of  this 
struggle  between  pride,  delicacy,  and 
passion,  had  I  not  read  in  a  Neapolitan 
gazette  an  account  of  the  sudden  death 
of  my  brother.  It  was  accompanied  by 
an  earnest  inquiry  for  intelligence  con 
cerning  me,  and  a  prayer,  should  this 
meet  my  eye,  that  I  would  hasten  to 
Naples  to  comfort  an  infirm  and  afflicted 
father. 

I  was  naturally  of  an  affectionate  dis 
position,  but  my  brother  had  never  been 
as  a  brother  to  me.  I  had  long  consi 
dered  myself  as  disconnected  from  him, 
and  his  death  caused  me  but  little  emo 
tion.  The  thoughts  of  my  father,  infirm 
and  suffering,  touched  me  however  to  the 
quick  ;  and  when  I  thought  of  him,  that 
lofty  magnificent  being,  now  bowed  down 
and  desolate,  and  suing  to  me  for  com 
fort,  all  my  resentment  for  past  neglect 


r; 


was  subdued,  and  a  glow  of  filial  affection 
was  awakened  within  me. 

The  predominant  feeling,  however,  that 
overpowered  all  others,  was  transport  at 
the  sudden  change  in  my  whole  fortunes. 
A  home,  a  name,  rank,  wealth,  awaited 
me  ;  and  love  painted  a  still  more  rap 
turous  prospect  in  the  distance.  I  has 
tened  to  Bianca,  and  threw  myself  at  her 
feet.  "  Oh,  Bianca  !"  exclaimed  I,  "  at 
length  I  can  claim  you  for  my  own.  I 
am  no  longer  a  nameless  adventurer,  a 
neglected,  rejected  outcast.  Look — read 
— behold  the  tidings  that  restore  me  to 
my  name  and  to  myself!" 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene  that  en 
sued.  Bianca  rejoiced  in  the  reverse  of 
my  situation,  because  she  saw  it  lightened 
my  heart  of  a  load  of  care ;  for  her  own 
part,  she  had  loved  me  for  myself,  and 
had  never  doubted  that  my  own  merits 
would  command  both  fame  and  fortune. 

I  now  felt  all  my  native  pride  buoyant 
within  me.  I  no  longer  walked  with  my 
eyes  bent  to  the  dust ;  hope  elevated  them 
to  the  skies — my  soul  was  lit  up  with 
fresh  fires  and  beamed  from  my  counte 
nance. 

I  wished  to  impart  the  change  in  my 
circumstances  to  the  count ;  to  let  him 
know  who  and  what  I  was — and  to  make 
formal  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Bianca ; 
but  he  was  absent  on  a  distant  estate.  1 
opened  my  whole  soul  to  Filippo.  Now 
first  I  told  him  of  my  passion,  of  the 
doubts  and  fears  that  had  distracted  me, 
and  of  the  tidings  that  had  suddenly  dis 
pelled  them.  He  overwhelmed  me  with 
congratulations,  and  with  the  warmest 
expressions  of  sympathy ;  I  embraced 
him  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart ; — I  felt 
compunction  for  having  suspected  him  of 
coldness,  and  asked  him  forgiveness  for 
having  ever  doubted  his  friendship. 

Nothing  is  so  warm  and  enthusiastic 
as  a  sudden  expansion  of  the  heart  be 
tween  young  men.  Filippo  entered  into 
our  concerns  with  the  most  eager  inte 
rest.  He  was  our  -confidant  and  coun 
sellor.  It  was  determined  that  I  should 
hasten  at  once  to  Naples,  to  re-establish 
myself  in  my  father's  affections,  and  my 
paternal  home ;  and  the  moment  the  re 
conciliation  was  effected,  and  my  father's 
consent  insured,  I  should  return  and 
demand  Bianca  of  the  count.  Filippo 


n- 


48 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


engaged  to  secure  his  father's  acqui 
escence  ;  indeed,  he  undertook  to  watch 
over  our  interests,  and  to  be  the  channel 
through  which  we  might  correspond. 

My  parting  with  Bianca  was  tender — 
delicious — agonizing.  It  was  in  a  little 
pavilion  of  the  garden  which  had  been 
one  of  our  favourite  resorts.  How  often 
and  often  did  I  return  to  have  one  more 
adieu  ;  to  have  her  look  once  more 
on  me  in  speechless  emotion  ;  to  enjoy 
once  more  the  rapturous  sight  of  those 
tears  streaming  down  her  lovely  cheeks  ; 
to  seize  once  more  on  that  delicate  hand, 
the  frankly  accorded  pledge  of  love,  and 
cover  it  with  tears  and  kisses  !  Heavens  ! 
there  is  a  delight  even  in  the  parting 
agony  of  two  lovers,  worth  a  thousand 
tame  pleasures  of  the  world.  I  have  her 
at  this  moment  before  my  eyes,  at  the 
window  of  the  pavilion,  putting  aside  the 
vines  that  clustered  about  the  casement, 
her  light  form  beaming  forth  in  virgin 
light,  her  countenance  all  tears  and 
smiles,  sending  a  thousand  and  a  thou 
sand  adieus  after  me,  as,  hesitating,  in 
a  delirium  of  fondness  and  agitation,  I 
faltered  my  way  down  the  avenue. 

As  the  bark  bore  me  out  of  the  har 
bour  of  Genoa,  how  eagerly  my  eye 
stretched  along  the  coast  of  Sestri  till  it 
discovered  the  villa  gleaming  from  among 
trees  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  !  As 
long  as  day  lasted,  I  gazed  and  gazed 
upon  it  till  it  lessened  and  lessened  to  a 
mere  white  speck  in  the  distance  ;  and 
still  my  intense  and  fixed  gaze  discerned 
it,  when  all  other  objects  of  the  coast 
had  blended  into  indistinct  confusion,  or 
were  lost  in  the  evening  gloom. 

On  arriving  at  Naples,  I  hastened  to 
my  paternal  home.  My  heart  yearned 
for  the  long-withheld  blessing  of  a  fa 
ther's  love.  As  1  entered  the  proud 
portal  of  the  ancestral  palace,  my  emo 
tions  were  so  great,  that  I  could  not 
speak.  No  one  knew  me ;  the  servants 
gazed  at  me  with  curiosity  and  surprise. 
A  few  years  of  intellectual  elevation  and  ! 
developement  had  made  a  prodigious 
change  in  the  poor  fugitive  stripling  j 
from  the  convent.  Still  that  no  one  | 
should  know  me  in  my  rightful  home 
was  overpowering.  I  felt  like  the  prodi 
gal  son  returned.  I  was  a  stranger  in 
the  house  of  my  father.  I  burst  into 


tears  and  wept  aloud.  When  I  made 
myself  known,  however,  all  was  changed. 
I,  who  had  once  been  almost  repulsed 
from  its  walls,  and  forced  to  fly  as  an 
exile,  was  welcomed  back  with  acclama 
tion,  with  servility.  One  of  the  servants 
hastened  to  prepare  my  father  for  my 
reception;  my  eagerness  to  receive  the 
paternal  embrace  was  so  great,  that  I 
could  not  await  his  return,  but  hurried 
after  him.  What  a  spectacle  met  my 
eyes  as  I  entered  the  chamber !  My 
father,  whom  I  had  left  in  the  pride  of 
vigorous  age,  whose  noble  and  majestic 
bearing  had  so  awed  my  young  imagina 
tion,  was  bowed  down  and  withered  into 
decrepitude.  A  paralysis  had  ravaged 
his  stately  form,  and  left  it  a  shaking 
ruin.  He  sat  propped  up  in  his  chair, 
with  pale  relaxed  visage,  and  glassy 
wandering  eye.  His  intellect  had  evi 
dently  shared  in  the  ravage  of  his  frame. 
The  servant  was  endeavouring  to  make 
him  comprehend  that  a  visiter  was  at 
hand.  I  tottered  up  to  him  and  sunk  at 
his  feet.  All  his  past  coldness  and  ne 
glect  were  forgotten  in  his  present  suffer 
ings.  I  remembered  only  that  he  was 
my  parent,  and  that  I  had  deserted  him. 
I  clasped  his  knees ;  my  voice  was  al 
most  stifled  with  convulsive  sobs.  "  Par 
don — pardon,  oh !  my  father !"  was  all 
that  I  could  utter.  His  apprehension 
seemed  slowly  to  return  to  him.  He 
gazed  at  me  for  some  moments  with  a 
vague,  inquiring  look ;  a  convulsive  tre 
mor  quivered  about  his  lips  ;  he  feebly 
extended  a  shaking  hand,  laid  it  upon 
my  head,  and  burst  into  an  infantine 
flow  of  tears. 

From  that  moment  he  would  scarcely 
spare  me  from  his  sight.  I  appeared  the 
only  object  that  his  heart  responded  to  in 
the  world ;  all  else  was  a  blank  to  him. 
He  had  almost  lost  the  powers  of  speech, 
and  the  reasoning  faculty  seemed  at  an 
end.  He  was  mute  and  passive,  except 
ing  that  fits  of  child-like  weeping  would 
sometimes  come  over  him  without  any 
immediate  cause.  If  I  left  the  room  at 
any  time,  his  eye  was  incessantly  fixed 
on  the  door  till  my  return,  and  on  my 
entrance  there  was  another  gush  of  tears. 

To  talk  with  him  of  my  concerns,  in 
this  ruined  state  of  mind,  would  have 
been  worse  than  useless ;  to  have  left  j 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


49 


him  for  ever  so  short  a  time,  would  have 
been  cruel,  unnatural.  Here  then  was  a 
new  trial  for  my  affections.  I  wrote  to 
Bianca  an  account  of  my  return,  and  of 
my  actual  situation,  painting,  in  colours 
vivid,  for  they  were  true,  the  torments  I 
suffered  at  our  being  thus  separated ;  "for 
to  the  youthful  lover  every  day  of  ab 
sence  is  an  age  of  love  lost.  I  enclosed 
the  letter  in  one  to  Filippo,  who  was  the 
channel  of  our  correspondence.  I  re 
ceived  a  reply  from  him  full  of  friendship 
and  sympathy  ;  from  Bianca,  full  of  as 
surances  of  affection  and  constancy. 
Week  after  week,  month  after  month 
elapsed,  without  making  any  change  in 
my  circumstances.  The  vital  flame 
which  had  seemed  nearly  extinct  when 
first  I  met  my  father,  kept  fluttering  on 
without  any  apparent  diminution.  I 
watched  him  constantly,  faithfully,  I  had 
almost  said  patiently.  I  knew  that  his 
death  alone  would  set  me  free — yet  I 
never  at  any  moment  wished  it.  I  felt 
too  glad  to  be  able  to  make  any  atone 
ment  for  past  disobedience ;  and,  denied 
as  I  had  been  all  endearments  of  rela 
tionship  in  my  early  days,  my  heart 
yearned  towards  a  father,  who  in  his  age 
and  helplessness  had  thrown  himself  en 
tirely  on  me  for  comfort. 

My  passion  for  Bianca  gained  daily 
more  force  from  absence:  by  constant 
meditation  it  wore  itself  a  deeper  and 
deeper  channel.  I  made  no  new  friends 
nor  acquaintances ;  sought  none  of  the 
pleasures  of  Naples,  which  my  rank  and 
fortune  threw  open  to  me.  Mine  was  a 
heart  that  confined  itself  to  few  objects, 
but  dwelt  upon  them  with  the  intenser 
passion.  To  sit  by  my  father,  adminis 
ter  to  his  wants,  and  to  meditate  on 
Bianca  in  the  silence  of  his  chamber, 
was  my  constant  habit.  Sometimes  I 
amused  myself  with  my  pencil,  in  por 
traying  the  image  that  was  ever  present 
to  my  imagination.  I  transferred  to  can 
vass  every  look  and  smile  of  hers  that 
dwelt  in  my  heart.  I  showed  them  to 
my  father,  in  hopes  of  awakening  an 
interest  in  his  bosom  for  the  mere  shadow 
of  my  love ;  but  he  was  too  far  sunk  in 
intellect  to  take  any  more  than  a  child 
like  notice  of  them.  When  1  received  a 
letter  from  Bianca,  it  was  a  new  source 
of  solitary  luxury.  Her  letters,  it  is  true, 
VOL.  ir.  5 


were  less  and  less  frequent,  but  they  were 
always  full  of  assurances  of  unabated 
affection.  They  breathed  not  the  frank 
and  innocent  warmth  with  which  she 
expressed  herself  in  conversation,  but  I 
accounted  for  it  from  the  embarrassment 
which  inexperienced  minds  have  often  to 
express  themselves  upon  paper.  Filippo 
assured  me  of  her  unaltered  constancy. 
They  both  lamented,  in  the  strongest 
terms,  our  continued  separation,  though 
they  did  justice  to  the  filial  piety  that 
kept  me  by  my  father. 

Nearly  two  years  elapsed  in  this  pro 
tracted  exile.  To  me  they  were  so  many 
ages.  Ardent  and  impetuous  by  nature, 
I  scarcely  know  how  I  should  have  sup 
ported  so  long  an  absence,  had  I  not  felt 
assured  that  the  faith  of  Bianca  was 
equal  to  my  own.  At  length  my  father 
died.  Life  went  from  him  almost  imper 
ceptibly.  I  hung  over  him  in  mute  afflic 
tion,  and  watched  the  expiring  spasms 
of  nature.  His  last  faltering  accents 
whispered  repeatedly  a  blessing  on  me. 
Alas  !  how  has  it  been  fulfilled  ! 

When  I  had  paid  due  honours  to  his 
remains,  and  laid  them  in  the  tomb  of 
our  ancestors,  I  arranged  briefly  my 
affairs,  put  them  in  a  posture  to  be  easily 
at  my  command  from  a  distance,  and 
embarked  once  more  with  a  bounding 
heart  to  Genoa. 

Our  voyage  was  propitious,  and  oh  ! 
what  was  my  rapture,  when  first,  in  the 
dawn  of  morning,  I  saw  the  shadowy 
summits  of  the  Apennines  rising  almost 
like  clouds  above  the  horizon !  The 
sweet  breath  of  summer  just  moved  us 
over  the  long  wavering  billows  that  were 
rolling  us  on  towards  Genoa.  By  de 
grees  the  coast  of  Sestri  rose  like  a 
creation  of  enchantment  from  the  silver 
bosom  of  the  deep.  I  beheld  the  line  of 
villages  and  palaces  studding  its  borders. 
My  eye  reverted  to  a  well-known  point, 
and  at  length,  from  the  confusion  of  dis 
tant  objects,  it  singled  out  the  villa  which 
contained  Bianca.  It  was  a  mere  speck 
in  the  landscape,  but  glimmering  from 
afar,  the  polar  star  of  my  heart. 

Again  I  gazed  at  it  for  a  livelong  sum 
mer's  day,  but  oh !  how  different  the 
emotions  between  departure  and  return ! 
It  now  kept  growing  and  growing,  in 
stead  of  lessening  and  lessening  on  my 


: 


50 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


sight.  My  heart  seemed  to  dilate  with  it. 
I  looked  at  it  through  a  telescope.  I 
gradually  defined  one  feature  after  an 
other.  The  balconies  of  the  central 
saloon  where  first  I  met  Bianca  beneath 
its  roof;  the  terrace  where  we  so  often 
had  passed  the  delightful  summer  even 
ings  ;  the  awning  that  shaded  her  cham 
ber  window ;  I  almost  fancied  I  saw  her 
form  beneath  it.  Could  she  but  know 
her  lover  was  in  the  bark  whose  white 
sail  now  gleamed  on  the  sunny  bosom  of 
the  sea  !  My  fond  impatience  increased 
as  we  neared  the  coast ;  the  ship  seemed 
to  lag  lazily  over  the  billows :  I  could 
almost  have  sprung  into  the  sea,  and 
swam  to  the  desired  shore. 

The  shadows  of  evening  gradually 
shrouded  the  scene  ;  but  the  moon  arose 
in  all  her  fulness  and  beauty,  and  shed 
the  tender  light,  so  dear  to  lovers,  over 
the  romantic  coast  of  Sestri.  My  soul 
was  bathed  in  unutterable  tenderness. 
I  anticipated  the  heavenly  evenings  I 
should  pass  in  once  more  wandering 
with  Bianca  by  the  light  of  that  blessed 
moon. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  we  entered 
the  harbour.  As  early  next  morning  as 
I  could  get  released  from  the  formalities 
of  landing,  I  threw  myself  on  horseback, 
and  hastened  to  the  villa.  As  I  galloped 
round  the  rocky  promontory  on  which 
stands  the  Faro,  and  saw  the  coast  of 
Sestri  opening  upon  me,  a  thousand 
anxieties  and  doubts  suddenly  sprang  up 
in  my  bosom.  There  is  something  fear 
ful  in  returning  to  those  we  love,  while 
yet  uncertain  what  ills  or  changes  ab 
sence  may  have  effected.  The  turbulence 
of  my  agitation  shook  my  very  frame. 
I  spurred  my  horse  to  redoubled  speed  ; 
he  was  covered  with  foam  when  we  both 
arrived  panting  at  the  gateway  that  open 
ed  to  the  grounds  around  the  villa.  I 
left  rny  'horse  at  a  cottage,  and  walked 
through  the  grounds,  that  I  might  regain 
tranquillity  for  the  approaching  inter 
view.  I  chid  myself  for  having  suffered 
mere  doubts  and  surmises  thus  suddenly 
to  overcome  me ;  but  I  was  always  prone 
to  be  carried  away  by  gusts  of  the 
feelings. 

On  entering  the  garden,  every  thing 
bore  the  same  look  as  when  I  had  left  it ; 
and  this  unchanged  aspect  of  things  re 


assured  me.  There  were  the  alleys  in 
which  I  had  so  often  walked  with  Bianca, 
as  we  listened  to  the  song  of  the  nightin 
gale  ;  the  same  shades  under  which  we 
had  so  often  sat  during  the  noontide  heat. 
There  were  the  same  flowers  of  which 
she  was  fond,  and  which  appeared  still 
to  be  under  the  ministry  of  her  hand. 
Every  thing  looked  and  breathed  of 
Bianca;  hope  and  joy  flushed  in  my 
bosom  at  every  step.  I  passed  a  little 
arbour,  in  which  we  had  often  sat  and 
read  together — a  book  and  a  glove  lay 
on  the  bench — it  was  Bianca's  glove  ;  it 
was  a  volume  of  the  Metastasio  I  had 
given  her.  The  glove  lay  in  my  favour 
ite  passage.  I  clasped  them  to  my  heart 
with  rapture.  "  All  is  safe  !"  exclaimed 
I ;  "  she  loves  me,  she  is  still  my  own  !" 

I  bounded  lightly  along  the  avenue, 
down  which  I  had  faltered  so  slowly  at 
my  departure.  I  beheld  her  favourite 
pavilion,  which  had  witnessed  our  part 
ing  scene.  The  window  was  open,  with 
the  same  vine  clambering  about  it,  pre 
cisely  as  when  she  waved  and  wept  me 
an  adieu.  O  how  transporting  was  the 
contrast  in  my  situation !  As  I  passed 
near  the  pavilion,  I  heard  the  tones  of  a 
female  voice :  they  thrilled  through  me 
with  an  appeal  to  my  heart  not  to  be 
mistaken.  Before  I  could  think,  I  felt 
they  were  Bianca's.  For  an  instant  I 
paused,  overpowered  with  agitation.  I 
feared  to  break  so  suddenly  upon  her. 
I  softly  ascended  the  steps  of  the  pavilion. 
The  door  was  open.  I  saw  Bianca  seated 
at  a  table ;  her  back  was  towards  me ; 
she  was  warbling  a  soft  melancholy  air, 
and  was  occupied  in  drawing.  A  glance 
sufficed  to  show  me  that  she  was  copying 
one  of  my  own  paintings.  I  gazed  on 
her  for  a  moment  in  a  delicious  tumult  of 
emotions.  She  paused  in  her  singing  : 
a  heavy  sigh,  almost  a  sob  followed.  I 
could  no  longer  contain  myself.  "  Bi 
anca!"  exclaimed  I,  in  a  half-smothered 
voice.  She  started  at  the  sound,  brushed 
back  the  ringlets  that  hung  clustering 
about  her  face,  darted  a  glance  at  me, 
uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  earth,  had  I  not  caught  her 
in  my  arms. 

"  Bianca!  my  own  Bianca!"  exclaimed 
I,  folding  her  to  my  bosom ;  my  voice 
stifled  in  sobs  of  convulsive  joy.  She 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


51 


lay  in  my  arms  without  sense  or  mo 
tion.  Alarmed  at  the  effects  of  my  pre 
cipitation,  I  scarce  knew  what  to  do.  I 
tried  by  a  thousand  endearing  words  to 
call  her  back  to  consciousness.  She 
slowly  recovered,  and  half-opening  her 
eyes,  "  Where  am  I  ?"  murmured  »he, 
faintly.  "  Here  !"  exclaimed. I,  pressing 
her  to  my  bosom,  "  Here — close  to  the 
heart  that  adores  you — in  the  arms  of 
your  faithful  Ottavio !"  "Oh  no!  no! 
no !"  shrieked  she,  starting  into  sudden 
life  and  terror — "  away  !  away  !  leave 
me !  leave  me !" 

She  tore  herself  from  my  arms ;  rushed 
to  a  corner  of  the  saloon,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if  the  very 
sight  of  me  were  baleful.  I  was  thunder 
struck.  I  could  not  believe  my  senses. 
I  followed  her,  trembling,  confounded. 
I  endeavoured  to  take  her  hand  ;  but  she 
shrunk  from  my  very  touch  with  horror. 

"  Good  heavens,  Bianca !"  exclaimed 
I,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  1  Is 
this  my  reception  after  so  long  an 
absence  ?  Is  this  the  love  you  professed 
for  me  ?" 

At  the  mention  of  love,  a  shuddering 
ran  through  her.  She  turned  to  me  a 
face  wild  with  anguish :  "  No  more  of 
that — no  more  of  that !"  gasped  she : 
"  talk  not  to  me  of  love — I — I — am 
married !" 

I  reeled  as  if  I  had  received  a  mortal 
blow — a  sickness  struck  to  my  very 
heart.  I  caught  at  a  window-frame  for 
support.  For  a  moment  or  two  every 
thing  was  chaos  around  me.  When  I 
recovered,  I  beheld  Bianca  lying  on  a 
sofa,  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  and 
sobbing  convulsively.  Indignation  for 
her  fickleness  for  a  moment  overpowered 
every  other  feeling. 

"  Faithless — perjured  !"  cried  I,  strid 
ing  across  the  room.  But  another  glance 
at  that  beautiful  being  in  distress  checked 
all  my  wrath.  Anger  could  not  dwell 
together  with  her  idea  in  my  soul. 

"  Oh !  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  in  an 
guish,  "could  I  have  dreamt  of  this? 
Could  I  have  suspected  you  would  have 
been  false  to  me?" 

She  raised  her  face  all  streaming  with 
tears,  all  disordered  with  emotion,  and 
gave  me  one  appealing  look.  "  False  to 
you  ! — They  told  me  you  were  dead  !" 


"  What,"  said  I,  "  in  spite  of  our  con 
stant  correspondence  ?" 

She  gazed  wildly  at  me :  "  Corre 
spondence  !  what  correspondence  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  repeatedly  received 
and  replied  to  my  letters  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  solemnity 
and  fervour.  "  As  I  hope  for  mercy — 
never !" 

A  horrible  surmise  shot  through  my 
brain.  "  Who  told  you  I  was  dead  ?" 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  ship  in 
which  you  embarked  for  Naples  perished 
at  sea." 

"  But  who  told  you  the  report  ?" 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  and  trem 
bled  : — «  Filippo." 

"  May  the  God  of  heaven  curse  him  !" 
cried  I,  extending  my  clenched  fists  aloft. 

"Q  do  not  curse  him,  do  not  curse 
him !""  exclaimed  she ;  "  he  is — he  is — 
my  husband  !" 

This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to 
unfold  the  perfidy  that  had  been  prac 
tised  upon  me.  My  blood  boiled  like 
liquid  fire  in  my  veins.  I  gasped  with 
rage  too  great  for  utterance — I  remained 
for  a  time  bewildered  by  the  whirl  of 
horrible  thoughts  that  rushed  through  my 
mind.  The  poor  victim  of  deception 
before  me  thought  it  way  with  her  I  was 
incensed.  She  faintly  murmured  forth 
her  exculpation.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
it.  I  saw  in  it  more  than  she  meant  to 
reveal.  I  saw  with  a  glance  how  both 
of  us  had  been  betrayed. 

"  'Tis  well,"  muttered  I  to  myself  in 
smothered  accents  of  concentrated  fury. 
"  He  shall  render  an  account  of  all  this." 

Bianca  overheard  me.  New  terror 
flashed  in  her  countenance.  "  For  mer 
cy's  sake,  do  not  meet  him ! — Say  no 
thing  of  what  has  passed — for  my  sake 
say  nothing  to  him — I  only  shall  be  the 
sufferer !" 

A  new  suspicion  darted  across  my 
mind — "  What !"  exclaimed  I,  "  do  you 
thenfea?'  him?  is  he  unkind  to  you? 
Tell  me,"  reiterated  I,  grasping  her  hand, 
and  looking  her  eagerly  in  the  face, 
"  tell  me — dares  he  to  use  you  harshly  ?" 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !"  cried  she,  faltering 
and  embarrassed — but  the  glance  at  her 
face  had  told  me  volumes.  I  saw  in  her 
pallid  and  wasted  features,  in  the  prompt 
terror  and  subdued  agony  of  her  eye,  a 


52 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


whole  history  of  a  mind  broken  down 
by  tyranny.  Great  God !  and  was  this 
beauteous  flower  snatched  from  me  to 
be  thus  trampled  upon  1  The  idea  roused 
me  to  madness.  I  clenched  my  teeth 
and  my  hands ;  I  foamed  at  the  mouth  ; 
every  passion  seemed  to  have  resolved 
itself  into  the  fury  that  like  a  lava  boiled 
within  my  heart.  Bianca  shrunk  from 
me  in  speechless  affright.  As  I  strode 
by  the  window,  my  eye  darted  down  the 
alley.  Fatal  moment !  I  beheld  Filippo 
at  a  distance !  my  brain  was  in  delirium 
— I  sprang  from  the  pavilion,  and  was 
before  him  with  the  quickness  of  light 
ning.  He  saw  me  as  I  came  rushing 
upon  him — he  turned  pale,  looked  wildly 
to  right  and  left,  as  if  he  would  have  fled, 
and  trembling  drew  his  sword. 

"  Wretch !"  cried  I,  "  well  may  you 
draw  your  weapon !" 

I  spake  not  another  word — I  snatched 
forth  a  stiletto,  put  by  the  sword  which 
trembled  in  his  hand,  and  buried  my 
poniard  in  his  bosom.  He  fell  with  the 
blow,  but  my  rage  was  unsated.  I  sprung 
upon  him  with  the  bloodthirsty  feeling  of 
a  tiger ;  redoubled  my  blows ;  mangled 
him  in  my  frenzy,  grasped  him  by  the 
throat,  until,  with  reiterated  wounds  and 
strangling  convulsions,  he  expired  in  my 
grasp.  I  remained  glaring  on  the  coun 
tenance,  horrible  in  death,  that  seemed 
to  stare  back  with  its  protruded  eyes 
upon  me.  Piercing  shrieks  roused  me 
from  my  delirium.  I  looked  round,  and 
beheld  Bianca  flying  distractedly  towards 
us.  My  brain  whirled — I  waited  not  to 
meet  her;  but  fled  from  the  scene  of 
horror.  I  fled  forth  from  the  garden 
like  another  Cain, — a  hell  within  my 
bosom,  and  a  curse  upon  my  head.  I 
fled  without  knowing  whither,  almost 
without  knowing  why.  My  only  idea 
was  to  get  farther  and  farther  from  the 
horrors  I  had  left  behind ;  as  if  I  could 
throw  space  between  myself  and  my  con 
science.  I  fled  to  the  Apennines,  and 
wandered  for  days  and  days  among  their 
savage  heights.  How  I  existed,  I  cannot 
tell — what  rocks  and  precipices  I  braved, 
and  how  I  braved  them,  I  know  not.  I 
kept  on  and  on,  trying  to  out-travel  the 
curse  that  clung  to  me.  Alas!  the  shrieks 
of  Bianca  rung  for  ever  in  my  ears. 
The  horrible  countenance  of  my  victim 


was  for  ever  before  my  eyes.  The  blood 
of  Filippo  cried  to  me  from  the  ground. 
Rocks,  trees,  and  torrents,  all  resounded 
with  my  crime.  Then  it  was  I  felt  how 
much  more  insupportable  is  the  anguish 
of  remorse  than  every  other  mental  pang. 
Oh  !  could  I  but  have  cast  off  this  crime 
that  festered  in  my  heart — could  I  but 
have  regained  the  innocence  that  reigned 
in  my  breast  as  I  entered  the  garden  at 
Sestri — could  I  but  have  restored  my 
victim  to  life,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  look  on 
with  transport,  even  though  Bianca  were 
in  his  arms. 

By  degrees  this  frenzied  fever  of  re 
morse  settled  into  a  permanent  malady 
of  the  mind — into  one  of  the  most  horri 
ble  that  ever  poor  wretch  was  cursed 
with.  Wherever  I  went,  the  countenance 
of  him  I  had  slain  appeared  to  follow  me. 
Whenever  I  turned  my  head,  I  beheld  it 
behind  me,  hideous  with  the  contortions 
of  the  dying  moment.  I  have  tried  in 
every  way  to  escape  from  this  horrible 
phantom,  but  in  vain.  I  know  not 
whether  it  be  an  illusion  of  the  mind, 
the  consequence  of  my  dismal  education 
at  the  convent,  or  whether  a  phantom 
really  sent  by  Heaven  to  punish  me,  but 
there  it  ever  is — at  all  times — in  all 
places.  Nor  has  time  nor  habit  had 
any  effect  in  familiarizing  me  with  its 
terrors.  I  have  travelled  from  place  to 
place — plunged  into  amusements — tried 
dissipation  and  distraction  of  every  kind 
— all — all  in  vain.  I  once  had  recourse  to 
my  pencil,  as  a  desperate  experiment.  I 
painted  an  exact  resemblance  of  this 
phantom  face.  I  placed  it  before  me,  in 
hopes  that  by  constantly  contemplating 
the  copy,  I  might  diminish  the  effect  of 
the  original.  But  I  only  doubled  instead 
of  diminishing  the  misery.  Such  is  the 
curse  that  has  clung  to  my  footsteps — 
that  has  made  my  life  a  burthen,  but  the 
thought  of  death  terrible.  God  knows 
what  I  have  suffered — what  days  and 
days,  and  nights  and  nights  of  sleepless 
torment — what  a  never-dying  worm  has 
preyed  upon  my  heart — what  an  un 
quenchable  fire  has  burned  within  my 
brain !  He  knows  the  wrongs  that 
wrought  upon  my  poor  weak  nature  ; 
that  converted  the  tenderest  of  affections 
into  the  deadliest  of  fury.  He  knows 
best  whether  a  frail  erring  creature  has 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


53 


expiated  by  long-enduring  torture  and 
measureless  remorse  the  crime  of  a  mo 
ment  of  madness.  Often,  often  have  I 
prostrated  myself  in  the  dust,  and  im 
plored  that  he  would  give  me  a  sign  of 
his  forgiveness,  and  let  me  die 

Thus  far  had  I  written  some  time  since. 
I  had  meant  to  leave  this  record  of 
misery  and  crime  with  you,  to  be  read 
when  I  should  be  no  more. 

My  prayer  to  Heaven  has  at  length 
been  heard.  You  were  witness  to  my 
emotions  last  evening  at  the  church, 
when  the  vaulted  temple  resounded  with 
the  words  of  atonement  and  redemption. 
I  heard  a  voice  speaking  to  me  from  the 
midst  of  the  music;  I  heard  it  rising 
above  the  pealing  of  the  organ  and  the 
voices  of  the  choir — it  spoke  to  me  in 
tones  of  celestial  melody — it  promised 
mercy  and  forgiveness,  but  demanded 
from  me  full  expiation.  I  go  to  make  it. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to 
Genoa,  to  surrender  myself  to  justice. 
You  who  have  pitied  my  sufferings,  who 
have  poured  the  balm  of  sympathy  into 
my  wounds,  do  not  shrink  from  my 
memory  with  abhorrence  now  that  you 
know  my  story.  Recollect,  that  when 
you  read  of  my  crime  I  shall  have  atoned 
for  it  with  my  blood ! 

When  the  baronet  had  finished,  there 
was  a  universal  desire  expressed  to  see 
the  painting  of  this  frightful  visage.  After 
much  entreaty  the  baronet  consented,  on 
condition  that  they  should  only  visit  it 
one  by  one.  He  called  his  housekeeper, 
and  gave  her  charge  to  conduct  the  gen 
tlemen,  singly,  to  the  chamber.  They 
all  returned  varying  in  their  stories. 
Some  affected  in  one  way,  some  in  an 
other;  some  more,  some  less;  but  all 
agreeing  that  there  was  a  certain  some 
thing  about  the  painting  that  had  a  very 
odd  effect  upon  the  fcelings. 

I  stood  in  a  deep  bow-window  with  the 
baronet,  and  could  not  help  expressing 
my  wonder.  "  After  all,"  said  I,  "  there 
are  certain  mysteries  in  our  nature,  cer 
tain  inscrutable  impulses  and  influences, 
which  warrant  one  in  being  supersti 
tious.  Who  can  account  for  so  many 
persons  of  different  characters  being  thus 
strangely  affected  by  a  mere  painting  ?" 

"  And  especially  when  not  one  of  them 


has  seen  it !"  said  the  baronet,  with  a 
smile. 

"  How  !"  exclaimed  I,  "  not  seen  it  ?" 
"  Not  one  of  them  !"  replied  he,  lay 
ing  his  ringer  on  his  lips,  in  sign  of 
secrecy.  "  I  saw  that  some  of  them 
were  in  a  bantering  vein,  and  I  did  not 
choose  that  the  memento  of  the  poor  Ita 
lian  should  be  made  a  jest  of.  So  I  gave 
the  housekeeper  a  hint  to  show  them  all 
to  a  different  chamber !" 

Thus  end  the  stories .  of  the  Nervous 
Gentleman. 


PART  II. 
BUCKTHORNE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

This  world  is  the  best  that  we  live  in, 
To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in  ; 
But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world,  sir,  that  ever  was  known. 
Lines  from  an  Inn  Window, 


LITERARY  LIFE. 

AMONG  other  subjects  of  a  traveller's 
curiosity,  I  had  at  one  time  a  great  crav 
ing  after  anecdotes  of  literary  life ;  and 
being  at  London,  one  of  the  most  noted 
places  for  the  production  of  books,  I  was 
excessively  anxious  to  know  something 
of  the  animals  which  produced  them. 
Chance  fortunately  threw  me  in  the  way 
of  a  literary  man  by  the  name  of  Buck- 
thorno,  an  eccentric  personage,  who  had 
lived  much  in  the  metropolis,  and  could 
give  me  the  natural  history  of  every  odd 
animal  to  be  met  with  in  that  wilderness 
of  men.  He  readily  imparted  to  me 
some  useful  hints  upon  the  subject  of  my 
inquiry. 

"  The  literary  world,"  said  he,  "  is 
made  up  of  little  confederacies,  each 
looking  upon  its  own  members  as  the 
lights  of  the  universe ;  and  considering 
all  others  as  mere  transient  meteors, 
doomed  soon  to  fall  and  be  forgotten, 
while  its  own  luminaries  are  to  shine 
steadily  on  to  immortality." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  is  a  man 
to  get  a  peep  into  those  confederacies 


54 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


you  speak  of?  I  presume  an  intercourse 
with  authors  is  a  kind  of  intellectual  ex 
change,  where  one  must  bring  his  com 
modities  to  barter,  and  always  give  a 
quid  pro  quo" 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  how  you  mistake,"  said 
Buckthorne,  smiling  ;  "  you  must  never 
think  to  become  popular  among  wits  by 
shining.  They  go  into  society  to  shine 
themselves,  not  to  admire  the  brilliancy 
of  others.  I  once  thought  as  you  do, 
and  never  went  into  literary  society 
without  studying  my  part  beforehand ; 
the  consequence  was,  that  I  soon  got  the 
name  of  an  intolerable  proser,  and  should, 
in  a  little  while,  have  been  completely 
excommunicated,  had  I  not  changed  my 
plan  of  operations.  No,  sir,  there  is  no 
character  that  succeeds  so  well  among 
wits  as  that  of  a  good  listener  ;  or  if  ever 
you  are  eloquent,  let  it  be  when  tete-a- 
tete  with  an  author,  and  then  in  praise 
of  his  own  works,  or,  what  is  nearly  as 
acceptable,  in  disparagement  of  the  works 
of  his  contemporaries.  If  ever  he  speaks 
favourably  of  the  productions  of  a  parti 
cular  friend,  dissent  boldly  from  him  ; 
pronounce  his  friend  to  be  a  blockhead ; 
never  fear  his  being  vexed ;  much  as 
people  speak  of  the  irritability  of  authors, 
I  never  found  one  to  take  offence  at  such 
contradictions.  No,  no,  sir,  authors  are 
particularly  candid  in  admitting  the  faults 
of  their  friends. 

"  Indeed,  I  would  advise  you  to  be 
extremely  sparing  of  remarks  on  all  mo 
dern  works,  except  to  make  sarcastic 
observations  on  the  most  distinguished 
writers  of  the  day." 

"  Faith,"  said  I,  "  I'll  praise  none  that 
have  not  been  dead  for  at  least  half  a 
century." 

"  Even  then,"  observed  Mr.  Buck 
thorne,  "  I  would  advise  you  to  be  rather 
cautious ;  for  you  must  know  that  many 
old  writers  have  been  enlisted  under  the 
banners  of  different  sects,  and  their 
merits  have  become  as  completely  topics 
of  party  discussion  as  the  merits  of  living 
statesmen  and  politicians.  Nay,  there 
have  been  whole  periods  of  literature 
absolutely  taboo'd,  to  use  a  South  Sea 
phrase.  It  is,  for  example,  as  much  as 
a  man's  critical  reputation  is  worth  in 
some  circles,  to  say  a  word  in  praise  of 
any  of  the  writers  of  the  reign  of  Charles 


the  Second,  or  even  of  Queen  Anne,  they 
being  all  declared  Frenchmen  in  dis 
guise." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  when  am  I  then 
to  know  that  I  am  on  safe  grounds,  being 
totally  unacquainted  with  the  literary 
landmarks,  and  the  boundary-line  of  fa 
shionable  taste?" 

"  Oh  !"  replied  he,  "  there  is  fortu 
nately  one  tract  of  literature  which  forms 
a  kind  of  neutral  ground,  on  which  all 
the  literati  meet  amicably,  and  run  riot 
in  the  excess  of  their  good  humour ;  and 
this  is  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and 
James.  Here  you  may  praise  away  at 
random.  Here  it  is  l  cut  and  come  again ;' 
and  the  more  obscure  the  author,  and  the 
more  quaint  and  crabbed  his  style,  the 
more  your  admiration  will  smack  of  the 
real  relish  of  the  connoisseur;  whose 
taste,  like  that  of  an  epicure,  is  always 
for  game  that  has  an  antiquated  flavour. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  as  you  seem 
anxious  to  know  something  of  literary 
society,  I  will  take  an  opportunity  to  in 
troduce  you  to  some  coterie,  where  the 
talents  of  the  day  are  assembled.  I  can 
not  promise  you,  however,  that  they  will 
all  be  of  the  first  order.  Somehow  or 
other,  our  great  geniuses  are  not  grega 
rious  ;  they  do  not  go  in  flocks,  but  fly 
singly  in  general  society.  They  prefer 
mingling,  like  common  men,  with  the 
multitude,  and  are  apt  to  carry  nothing 
of  the  author  about  them  but  the  reputa 
tion.  It  is  only  the  inferior  orders  that 
herd  together,  acquire  strength  and  im 
portance  by  their  confederacies,  and  bear 
all  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  their 
species." 


A  LITERARY  DINNER. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  conversation 
with  Mr.  Buckthorne,  he  called  upon  me, 
and  took  me  with  him  to  a  regular  lite 
rary  dinner.  It  was  given  by  a  great 
bookseller,  or  rather  a  company  of  book 
sellers,  whose  firm  surpassed  in  length 
that  of  Shadrach,  Meshech  and  Abed- 
nego. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  between  twenty 
and  thirty  guests  assembled,  most  of 
whom  I  had  never  seen  before.  Mr. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


55 


Buckthorne  explained  this  to  me,  by 
informing  me  that  this  was  a  business 
dinner,  or  kind  of  field-day,  which  the 
house  gave  about  twice  a  year  to  its  au 
thors.  It  is  true  they  did  occasionally 
give  snug  dinners  to  three  or  four  literary 
men  at  a  time;  but  then  these  were  "ge 
nerally  select  authors,  favourites  of  the 
public,  such  as  had  arrived  at  their  sixth 
or  seventh  editions.  "  There  are,"  said 
he,  ««  certain  geographical  boundaries  in 
the  land  of  literature,  and  you  may  judge 
tolerably  well  of  an  author's  popularity 
by  the  wine  his  bookseller  gives  him. 
An  author  crosses  the  port  line  about 
the  third  edition,  and  gets  into  clarets  ; 
and  when  he  has  reached  the  sixth  or 
seventh,  he  may  revel  in  champagne  and 
burgundy." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  far  may 
these  gentlemen  have  reached  that  I  see 
around  me ;  are  any  of  these  claret 
drinkers  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  not  exactly.  You  find 
at  these  great  dinners  the  common  steady 
run  of  authors,  one  or  two  edition  men  ; 
or  if  any  others  are  invited,  they  are 
aware  that  it  is  a  kind  of  republican 
meeting.  You  understand  me — a  meet 
ing  of  the  republic  of  letters ;  and  that 
they  must  expect  nothing  but  plain  sub 
stantial  fare." 

These  hints  enabled  me  to  compre 
hend  more  fully  the  arrangement  of  the 
table.  The  two  ends  were  occupied  by 
two  partners  of  the  house  ;  and  the  host 
seemed  to  have  adopted  Addison's  idea 
as  to  the  literary  precedence  of  his 
guests.  A  popular  poet  had  the  post  of 
honour ;  opposite  to  whom  was  a  hot- 
pressed  traveller  in  quarto  with  plates. 
A  grave-looking  antiquarian,  who  had 
produced  several  solid  works,  that  were 
much  quoted  and  little  read,  was  treated 
with  great  respect,  and  seated  next  to  a 
neat  dressy  gentleman  in  black,  who  had 
written  a  thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed  octavo 
on  political  economy,  that  was  getting 
into  fashion.  Several  three  volume 
duodecimo  men,  of  fair  currency,  were 
placed  about  the  centre  of  the  table; 
while  the  lower  end  was  taken  up  with 
small  poets,  translators,  and  authors 
who  had  not  as  yet  risen  into  much 
notoriety. 

The  conversation  during  dinner  was 


by  fits  and  starts;  breaking  out  here  and 
there  in  various  parts  of  the  table  in 
small  flashes,  and  ending  in  smoke.  The 
poet,  who  had  the  confidence  of  a  man 
on  good  terms  with  the  world,  and  inde 
pendent  of  his  bookseller,  was  very  gay 
and  brilliant,  and  said  many  clever  things 
which  set  the  partner  next  him  in  a  roar, 
and  delighted  all  the  company.  The 
other  partner,  however,  maintained  his 
sedateness,  and  kept  carving  on,  with  the 
air  of  a  thorough  man  of  business,  intent 
upon  the  occupation  of  the  moment.  His 
gravity  was  explained  to  me  by  my  friend 
Buckthorne.  He  informed  me  that  the 
concerns  of  the  house  were  admirably 
distributed  among  the  partners.  "  Thus, 
for  instance,"  said  he,  "  the  grave  gentle 
man  is  the  carving  partner,  who  attends 
to  the  joints  ;  and  the  other  is  the  laugh 
ing  partner,  who  attends  to  the  jokes." 

The  general  conversation  was  chiefly 
carried  on  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table, 
as  the  authors  there  seemed  to  possess 
the  greatest  courage  of  the  tongue.  As 
to  the  crew  at  the  lower  end,  if  they  did 
not  make  much  figure  in  talking,  they 
did  in  eating.  Never  was  there  a  more 
determined,  inveterate,  thoroughly-sus 
tained  attack  on  the  trencher  than  by 
this  phalanx  of  masticators.  When  the 
cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine  began 
to  circulate,  they  grew  very  merry  and 
jocose  among  themselves.  Their  jokes, 
however,  if  by  chance  any  of  them  reach 
ed  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  seldom 
produced  much  effect.  Even  the  laugh 
ing  partner  did  not  seem  to  think  it 
necessary  to  honour  them  with  a  smile ; 
which  my  neighbour  Buckthorne  ac 
counted  for,  by  informing  me  that  there 
was  a  certain  degree  of  popularity  to  be 
obtained  before  a  bookseller  could  afford 
to  laugh  at  an  author's  jokes. 

Among  this  crew  of  questionable  gen 
tlemen  thus  seated  below  the  salt,  my 
eye  singled  out  one  in  particular.  He 
was  rather  shabbily  dressed ;  though  he 
had  evidently  made  the  most  of  a  rusty 
black  coat,  and  wore  his  shirt-frill  plaited 
and  puffed  out  voluminously  at  the  bosom. 
His  face  was  dusky,  but  florid,  perhaps  a 
little  too  florid,  particularly  about  the 
nose ;  though  the  rosy  hue  gave  the 
greater  lustre  to  a  twinkling  black  eye. 
He  had  a  little  the  look  of  a  boon  com- 


56 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


paniorij  with  that  dash  of  the  poor  devil 
in  it  which  gives  an  inexpressibly  mellow 
tone  to  a  man's  humour.  I  had  seldom 
seen  a  face  of  richer  promise  ;  but  never 
was  promise  so  ill  kept.  He  said  no 
thing,  ate  and  drank  with  the  keen  appe 
tite  of  a  garreteer,  and  scarcely  stopped 
to  laugh,  even  at  the  good  jokes  from  the 
upper  end  of  the  table.  I  inquired  who 
he  was.  Buckthorne  looked  at  him  at 
tentively;  "  Gad,"  said  he,  "  I  have  seen 
that  face  before,  but  where  I  cannot 
recollect.  He  cannot  be  an  author  of 
any  note.  I  suppose  some  writer  of  ser 
mons,  or  grinder  of  foreign  travels." 

After  dinner  we  retired  to  another 
room  to  take  tea  and  coffee,  where  we 
were  reinforced  by  a  cloud  of  inferior 
guests, — authors  of  small  volumes  in 
boards,  and  pamphlets  stitched  in  blue 
paper.  These  had  not  as  yet  arrived  to 
the  importance  of  a  dinner  invitation,  but 
were  invited  occasionally  to  pass  the 
evening  "  in  a  friendly  way."  They 
were  very  respectful  to  the  partners,  and, 
indeed,  seemed  to  stand  a  little  in  awe  of 
them  ;  but  they  paid  devoted  court  to  the 
lady  of  the  house,  and  were  extravagant 
ly  fond  of  the  children.  Some  few,  who 
did  not  feel  confidence  enough  to  make 
such  advances,  stood  shyly  off  in  cor 
ners,  talking  to  one  another ;  or  turned 
over  the  portfolios  of  prints  which  they 
had  not  seen  above  five  thousand  times, 
or  moused  over  the  music  on  the  forte- 
piano. 

The  poet  and  the  thin  octavo  gentle 
man  were  the  persons  most  current  and 
at  their  ease  in  the  drawing-room ;  being 
men  evidently  of  circulation  in  the  west 
end.  They  got  oji  each  side  of  the  lady 
of  the  house,  and  paid  her  a  thousand 
compliments  and  civilities,  at  some  of 
which  I  thought  she  would  have  expired 
with  delight.  Every  thing  they  said  and 
did  had  the  odour  of  fashionable  life.  I 
looked  round  in  vain  for  the  poor-devil 
author  in  the  rusty  black  coat ;  he  had 
disappeared  immediately  after  leaving  the 
table,  having  a  dread,  no  doubt,  of  the 
glaring  light  of  a  drawing-room.  Find 
ing  nothing  further  to  interest  my  atten 
tion,  I  took  my  departure  soon  after  coffee 
had  been  served,  leaving  the  poet,  and 
the  thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed,  octavo  gen 
tleman,  masters  of  the  field. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

I  THINK  it  was  the  very  next  evening 
that,  in  coming  out  of  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  with  my  eccentric  friend  Buck 
thorne,  he  proposed  to  give  me  another 
peep  at  life  and  character.  Finding  me 
willing  for  any  research  of  the  kind,  he 
took  me  through  a  variety  of  the  narrow 
courts  and  lanes  about  Covent  Garden, 
until  we  stopped  before  a  tavern  from 
which  we  heard  the  bursts  of  merriment 
of  a  jovial  party.  There  would  be  a 
loud  peal  of  laughter,  then  an  interval, 
then  another  peal,  as  if  a  prime  wag 
were  telling  a  story.  After  a  little  while 
there  was  a  song,  and  at  the  close  of 
each  stanza  a  hearty  roar,  and  a  vehe 
ment  thumping  on  the  table. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  whispered  Buck 
thorne  ;  "  it  is  the  club  of  queer  fellows, 
a  great  resort  of  the  small  wits,  third- 
rate  actors,  and  newspaper  critics  of  the 
theatres.  Any  one  can  go  in  on  paying 
a  sixpence  at  the  bar  for  the  use  of  the 
club." 

We  entered,  therefore,  without  cere 
mony,  and  took  our  seats  at  a  lone  table 
in  a  dusky  corner  of  the  room.  The 
club  was  assembled  round  a  table,  on 
which  stood  beverages  of  various  kinds, 
according  to  the  tastes  of  the  individuals. 
The  members  were  a  set  of  queer  fel 
lows  indeed  ;  but  what  was  my  surprise 
on  recognising  in  the  prime  wit  of  the 
meeting  the  poor-devil  author  whom  I 
had  remarked  at  the  booksellers'  dinner 
for  his  promising  face  and  his  complete 
taciturnity  !  Matters,  however,  were  en 
tirely  changed  with  him.  There  he  was 
a  mere  cypher ;  here  he  was  lord  of  the 
ascendant,  the  choice  spirit,  the  dominant 
genius.  He  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
with  his  hat  on,  and  an  eye  beaming 
even  more  luminously  than  his  nose. 
He  had  a  quip  and  a  fillip  for  every  one, 
and  a  good  thing  on  every  occasion. 
Nothing  could  be  said  or  done  without 
eliciting  a  spark  from  him  ;  and  I  solemn 
ly  declare  I  have  heard  much  worse  wit 
even  from  noblemen.  His  jokes,  it  must 
be  confessed,  were  rather  wet,  but  they 
suited  the  circle  over  which  he  presided. 
The  company  were  in  that  maudlin 
mood,  when  a  little  wit  goes  a  great 
way.  Every  time  he  opened  his  lips 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


57 


there  was  sure  to  be  a  roar ;  and  even 
sometimes  before  he  had  time  to  speak. 

We  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter  in 
time  for  a  glee  composed  by  him  ex 
pressly  for  the  club,  and  which  he  sang 
with  two  boon  companions,  who  would 
have  been  worthy  subjects  for  Hogarth's 
pencil.  As  they  were  each  provided 
with  a  written  copy,  I  was  enabled  to 
procure  the  reading  of  it : 

Merrily,  merrily  push  round  the  glass, 

And  merrily  troll  the  glee  ; 
For  he  who  won't  drink  till  he  wink  is  an  ass : 

So,  neighbour,  I  drink  to  thee. 

Merrily,  merrily  fuddle  thy  nose, 

Until  it  right  rosy  shall  be  ; 
For  a  jolly  red  nose,  I  speak  under  the  rose, 

Is  a  sign  of  good  company. 

We  waited  until  the  party  broke  up, 
and  no  one  but  the  wit  remained.  He 
sat  at  the  table  with  his  legs  stretched 
under  it,  and  wide  apart ;  his  hands  in 
his  breeches  pockets ;  his  head  drooped 
upon  his  breast ;  and  gazing  with  lack 
lustre  countenance  on  an  empty  tankard. 
His  gayety  was  gone,  his  fire  completely 
quenched. 

My  companion  approached,  and  star 
tled  him  from  his  fit  of  brown  study, 
introducing  himself  on  the  strength  of 
their  having  dined  together  at  the  book 
sellers'. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  it  seems  to 
me  I  have  seen  you  before ;  your  face  is 
surely  that  of  an  old  acquaintance,  though 
for  the  life  of  rne,  I  cannot  tell  where  I 
have  known  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  he  with  a 
smile :  "  many  of  my  old  friends  have 
forgotten  me.  Though,  to  tell  the  truth, 
my  memory  in  this  instance  is  as  bad  as 
your  own.  If,  however,  it  will  assist 
your  recollection  in  any  way,  my  name 
is  Thomas  Dribble,  at  your  service." 

"  What !  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  at 
old  Birchell's  school  in  Warwickshire  ?" 

"  The  same,"  said  the  other  coolly. 

"  Why,  then,  we  are  old  schoolmates, 
though  it's  no  wonder  that  you  don't 
recollect  me.  I  was  your  junior  by 
several  years ;  don't  you  recollect  little 
Jack  Buckthorne  ?" 

Here  there  ensued  a  scene  of  school 
fellow  recognition,  and  a  world  of  talk 
about  old  school  times  and  school  pranks. 
Mr.  Dribble  ended  by  observing  with  a 


heavy   sigh,    "  that   times   were    sadly 
changed  since  those  days." 

"Faith,  Mr.  Dribble,"  said  I,  "you 
seem  quite  a  different  man  here  from 
what  you  were  at  dinner.  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  had  so  much  stuff  in  you.  There 
you  were  all  silence,  but  here  you  abso 
lutely  keep  the  table  in  a  roar." 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  sir,"  replied  he,  with 
a  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulder,  "  I'm  a  mere  glow-worm.  I 
never  shine  by  daylight.  Besides,  it's  a 
hard  thing  for  a  poor  devil  of  an  author 
to  shine  at  the  table  of  a  rich  bookseller. 
Who  do  you  think  would  laugh  at  any 
thing  I  could  say,  when  I  had  some  of 
the  current  wits  of  the  day  about  me? 
But  here,  though  a  poor  devil,  I  am 
among  still  poorer  devils  than  myself; 
men  who  look  up  to  me  as  a  man  of 
letters,  and  a  bel-esprit,  and  all  my  jokes 
pass  as  sterling  gold  from  the  mint." 

"  You  surely  do  yourself  injustice,  sir," 
said  I ;  "  I  have  certainly  heard  more 
good  things  from  you  this  evening,  than 
from  any  of  those  beau-esprits  by  whom 
you  appear  to  have  been  so  daunted." 

"  Ah,  sir !  but  they  have  luck  on  their 
side :  they  are  in  the  fashion — there's 
nothing  like  being  in  fashion.  A  man 
that  has  once  got  his  character  up  for  a 
wit  is  always  sure  of  a  laugh,  say  what 
he  may.  He  may  utter  as  much  non 
sense  as  he  pleases,  and  all  will  pass  cur 
rent.  No  one  stops  to  question  the  coin 
of  a  rich  man ;  but  a  poor  devil  cannot 
pass  off  either  a  joke  or  a  guinea,  with 
out  its  being  examined  on  both  sides, 
Wit  and  coin  are  always  doubted  with  a 
threadbare  coat." 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  he,  giving 
his  hat  a  twitch  a  little  more  on  one  side, 
"  for  my  part,  I  hate  your  fine  dinners ; 
there's  nothing,  sir,  like  the  freedom  of  a 
chop-house.  I'd  rather,  any  time,  have 
my  steak  and  tankard  among  my  own 
set,  than  drink  claret  and  eat  venison 
with  your  cursed  civil,  elegant  company, 
who  never  laugh  at  a  good  joke  from  a 
poor  devil  for  fear  of  its  being  vulgar. 
A  good  joke  grows  in  a  wet  soil ;  it  flou 
rishes  in  low  places,  but  withers  on  your 
d — d  high,  dry  grounds.  I  once  kept 
high  company,  sir,  until  I  nearly  ruined 
myself;  I  grew  so  dull,  and  vapid,  and 
genteel.  Nothing  saved  me  but  being 


58 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


arrested  by  my  landlady,  and  thrown 
into  prison  ;  where  a  course  of  catch 
clubs,  eight-penny  ale,  and  poor-devil 
company,  manured  my  mind,  and  brought 
it  back  to  itself  again." 

As  it  was  growing  late,  we  parted  for 
the  evening,  though  I  felt  anxious  to 
know  more  of  this  practical  philosopher. 
I  was  glad,  therefore,  when  Buckthorne 
proposed  to  have  another  meeting,  to  talk 
over  old  school-times,  and  inquired  his 
schoolmate's  address.  The  latter  seemed 
at  first  a  little  shy  of  naming  his  lodgings; 
but  suddenly,  assuming  an  air  of  hardi 
hood — "  Green-arbour  Court,  sir,"  ex 
claimed  he — "  Number  — ,  in  Green- 
arbour  Court.  You  must  know  the  place. 
Classic  ground,  sir,  classic  ground !  It 
was  there  Goldsmith  wrote  his  Vicar  of 
Wakefiold — I  always  like  to  live  in  lite 
rary  haunts." 

I  was  amused  with  this  whimsical 
apology  for  shabby  quarters.  On  our 
way  homeward,  Buckthorne  assured  me 
that  this  Dribble  had  been  the  prime  wit 
and  great  wag  of  the  school  in  their 
boyish  days,  and  one  of  those  unlucky 
urchins  denominated  bright  geniuses.  As 
he  perceived  me  curious  respecting  his 
old  schoolmate,  he  promised  to  take  me 
with  him  in  his  proposed  visit  to  Green- 
arbour  Court. 

A  few  mornings  afterward  he  called 
upon  me,  and  we  set  forth  on  our  expe 
dition.  He  led  me  through  a  variety  of 
singular  alleys,  and  courts,  and  blind 
passages ;  for  he  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
versed  in  all  the  intricate  geography  of 
the  metropolis.  At  length  we  came  out 
upon  Fleet-market,  and  traversing  it, 
turned  up  a  narrow  street  to  the  bottom 
of  a  long  steep  flight  of  stone  steps,  called 
Breakneck  Stairs.  These,  he  told  me, 
led  up  to  Green-arbour  Court,  and  that 
down  them  poor  Goldsmith  might  many 
a  time  have  risked  his  neck.  When  we 
entered  the  court,  I  could  not  but  smile 
to  think  in  what  out-of-the-way  corners 
genius  produces  her  bantlings  !  And  the 
Muses,  those  capricious  dames,  who, 
forsooth,  so  often  refuse  to  visit  palaces, 
and  deny  a  single  smile  to  votaries  in 
splendid  studies,  and  gilded  drawing- 
rooms, — what  holes  and  burrows  will 
they  frequent,  to  lavish  their  favours  on 
some  ragged  disciple ! 


This  Green-arbour  Court  I  found  to  be 

I  a   small    square,  of  tall  and  miserable 

I  houses,   the    very    intestines    of    which 

:  seemed  turned  inside  out,  to  judge  from 

|  the  old  garments  and  frippery  that  flut- 

tered  from  every  window.     It  appeared 

|  to   be   a   region   of  washerwomen,  and 

lines    were    stretched    about    the    little 

square,  on  which  clothes  were  dangling 

to  dry. 

Just  as  we  entered  the  square,  a 
scuffle  took  place  between  two  viragos 
about  a  disputed  right  to  a  wash-tub, 
and  immediately  the  whole  community 
was  in  a  hubbub.  Heads  in  mob-caps 
popped  out  of  every  window,  and  such  a 
clamour  of  tongues  ensued,  that  I  was 
fain  to  stop  my  ears.  Every  amazon 
took  part  with  one  or  other  of  the  dis 
putants,  and  brandished  her  arms,  drip 
ping  with  soapsuds,  and  fired  away  from 
her  window  as  from  the  embrazure  of  a 
fortress,  while  the  swarms  of  children 
nestled  and  cradled  in  every  procreant 
chamber  of  this  hive,  waking  with  the 
noise,  set  up  their  shrill  pipes  to  swell  the 
general  concert. 

Poor  Goldsmith  !  what  a  time  must  he 
have  had  of  it,  with  his  quiet  disposition 
and  nervous  habits,  penned  up  in  this 
den  of  noise  and  vulgarity !  How  strange, 
that  while  every  sight  and  sound  was 
sufficient  to  embitter  the  heart,  and  fill 
it  with  misanthropy,  his  pen  should  be 
dropping  the  honey  of  Hy  bla  !  Yet  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  he  drew  many 
of  his  inimitable  pictures  of  low  life  from 
the  scenes  which  surrounded  him  in  this 
abode.  The  circumstance  of  Mrs.  Tibbs 
being  obliged  to  wash  her  husband's  two 
shirts  in  a  neighbour's  house,  who  re 
fused  to  lend  her  wash-tub,  may  have 
been  no  sport  of  fancy,  but  a  fact  passing 
under  his  own  eye.  His  landlady  may 
have  sat  for  the  picture,  and  Beau  Tibbs's 
scanty  wardrobe  have  been  a  fac  simile 
of  his  own. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we 
found  our  way  to  Dribble's  lodgings. 
They  were  up  two  pair  of  stairs,  in  a 
room  that  looked  upon  the  court,  and 
when  we  entered,  he  was  seated  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed,  writing  at  a  broken 
table.  He  received  us,  however,  with  a 
free,  open,  poor-devil  air,  that  was  irre 
sistible.  It  is  true  he  did  at  first  appear 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


59 


slightly  confused  ;  buttoned  up  his  waist 
coat  a  little  higher,  and  tucked  in  a  stray 
frill  of  linen.  But  he  recollected  himself 
in  an  instant ;  gave  a  half  swagger,  half 
leer,  as  he  stepped  forth  to  receive  us ; 
drew  a  three-legged  stool  for  Mr.  Buck- 
thorne ;  pointed  me  to  a  lumbering  "old 
damask  chair,  that  looked  like  a  de 
throned  monarch  in  exile ;  and  bade  us 
welcome  to  his  garret. 

We  soon  got  engaged  in  conversation. 
Buckthorne  and  he  had  much  to  say 
about  early  school  scenes  ;  and  as  nothing 
opens  a  man's  heart  more  than  recollec 
tions  of  the  kind,  we  soon  drew  from 
him  a  brief  outline  of  his  literary  career. 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

I  BEGAN  life  unluckily  by  being  the 
wag  and  bright  fellow  at  school ;  and  I 
had  the  further  misfortune  of  becoming 
the  great  genius  of  my  native  village. 
My  father  was  a  country  attorney,  and 
intended  that  I  should  succeed  him  in 
business  ;  but  I  had  too  much  genius  to 
study,  and  he  was  too  fond  of  my  genius 
to  force  it  into  the  traces :  so  I  fell  into 
bad  company,  and  took  to  bad  habits. 
Do  not  mistake  me.  I  mean  that  I  fell 
into  the  company  of  village  literati,  and 
village  blues,  and  took  to  writing  village 
poetry. 

It  was  quite  the  fashion  in  the  village 
to  be  literary.  There  was  a  little  knot 
of  choice  spirits  of  us,  who  assembled 
frequently  together,  formed  ourselves 
into  a  Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philo 
sophical  Society,  and  fancied  ourselves 
the  most  learned  Philos  in  existence. 
Every  one  had  a  great  character  assigned 
him,  suggested  by  some  casual  habit  or 
affectation.  One  heavy  fellow  drank  an 
enormous  quantity  of  tea,  rolled  in  his 
arm-chair,  talked  sentcntiously,  pro 
nounced  dogmatically,  and  was  consi 
dered  a  second  Dr.  Johnson ;  another, 
who  happened  to  be  a  curate,  uttered 
coarse  jokes,  wrote  doggerel  rhymes,  and 
was  the  Swift  of  our  association.  Thus 
we  had  also  our  Popes,  and  Goldsmiths, 
and  Addisons  ;  and  a  blue-stocking  lady, 
whose  drawing-room  we  frequented,  who 


corresponded  about  nothing  with  all  the 
world,  and  wrote  letters  with  the  stiffness 
and  formality  of  a  printed  book,  was 
cried  up  as  another  Mrs.  Montagu.  I 
was,  by  common  consent,  the  juvenile 
prodigy,  the  poetical  youth,  the  great 
genius,  the  pride  and  hope  of  the  village, 
through  whom  it  was  to  become  one  day 
as  celebrated  as  Stratford-on-Avon. 

My  father  died,  and  left  me  his  blessing 
and  his  business.  His  blessing  brought 
no  money  into  my  pocket ;  and  as  to  his 
business,  it  soon  deserted  me  ;  for  I  was 
busy  writing  poetry,  and  could  not  attend 
to  law ;  and  my  clients,  though  they  had 
great  respect  for  my  talents,  had  no 
faith  in  a  poetical  attorney. 

I  lost  my  business,  therefore,  spent  my 
money,  and  finished  my  poem.  It  was 
the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy,  and  was 
cried  up  to  the  skies  by  the  whole  circle. 
The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  the  Plea 
sures  of  Hope,  and  the  Pleasures  of 
Memory,  though  each  had  placed  its 
author  in  the  first  rank  of  poets,  were 
blank  prose  in  comparison.  Our  Mrs. 
Montagu  would  cry  over  it  from  begin 
ning  to  end.  It  was  pronounced  by  all 
the  members  of  the  Literary,  Scientific, 
and  Philosophical  Society,  the  greatest 
poem  of  the  age,  and  all  anticipated  the 
noise  it  would  make  in  the  great  world. 
There  was  not  a  doubt  but  the  London 
booksellers  would  be  mad  after  it,  and 
the  only  fear  of  my  friends  was,  that  1 
would  make  a  sacrifice  by  selling  it  too 
cheap.  Every  time  they  talked  the  mat 
ter  over,  they  increased  the  price.  They 
reckoned  up  the  great  sums  given  for  the 
poems  of  certain  popular  writers,  and 
determined  that  mine  was  worth  more 
than  all  put  together,  and  ought  to  be 
paid  for  accordingly.  For  my  part,  I 
was  modest  in  my  expectations,  and  de 
termined  that  I  would  be  satisfied  with  a 
thousand  guineas.  So  I  put  my  poem  in 
my  pocket,  and  set  off  for  London. 

My  journey  was  joyous.  My  heart 
was  light  as  my  purse,  and  my  head  full 
of  anticipations  of  fame  and  fortune. 
With  what  swelling  pride  did  I  cast  my 
eyes  upon  old  London  from  the  heights 
of  Highgate !  I  was  like  a  general, 
looking  down  upon  a  place  he  expects 
to  conquer.  The  great  metropolis  lay 
stretched  before  me,  buried  under  a  home- 


60 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


made  cloud  of  murky  smoke,  that  wrap- 
ed  it  from  the  brightness  of  a  sunny  day, 
and  formed  for  it  a  kind  of  artificial  bad 
weather.  At  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
away  to  the  west,  the  smoke  gradually 
decreased  until  all  was  clear  and  sunny, 
and  the  view  stretched  uninterrupted  to 
the  blue  line  of  the  Kentish  hills. 

My  eye  turned  fondly  to  where  the 
mighty  cupola  of  St.  Paul  swelled  dimly 
through  this  misty  chaos,  and  I  pictured 
to  myself  the  solemn  realm  of  learning 
that  lies  about  its  base.  How  soon 
should  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy 
throw  this  world  of  booksellers  and 
printers  into  a  bustle  of  business  and 
delight !  How  soon  should  I  hear  my 
name  repeated  by  printers'  devils  through 
out  Paternoster  Row,  and  Angel  Court, 
and  Ave-Maria  Lane,  until  Amen  Corner 
should  echo  back  the  sound ! 

Arrived  in  town,  I  repaired  at  once  to 
the  most  fashionable  publisher.  Every 
new  author  patronises  him  of  course.  In 
fact,  it  had  been  determined  in  the  village 
circle  that  he  should  be  the  fortunate 
man.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  vainglo- 
riously  I  walked  the  streets.  My  head 
was  in  the  clouds.  I  felt  the  airs  of 
heaven  playing  about  it,  and  fancied  it 
already  encircled  by  a  halo  of  literary 
glory.  As  I  passed  by  the  windows  of 
bookshops,  I  anticipated  the  time  when 
my  work  would  be  shining  among  the 
hot-pressed  wonders  of  the  day  ;  and  my 
face,  scratched  on  copper,  or  cut  on 
wood,  figuring  in  fellowship  with  those 
of  Scott,  and  Byron,  and  Moore. 

When  I  applied  at  the  publisher's 
house,  there  was  something  of  the  lofti 
ness  of  my  air,  and  the  dinginess  of  my 
dress,  that  struck  the  clerks  with  reve 
rence.  They  doubtless  took  me  for  some 
person  of  consequencp  :  probably  a  dig 
ger  of  Greek  roots,  or  a  penetrator  of 
pyramids.  A  proud  man  in  a  dirty  shirt 
is  always  an  imposing  character  in  the 
world  of  letters :  one  must  feel  intellec 
tually  secure  before  he  can  venture  to 
dress  shabbily  ;  none  but  a  great  genius, 
or  a  great  scholar,  dares  to  be  dirty  :  so 
I  was  ushered  at  once  to  the  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  this  high  priest  of  Mi 
nerva. 

The  publishing  of  books  is  a  very  dif 
ferent  affair  now-a-days  from  what  it 


was  in  the  time  of  Bernard  Lintot.  I 
found  the  publisher  a  fashionably  dress 
ed  man,  in  an  elegant  drawing-room, 
furnished  with  sofas  and  portraits  of 
celebrated  authors,  and  cases  of  splen 
didly  bound  books.  He  was  writing 
letters  at  an  elegant  table.  This  was 
transacting  business  in  style.  The  place 
seemed  suited  to  the  magnificent  publica 
tions  that  issued  from  it.  I  rejoiced  at 
the  choice  I  had  made  of  a  publisher,  for 
I  always  liked  to  encourage  men  of  taste 
and  spirit. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  table  with  the  lofty 
poetical  part  that  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  maintain  in  our  village  circle ;  though 
I  threw  in  it  something  of  a  patronising 
air,  such  as  one  feels  when  about  to  make 
a  man's  fortune.  The  publisher  paused 
with  his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  seemed 
waiting  in  mute  suspense  to  know  what 
was  to  be  announced  by  so  singular  an 
apparition. 

I  put  him  at  his  ease  in  a  moment,  for  I 
felt  that  I  had  but  to  come,  see,  and  con 
quer.  I  made  known  my  name,  and  the 
name  of  my  poem  ;  produced  my  pre 
cious  roll  of  blotted  manuscript ;  laid  it 
on  the  table  with  an  emphasis ;  and  told 
him  at  once,  to  save  time,  and  come 
directly  to  the  point,  the  price  was  one 
thousand  guineas. 

I  had  given  him  no  time  to  speak,  nor 
did  he  seem  so  inclined.  He  continued 
looking  at  me  for  a  moment  with  an  air 
of  whimsical  perplexity ;  scanned  me 
from  head  to  foot ;  looked  down  at  the 
manuscript,  then  up  again  at  me,  then 
pointed  to  a  chair ;  and  whistling  softly 
to  himself,  went  on  writing  his  letter. 

I  sat  for  some  time  waiting  his  reply, 
supposing  he  was  making  up  his  mind ; 
but  he  only  paused  occasionally  to  take 
a  .fresh  dip  of  ink,  to  stroke  his  chin,  or 
the  tip  of  his  nose,  and  then  resumed  his 
writing.  It  was  evident  his  mind  was 
intently  occupied  upon  some  other  sub 
ject;  but  I  had  no  idea  that  any  other 
subject  should  be  attended  to,  and  my 
poem  lie  unnoticed  on  the  table.  I  had 
supposed  that  every  thing  would  make 
way  for  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy. 

My  gorge  at  length  rose  within  me. 
I  took  up  my  manuscript,  thrust  it  into 
my  pocket,  and  walked  out  of  the  room  : 
making  some  noise  as  I  went  out,  to  let 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


61 


my  departure  be  heard.  The  publisher, 
however,  was  too  much  buried  in  minor 
concerns  to  notice  it.  I  was  suffered  to 
walk  down  stairs  without  being  called 
back.  I  sallied  forth  into  the  street,  but 
no  clerk  was  sent  after  me ;  nor  did  the 
publisher  call  after  me  from  the  drawing- 
room  window.  I  have  been  told  since, 
that  he  considered  me  either  a  madman 
or  a  fool.  I  leave  you  to  judge  how 
much  he  was  in  the  wrong  in  his  opi 
nion. 

When  I  turned  the  corner,  my  crest 
fell.  I  cooled  down  in  my  pride  and 
my  expectations,  and  reduced  my  terms 
with  the  next  bookseller  to  whom  I  ap 
plied.  I  had  no  better  success  ;  nor  with 
a  third,  nor  with  a  fourth.  I  then  de 
sired  the  booksellers  to  make  an  offer 
themselves  ;  but  the  deuce  an  offer  would 
they  make.  They  told  me  poetry  was  a 
mere  drug ;  every  body  wrote  poetry ; 
the  market  was  overstocked  with  it. 
And  then  they  said,  the  title  of  my  poem 
was  not  taking;  that  pleasures  of  all 
kinds  were  worn  threadbare,  nothing 
but  horrors  did  now-a-days,  and  even 
those  were  almost  worn  out.  Tales  of 
Pirates,  Robbers,  and  Bloody  Turks, 
might  answer  tolerably  well ;  but  then 
they  must  come  from  some  established 
well-known  name,  or  the  public  would 
not  look  at  them. 

At  last  I  offered  to  leave  my  poem 
with  a  bookseller,  to  read  it,  and  judge 
for  himself.  "  Why,  really,  my  dear 

Mr.  a — a — I  forget  your  name," 

said  he,  casting  an  eye  at  my  rusty  coat 
and  shabby  gaiters,  "  really,  sir,  we  are 
so  pressed  with  business  just  now,  and 
have  so  many  manuscripts  on  hand  to 
read,  that  we  have  not  time  to  look  at 
any  new  productions  ;  but  if  you  can  call 
again  in  a  week  or  two,  or  say  the  mid 
dle  of  next  month,  we  may  be  able  to 
look  over  your  writings,  and  give  you  an 
answer.  Don't  forget,  the  month  after 
next ;  good  morning,  sir ;  happy  to  see 
you  at  any  time  you  are  passing  this 
way."  So  saying,  he  bowed  me  out  in 
the  civilest  way  imaginable.  In  short, 
sir,  instead  of  an  eager  competition  to 
secure  my  poem,  I  could  not  even  get  it 
read  !  In  the  mean  time  I  was  harassed 
by  letters  from  my  friends,  wanting  to 
know  when  the  work  was  to  appear ; 

VOL.  II.  6 


who  was  to  be  my  publisher ;  but,  above 
all  things,  warning  me  not  to  let  it  go 
too  cheap. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left.  I 
determined  to  publish  the  poem  myself; 
and  to  have  my  triumph  over  the  book 
sellers,  when  it  should  become  the  fashion 
of  the  day.  I  accordingly  published  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy,  and  ruined  my 
self.  Excepting  the  copies  sent  to  the 
reviews,  and  to  my  friends  in  the  coun 
try,  not  one,  I  believe,  ever  left  the 
bookseller's  warehouse.  The  printer's 
bill  drained  my  purse,  and  the  only 
notice  that  was  taken  of  my  work,  was 
contained  in  the  advertisements  paid  for 
by  myself. 

I  could  have  borne  all  this,  and  have 
attributed  it,  as  usual,  to  the  mismanage 
ment  of  the  publisher,  or  the  want  of 
taste  in  the  public,  and  could  have  made 
the  usual  appeal  to  posterity ;  but  my 
village  friends  would  not  let  me  rest  in 
quiet.  They  were  picturing  me  to  them 
selves  feasting  with  the  great,  commun 
ing  with  the  literary,  and  in  the  high 
career  of  fortune  and  renown.  Every 
little  while,  some  one  would  call  on  me 
with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  the 
village  circle,  recommending  him  to  my 
attentions,  and  requesting  that  I  would 
make  him  known  in  society ;  with  a 
hint,  that  an  introduction  to  a  celebrated 
literary  nobleman  would  be  extremely 
agreeable.  I  determined,  therefore,  to 
change  my  lodgings,  drop  my  corre 
spondence,  and  disappear  altogether  from 
the  view  of  my  village  admirers.  Be 
sides,  I  was  anxious  to  make  one  more 
poetic  attempt.  I  was  by  no  means  dis 
heartened  by  the  failure  of  my  first. 
My  poem  was  evidently  too  didactic. 
The  public  was  wise  enough.  It  no 
longer  read  for  instruction.  "  They 
want  horrors,  do  they  ?"  said  I :  "  P 
faith !  then  they  shall  have  enough  of 
them."  So  I  looked  out  for  some  quiet, 
retired  place,  where  I  might  be  out  of 
reach  of  my  friends,  and  have  leisure  to 
cook  up  some  delectable  dish  of  poetical 
«  hell-broth." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place 
to  my  mind,  when  chance  threw  me  in 
the  way  of  Canonbury  Castle.  It  is  an 
ancient  brick  tower,  hard  by  "  merry 
Islington ;"  the  remains  of  a  hunting- 


-U 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


seat  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  where  she  took 
the  pleasure  of  the  country  when  the 
neighbourhood  was  all  woodland.  What 
gave  it  particular  interest  in  my  eyes 
was  the  circumstance  that  it  had  been 
the  residence  of  a  poet.  It  was  here 
Goldsmith  resided  when  he  wrote  his 
Deserted  Village.  I  was  shown  the 
very  apartment.  It  was  a  relic  of  the 
original  style  of  the  castle,  with  paneled 
wainscots  and  Gothic  windows.  I  was 
pleased  with  its  air  of  antiquity,  and  with 
its  having  been  the  residence  of  poor 
Goldy. 

"  Goldsmith  was  a  pretty  poet,"  said 
I  to  myself,  "  a  very  pretty  poet,  though 
rather  of  the  old  school.  He  did  not 
think  and  feel  so  strongly  as  is  the 
fashion  now-a-days ;  but  had  he  lived  in 
these  times  of  hot  hearts  and  hot  heads, 
he  would  no  doubt  have  written  quite 
differently." 

In  a  few  days  I  was  quietly  established 
in  my  new  quarters ;  my  books  all  ar 
ranged;  my  writing-desk  placed  by  a 
window  looking  out  into  the  fields  ;  and 
I  felt  as  snug  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  when 
he  had  finished  his  bower.  For  several 
days  I  enjoyed  all  the  novelty  of  change 
and  the  charms  which  grace  new  lodg 
ings,  before  one  has  found  out  their  de 
fects.  I  rambled  about  the  fields  where 
I  fancied  Goldsmith  had  rambled.  I  ex 
plored  merry  Islington  ;  ate  my  solitary 
dinner  at  the  Black  Bull,  which,  accord 
ing  to  tradition,  was  a  country -seat  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  and  would  sit  and 
sip  my  wine,  and  muse  on  old  times,  in 
a  quaint  old  room,  where  many  a  coun 
cil  had  been  held. 

All  this  did  very  well  for  a  few  days. 
I  was  stimulated  by  novelty ;  inspired 
by  the  associations  awakened  in  my 
mind  by  these  curious  haunts ;  and 
began  to  think  I  felt  the  spirit  of  compo 
sition  stirring  within  me.  But  Sunday 
came,  and  with  it  the  whole  city  world, 
swarming  about  Canonbury  Castle.  I 
could  not  open  my  window  but  I  was 
stunned  with  shouts  and  noises  from  the 
cricket  ground ;  the  late  quiet  road  be 
neath  my  window  was  alive  with  the 
tread  of  feet  and  clack  of  tongues  ;  and, 
to  complete  my  misery,  I  found  that  my 
quiet  retreat  was  absolutely  a  "  show 
house,"  the  tower  and  its  contents 


being  shown  to  strangers  at  sixpence  a 
head. 

There  was  a  perpetual  tramping  up 
stairs  of  citizens  and  their  families,  to 
look  about  the  country  from  the  top  of 
the  tower,  and  to  take  a  peep  at  the  city 
through  the  telescope,  to  try  if  they  could 
discern  their  own  chimneys.  And  then, 
in  the  midst  of  a  vein  of  thought,  or  a 
moment  of  inspiration,  I  was  interrupted, 
and  all  my  ideas  put  to  flight,  by  my 
intolerable  landlady's  tapping  at  the 
door,  and  asking  me  if  I  would  "just 
please  to  let  a  lady  and  gentleman  come 
in,  to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Goldsmith's 
room."  If  you  know  any  thing  of  what 
an  author's  study  is,  and  what  an  author 
is  himself,  you  must  know  that  there 
was  no  standing  this.  I  put  a  positive 
interdict  on  my  room's  being  exhibited ; 
but  then  it  was  shown  when  I  was  ab 
sent,  and  my  papers  put  in  confusion ; 
and,  on  returning  home  one  day,  I  ab 
solutely  found  a  cursed  tradesman  and 
his  daughters  gaping  over  my  manu 
scripts,  and  my  landlady  in  a  panic  at 
my  appearance.  I  tried  to  make  out  a 
little  longer,  by  taking  the  key  in  my 
pocket ;  but  it  would  not  do.  I  over 
heard  mine  hostess  one  day  telling  some 
of  her  customers  on  the  stairs,  that  the 
room  was  occupied  by  an  author,  who 
was  always  in  a  tantrum  if  interrupted ; 
and  I  immediately  perceived,  by  a  slight 
noise  at  the  door,  that  they  were  peeping 
at  me  through  the  key-hole.  By  the 
head  of  Apollo,  but  this  was  quite  too 
much  !  With  all  my  eagerness  for  fame, 
and  my  ambition  of  the  stare  of  the  mil 
lion,  I  had  no  idea  of  being  exhibited  by 
retail,  at  sixpence  a  head,  and  that 
through  a  key-hole.  So  I  bade  adieu  to 
Canonbury  Castle,  merry  Islington,  and 
the  haunts  of  poor  Goldsmith,  without 
having  advanced  a  single  line  in  my 
labours. 

My  next  quarters  were  at  a  small, 
white-washed  cottage,  which  stands  not 
far  from  Hampstead,  just  on  the  brow  of 
a  hill ;  looking  over  Chalk  Farm  and 
Camden  Town,  remarkable  for  the  rival 
houses  of  Mother  Red  Cap  and  Mother 
Black  Cap ;  and  so  across  Crackscull 
Common  to  the  distant  city. 

The  cottage  was  in  no  wise  remark 
able  in  itself;  but  I  regarded  it  with  re- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


63 


verence,  for  it  had  been  the  asylum  of  a 
persecuted  author.  Hither  poor  Steele 
had  retreated,  and  lain  perdu,  when  per 
secuted  by  creditors  and  bailiffs — those 
immemorial  plagues  of  authors  and  free- 
spirited  gentlemen ;  and  here  he  had 
written  many  numbers  of  the  Spectator. 
It  was  from  hence,  too,  that  he  had  de 
spatched  those  little  notes  to  his  lady,  so 
full  of  affection  and  whimsicality,  in 
which  the  fond  husband,  the  careless 
gentleman,  and  the  shifting  spendthrift, 
were  so  oddly  blended.  I  thought,  as  I 
first  eyed  the  window  of  his  apartment, 
that  I  could  sit  within  it  and  write  vo 
lumes. 

No  such  thing !  It  was  hay-making 
season,  and,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
immediately  opposite  the  cottage  was  a 
little  alehouse,  with  the  sign  of  the  Load 
of  Hay.  Whether  it  was  there  in  Steele's 
time,  I  cannot  say ;  but  it  set  all  attempts 
at  conception  or  inspiration  at  defiance. 
It  was  the  resort  of  all  the  Irish  hay 
makers  who  mow  the  broad  fields  in  the 
neighbourhood;  and  of  drovers  and 
teamsters  who  travel  that  road.  Here 
they  would  gather  in  the  endless  summer 
twilight,  or  by  the  light  of  the  harvest 
moon,  and  sit  round  a  table  at  the  door ; 
and  tipple,  and  laugh,  and  quarrel,  and 
fight,  and  sing  drowsy  songs,  and  dawdle 
away  the  hours,  until  the  deep  solemn 
notes  of  St.  Paul's  clock  would  warn  the 
varlets  home. 

In  the  daytime  I  was  still  less  able  to 
write.  It  was  broad  summer.  The 
haymakers  were  at  work  in  the  fields, 
and  the  perfume  of  the  new-mown  hay 
brought  with  it  the  recollection  of  my 
native  fields.  So,  instead  of  remaining 
in  my  room  to  write,  I  went  wandering 
about  Primrose  Hill,  and  Hampstead 
Heights,  and  Shepherd's  Fields,  and  all 
those  Arcadian  scenes  so  celebrated  by 
London  bards.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
many  delicious  hours  I  have  passed, 
lying  on  the  cocks  of  new-mown  hay, 
on  the  pleasant  slopes  of  some  of  those 
hills,  inhaling  the  fragrance  of  the  fields, 
while  the  summer-fly  buzzed  about  me, 
or  the  grasshopper  leaped  into  my  bo 
som  ;  and  how  I  have  gazed  with  half- 
shut  eye  upon  the  smoky  mass  of  Lon 
don,  and  listened  to  the  distant  sound  of 
its  population,  and  pitied  the  poor  sons 


of   earth,    toiling    in    its    bowels,    like 
Gnomes  in  the  "  dark  gold  mine." 

People  may  say  what  they  please 
about  cockney  pastorals,  but,  after  all, 
there  is  a  vast  deal  of  rural  beauty  about 
the  western  vicinity  of  London  ;  and  any 
one  that  has  looked  down  upon  the  val 
ley  of  West  End,  with  its  soft  bosom  of 
green  pasturage  lying  open  to  the  south, 
and  dotted  with  cattle ;  the  steeple  of 
Hampstead  rising  among  rich  groves  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill ;  and  the  learned 
height  of  Harrow  in  the  distance ;  will 
confess  that  never  has  he  seen  a  more 
absolutely  rural  landscape  in  the  vicinity 
of  a  great  metropolis. 

Still,  however,  I  found  myself  not  a 
whit  the  better  off  for  my  frequent 
change  of  lodgings ;  and  I  began  to  dis 
cover,  that  in  literature,  as  in  trade,  the 
old  proverb  holds  good,  "  a  rolling  stone 
gathers  no  moss." 

The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  country 
played  the  very  vengeance  with  me.  I 
could  not  mount  my  fancy  into  the  ter 
magant  vein.  I  could  not  conceive, 
amidst  the  smiling  landscape,  a  scene  of 
blood  and  murder ;  and  the  smug  citizens 
in  breeches  and  gaiters  put  all  ideas  of 
heroes  and  bandits  out  of  my  brain.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  but  dulcet  sub 
jects,  "  the  Pleasures  of  Spring" — "  the 
Pleasures  of  Solitude" — "  the  Pleasures 
of  Tranquillity" — "  the  Pleasures  of  Sen 
timent" — nothing  but  pleasures ;  and  I 
had  the  painful  experience  of  "  the  Plea 
sures  of  Melancholy"  too  strongly  in  my 
recollection  to  be  beguiled  by  them. 

Chance  at  length  befriended  me.  I 
had  frequently,  in  my  ramblings,  loitered 
about  Hampstead  Hill,  which  is  a  kind 
of  Parnassus  of  the  metropolis.  At  such 
times  I  occasionally  took  my  dinner  at 
Jack  Straw's  Castle.  It  is  a  country  inn 
so  named :  the  very  spot  where  that 
notorious  rebel  and  his  followers  held 
their  council  of  war.  It  is  a  favourite 
resort  of  citizens  when  rurally  inclined, 
as  it  commands  fine  fresh  air,  and  a  good 
view  of  the  city.  I  sat  one  day  in  the 
public  room  of  this  inn,  ruminating  over 
a  beefsteak  and  a  pint  of  port,  when  my 
imagination  kindled  up  with  ancient  and 
heroic  images.  I  had  long  wanted  a 
theme  and  a  hero ;  both  suddenly  broke 
upon  my  mind:  I  determined  to  write 


64 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


a  poem  on  the  history  of  Jack  Straw. 
I  was  so  full  of  my  subject,  that  I  was 
fearful  of  being  anticipated.  I  wondered 
that  none  of  the  poets  of  the  day,  in 
their  researches  after  ruffian  heroes,  had 
ever  thought  of  Jack  Straw.  I  went  to 
work  pell-mell,  blotted  several  sheets  of 
paper  with  choice  floating  thoughts,  and 
battles,  and  descriptions,  to  be  ready  at 
a  moment's  warning.  In  a  few  days' 
time  I  sketched  out  the  skeleton  of  my 
poem,  and  nothing  was  wanting  but  to 
give  it  flesh  and  blood.  I  used  to  take 
my  manuscript,  and  stroll  about  Caen- 
Wood,  and  read  aloud ;  and  would  dine 
at  the  Castle,  by  way  of  keeping  up  the 
vein  of  thought. 

I  was  there  one  day,  at  rather  a  late 
hour,  in  the  public  room.  There  was 
no  other  company  but  one  man,  who  sat 
enjoying  his  pint  of  port  at  a  window, 
and  noticing  the  passers-by.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  green  shooting-coat.  His 
countenance  was  strongly  marked :  he 
had  a  hooked  nose;  a  romantic  eye, 
excepting  that  it  had  something  of  a 
squint ;  and  altogether,  as  I  thought,  a 
poetical  style  of  head.  I  was  quite  taken 
with  the  man,  for  you  must  know  I  am 
a  little  of  a  physiognomist ;  I  set  him 
down  for  either  a  poet  or  a  philosopher. 

As  I  like  to  make  new  acquaintances, 
considering  every  man  a  volume  of  hu 
man  nature,  I  soon  fell  into  conversation 
with  the  stranger,  who,  I  was  pleased  to 
find,  was  by  no  means  difficult  of  access. 
After  I  had  dined,  I  rejoined  him  at  the 
window,  and  we  became  so  sociable  that 
I  proposed  a  bottle  of  wine  together,  to 
which  he  most  cheerfully  assented. 

I  was  too  full  of  my  poem  to  keep 
long  quiet  on  the  subject,  and  began  to 
talk  about  the  origin  of  the  tavern,  and 
the  history  of  Jack  Straw.  I  found  my 
new  acquaintance  to  be  perfectly  at  home 
on  the  topic,  and  to  jump  exactly  with 
my  humour  in  every  respect.  I  became 
elevated  by  the  wine  and  the  conversa 
tion.  In  the  fulness  of  an  author's  feel 
ings,  I  told  him  of  my  projected  poem, 
and  repeated  some  passages,  and  he 
was  in  raptures.  He  was  evidently  of  a 
strong  poetical  turn. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  filling  my  glass  at  the 
same  time,  "  our  poets  don't  look  at 
home.  I  don't  see  why  we  need  go  out 


of  old  England  for  robbers  and  rebels  to 
write  about.  I  like  your  Jack  Straw, 
sir, — he's  a  home-made  hero.  I  like 
him,  sir — I  like  him  exceedingly.  He's 
English  to  the  back-bone — damme — 
Give  me  honest  old  England  after  all ! 
Them's  my  sentiments,  sir." 

"  I  honour  your  sentiment,"  cried  I, 
zealously  ;  "  it  is  exactly  my  own.  An 
English  ruffian  is  as  good  a  ruffian  for 
poetry  as  any  in  Italy,  or  Germany,  or 
the  Archipelago ;  but  it  is  hard  to  make 
our  poets  think  so." 

"  More  shame  for  them  !"  replied  the 
man  in  green.  "  What  a  plague  would 
they  have  ?  What  have  we  to  do  with 
their  Archipelagos  of  Italy  and  Ger 
many?  Haven't  we  heaths  and  com 
mons  and  highways  on  our  own  little 
island — ay,  and  stout  fellows  to  pad  the 
hoof  over  them  too?  Stick  to  home,  I 
say — them's  my  sentiments.  Come,  sir, 
my  service  to  you — I  agree  with  you 
perfectly." 

"  Poets,  in  old  times,  had  right  notions 
on  this  subject,"  continued  I ;  "  witness 
the  fine  old  ballads  about  Robin  Hood, 
Allan  a'Dale,  and  other  staunch  blades  of 
yore." 

"  Right,  sir,  right,"  interrupted  he ; 
"  Robin  Hood !  he  was  the  lad  to  cry 
Stand !  to  a  man,  and  never  to  flinch." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  «« they  had  famous 
bands  of  robbers  in  the  good  old  times ; 
those  were  glorious  poetical  days.  The 
merry  crew  of  Sherwood  Forest,  who 
led  such  a  roving  picturesque  life  '  under 
the  greenwood  tree.'  I  have  often  wish 
ed  to  visit  their  haunts,  and  tread  the 
scenes  of  the  exploits  of  Friar  Tuck,  and 
Clymn  of  the  Clough,  and  Sir  William 
ofCloudeslie." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
green,  "  we  have  had  several  very  pretty 
gangs  since  their  day.  Those  gallant 
dogs  that  kept  about  the  great  heaths 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  London,  about 
Bagshot,  and  Hounslow  and  Blackheath, 
for  instance.  Come,  sir,  my  service  to 
you.  You  don't  drink." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  emptying  my 
glass,  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the 
famous  Turpin,  who  was  born  in  this 
very  village  of  Hampstead,  and  who  used 
to  lurk  with  his  gang  in  Epping  Forest, 
about  a  hundred  years  since  ?" 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


05 


"  Have  I  ?"  cried  he,  "  to  be  sure  I 
have !  A  hearty  old  blade  that.  Sound 
as  pitch.  Old  Turpentine !  as  we  used  to 
call  him.  A  famous  fine  fellow,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  I,  "  I  have 
visited  Waltham  Abbey  and  Chingford 
Church  merely  from  the  stories  I  heard 
when  a  boy  of  his  exploits  there,  and 
I  have  searched  Epping  Forest  for  the 
cavern  where  he  used  to  conceal  himself. 
You  must  know,"  added  I,  "  that  I  am  a 
sort  of  amateur  of  highwaymen.  They 
were  dashing,  daring  fellows :  the  best 
apologies  that  we  had  for  the  knights- 
errant  of  yore.  Ah,  sir !  the  country 
has  been  sinking  gradually  into  tame- 
ness  and  commonplace.  We  are  losing 
the  old  English  spirit.  The  bold  knights 
of  the  post  have  all  dwindled  down  into 
lurking  footpads  and  sneaking  pickpock 
ets  ;  there's  no  such  thing  as  a  dashing, 
gentleman-like  robbery  committed  now- 
a-days  on  the  King's  highway :  a  man 
may  roll  from  one  end  of  England  to  the 
other  in  a  drowsy  coach,  or  jingling 
post-chaise,  without  any  other  adventure 
than  that  of  being  occasionally  overturn 
ed,  sleeping  in  damp  sheets,  or  having 
an  ill-cooked  dinner.  We  hear  no  more 
of  public  coaches  being  stopped  and  rob 
bed  by  a  well-mounted  gang  of  resolute 
fellows,  with  pistols  in  their  hands,  and 
crapes  over  their  faces.  What  a  pretty 
poetical  incident  was  it,  for  example,  in 
domestic  life,  for  a  family  carriage,  on 
its  way  to  a  country-seat,  to  be  attacked 
about  dark ;  the  old  gentleman  eased  of 
his  purse  and  watch,  the  ladies  of  their 
necklaces  and  ear-rings,  by  a  politely- 
spoken  highwayman  on  a  blood  mare, 
who  afterwards  leaped  the  hedge  and 
galloped  across  the  country  ;  to  the  ad 
miration  of  Miss  Caroline,  the  daughter, 
who  would  write  a  long  and  romantic 
account  of  the  adventure  to  her  friend, 
Miss  Juliana,  in  town.  Ah,  sir!  we  meet 
with  nothing  of  such  incidents  now- 
a-days." 

"  That,  sir,"  said  my  companion, 
taking  advantage  of  a  pause,  when  I 
stopped  to  recover  breath,  and  to  take  a 
glass  of  wine  which  he  had  just  poured 
out,  "  that,  sir,  craving  your  pardon,  is 
not  owing  to  any  want  of  old  English 
pluck.  It  is  the  effect  of  this  cursed 
system  of  banking.  People  do  not  travel 


with  bags  of  gold  as  they  did  formerly. 
They  have  post-notes,  and  drafts  on 
bankers.  To  rob  a  coach  is  like  catch 
ing  a  crow,  where  you  have  nothing  but 
carrion  flesh  and  feathers  for  your  pains. 
But  a  coach  in  old  times,  sir,  was  as 
rich  as  a  Spanish  galloon.  It  turned 
out  the  yellow  boys  bravely.  And  a 
private  carriage  was  a  cool  hundred  or 
two  at  least." 

I  cannot  express  how  much  I  was 
delighted  with  the  sallies  of  my  new 
acquaintance.  He  told  me  that  he  often 
frequented  the  Castle,  and  would  be  glad 
to  know  more  of  me ;  and  I  promised 
myself  many  a  pleasant  afternoon  with 
him,  when  I  should  read  him  my  poem 
as  it  proceeded,  and  benefit  by  his  re 
marks  ;  for  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
the  true  poetical  feeling. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  he,  pushing  the 
bottle,  "  damme,  I  like  you !  you're  a 
man  after  my  own  heart.  I'm  cursed 
slow  in  making  new  acquaintances.  One 
must  be  on  the  reserve,  you  know.  But 
when  I  meet  with  a  man  of  your  kidney, 
damme,  my  heart  jumps  at  once  to  him. 
Them's  my  sentiments,  sir.  Come,  sir, 
here's  Jack  Straw's  health !  I  presume 
one  can  drink  it  now-a-days  without  trea 
son  !" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I,  gaily, 
"  and  Dick  Turpin's  into  the  bargain !" 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  man  in  green, 
"  those  are  the  kind  of  men  for  poetry. 
The  Newgate  Calendar,  sir !  the  New 
gate  Calendar  is  your  only  reading ! 
There's  the  place  to  look  for  bold  deeds 
and  dashing  fellows." 

We  were  so  much  pleased  with  each 
other  that  we  sat  until  a  late  hour. 
I  insisted  on  paying  the  bill,  for  both  my 
purse  and  my  heart  were  full,  and  I 
agreed  that  he  should  pay  the  score  at 
our  next  meeting.  As  the  coaches  had 
all  gone  that  run  between  Hampstead 
and  London,  we  had  to  return  on  foot. 
He  was  so  delighted  with  the  idea  of  my 
poem,  that  he  could  talk  of  nothing  else. 
He  made  me  repeat  such  passages  as  I 
could  remember ;  and  though  I  did  it 
in  a  very  mangled  manner,  having  a 
wretched  memory,  yet  he  was  in  rap 
tures. 

Every  now  and  then  he  would  break 
out  with  some  scrap,  which  he  would 

6* 


66 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


misquote  most  terribly,  would  rub  his 
hands  and  exclaim,  "  By  Jupiter,  that's 
fine,  that's  noble !  Damme,  sir,  if  I 
can  conceive  how  you  hit  upon  such 
ideas !" 

I  must  confess  I  did  not  always  relish 
his  misquotations,  which  sometimes  made 
absolute  nonsense  of  the  passages ;  but 
what  author  stands  upon  trifles  when  he 
is  praised  ?" 

Never  had  I  spent  a  more  delightful 
evening.  I  did  not  perceive  how  the 
time  flew.  I  could  not  bear  to  separate, 
but  continued  walking  on,  arm  in  arm, 
with  him,  past  my  lodgings,  through 
Camden  Town,  and  across  Crackscull 
Common,  talking  the  whole  way  about 
my  poem. 

When  we  were  half  way  across  the 
common,  he  interrupted  me  in  the  midst 
of  a  quotation,  by  telling  me  that  this 
had  been  a  famous  place  for  footpads, 
and  was  still  occasionally  infested  by 
them  ;  and  that  a  man  had  recently  been 
shot  there  in  attempting  to  defend  him 
self.  "The  more  fool  he!"  cried  I; 
"  a  man  is  an  idiot  to  risk  life,  or  even 
limb,  to  save  a  paltry  purse  of  money. 
It's  quite  a  different  case  from  that  of  a 
duel,  where  one's  honour  is  concerned. 
For  my  part,"  added  I,  "  I  should  never 
think  of  making  resistance  against  one 
of  those  desperadoes." 

"  Say  you  so  ?"  cried  my  friend  in 
green,  turning  suddenly  upon  me,  and 
putting  a  pistol  to  my  breast ;  "  why, 
then,  have  at  you,  my  lad ! — come — 
disburse  !  empty  !  unsack  !" 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  Muse  had 
played  me  another  of  her  tricks,  and 
had  betrayed  me  into  the  hands  of  a 
footpad.  There  was  no  time  to  parley  ; 
he  made  me  turn  my  pockets  inside  out  ; 
and,  hearing  the  sound  of  distant  foot 
steps,  he  made  one  fell  swoop  upon 
purse,  watch,  and  all ;  gave  me  a 
thwack  over  my  unlucky  pate  that  laid 
me  sprawling  on  the  ground,  and  scam 
pered  away  with  his  booty. 

I  saw  no  more  of  my  friend  in  green 
until  a  year  or  two  afterwards ;  when 
I  caught  a  sight  of  his  poetical  counte 
nance  among  a  crew  of  scapegraces 
heavily  ironed,  who  were  on  the  way 
for  transportation.  He  recognised  me 
at  once,  tipped  me  an  impudent  wink, 


and  asked  me  how  I  came  on  with  the 
history  of  Jack  Straw's  Castle. 

The  catastrophe  at  Crackscull  Com 
mon  put  an  end  to  my  summer's  cam 
paign.  I  was  cured  of  my  poetical  en 
thusiasm  for  rebels,  robbers,  and  high 
waymen.  I  was  put  out  of  conceit  of 
my  subject,  and,  what  was  worse,  I  was 
lightened  of  my  purse,  in  which  was 
almost  every  farthing  I  had  in  the  world. 
So  I  abandoned  Sir  Richard  Steele's  cot 
tage  in  despair,  and  crept  into  less  cele 
brated,  though  no  less  poetical  and  airy 
lodgings,  in  a  garret  in  town. 

I  now  determined  to  cultivate  the  so 
ciety  of  the  literary,  and  to  enrol  myself 
in  the  fraternity  of  authorship.  It  is  by 
the  constant  collision  of  mind,  thought  I, 
that  authors  strike  out  the  sparks  of 
genius,  and  kindle  up  with  glorious  con 
ceptions.  Poetry  is  evidently  a  contagious 
complaint.  I  will  keep  company  with 
poets  ;  who  knows  but  I  may  catch  it  as 
others  have  done  ? 

I  found  no  difficulty  of  making  a  circle 
of  literary  acquaintances,  not  having 
the  sin  of  success  lying  at  my  door  :  in 
deed  the  failure  of  my  poem  was  a  kind 
of  recommendation  to  their  favour.  It  is 
true  my  new  friends  were  not  of  the 
most  brilliant  names  in  literature  ;  but 
then  if  you  would  take  their  words  for  it, 
they  were  like  the  prophets  of  old,  men 
of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy  ;  and 
who  were  to  live  in  future  ages,  when  the 
ephemeral  favourites  of  the  day  should 
be  forgotten. 

I  soon  discovered,  however,  that  the 
more  I  mingled  in  literary  society,  the  less 
I  felt  capable  of  writing  ;  that  poetry  was 
not  so  catching  as  I  imagined ;  and  that 
in  familiar  life  there  was  often  nothing 
less  poetical  than  a  poet.  Besides,  I 
wanted  esprit  de  corps  to  turn  these  lite 
rary  fellowships  to  any  account.  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  enlist  in  any  par 
ticular  sect.  I  saw  something  to  like  in 
them  all,  but  found  that  would  never  do, 
for  that  the  tacit  condition  on  which  a 
man  enters  into  one  of  these  sects  is,  that 
he  abuses  all  the  rest. 

I  perceived  that  there  were  little  knots 
of  authors  who  lived  with,  and  for,  and 
by  one  another.  They  considered  them 
selves  the  salt  of  the  earth.  They  fos 
tered  and  kept  up  a  conventional  vein  of 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


67 


thinking  and  talking,  and  joking  on  all 
subjects  ;  and  they  cried  each  other  up  to 
the  skies.  Each  sect  had  its  particular 
creed ;  and  set  up  certain  authors  as 
divinities,  and  fell  down  and  worshipped 
them  ;  and  considered  every  one  who  did 
not  worship  them,  or  who  worshipped 
any  other,  as  a  heretic  and  an  infidel. 

In  quoting  the  writers  of  the  day,  I 
generally  found  them  extolling  names  of 
which  I  had  scarcely  heard,  and  talking 
slightly  of  others  who  were  the  favourites 
of  the  public.  If  I  mentioned  any  recent 
work  from  the  pen  of  a  first-rate  author, 
they  had  not  read  it ;  they  had  not  time 
to  read  all  that  was  spawned  from  the 
press ;  he  wrote  too  much  to  write  well ; — 
and  then  they  would  break  out  into 
raptures  about  some  Mr.  Timson,  or 
Tomson,  or  Jackson,  whose  works  were 
neglected  at  the  present  day,  but  who 
was  to  be  the  wonder  and  delight  of 
posterity.  Alas  !  what  heavy  debts  is 
this  neglectful  world  daily  accumulating 
on  the  shoulders  of  poor  posterity  ! 

But,  above  all,  it  was  edifying  to  hear 
with  what  contempt  they  would  talk  of  the 
great.  Ye  gods  !  how  immeasurably  the 
great  are  despised  by  the  small  fry  of  lite 
rature  !  It  is  true,  an  exception  was  now 
and  then  made  of  some  nobleman,  with 
whom,  perhaps,  they  had  casually  shaken 
hands  at  an  election,  or  hobbed  or  nobbed 
at  a  public  dinner,  and  who  was  pro 
nounced  a  "  devilish  good  fellow,"  and 
"  no  humbug ;"  but,  in  general,  it  was 
enough  for  a  man  to  have  a  title,  to  be 
the  object  of  their  sovereign  disdain  : 
you  have  no  idea  how  poetically  and  phi 
losophically  they  would  talk  of  nobility. 

For  my  part  this  affected  me  but  little ; 
for  though  I  had  no  bitterness  against  the 
great,  and  did  not  think  the  worse  of  a 
man  for  having  innocently  been  born  to  a 
title,  yet  I  did  not  feel  myself  at  present 
called  upon  to  resent  the  indignities 
poured  upon  them  by  the  little.  But  the 
hostility  to  the  great  writers  of  the  day 
went  sore  against  the  grain  with  me.  I 
could  not  enter  into  such  feuds,  nor  par 
ticipate  in  such  animosities.  I  had  not 
become  author  sufficiently  to  hate  other 
authors.  I  could  still  find  pleasure  in  the 
novelties  of  the  press,  and  could  find  it 
in  my  heart  to  praise  a  contemporary, 
even  though  he  were  successful.  Indeed 


I  was  miscellaneous  in  my  taste,  and 
could  not  confine  ifc  to  any  age  or  growth 
of  writers.  I  could  turn  with  delight  from 
the  glowing  pages  of  Byron  to  the  cool 
and  polished  raillery  of  Pope  ;  and,  after 
wandering  among  the  sacred  groves  of 
Paradise  Lost,  I  could  give  myself  up  to 
voluptuous  abandonment  in  the  enchanted 
bowers  of  Lalla  Rookh. 

"  I  would  have  my  authors,"  said  I, 
as  various  as  my  wines,  and,  in  relishing 
the  strong  and  the  racy,  would  never 
decry  the  sparkling  and  exhilarating. 
Port  and  sherry  are  excellent  stand-by's, 
and  so  is  madeira  ;  but  claret  and  bur 
gundy  may  be  drunk  now  and  then 
without  disparagement  to  one's  palate ; 
and  champagne  is  a  beverage  by  no 
means  to  be  despised." 

Such  was  the  tirade  I  uttered  one  day, 
when  a  little  flushed  with  ale,  at  a  literary 
club.  I  uttered  it,  too,  with  something 
of  a  flourish,  for  I  thought  my  simile  a 
clever  one.  Unluckily,  my  auditors  were 
men  who  drank  beer  and  hated  Pope ;  so 
my  figure  about  wines  went  for  nothing, 
and  my  critical  toleration  was  looked 
upon  as  downright  heterodoxy.  In  a 
word,  I  soon  became  like  a  freethinker 
in  religion,  an  outlaw  from  every  sect, 
and  fair  game  for  all.  Such  are  the 
melancholy  consequences  of  not  hating 
in  literature. 

I  see  you  are  growing  weary,  so  I  will 
be  brief  with  the  residue  of  my  literary 
career.  I  will  not  detain  you  with  a 
detail  of  my  various  attempts  to  get 
astride  of  Pegasus  ;  of  the  poems  I  have 
written  which  were  never  printed,  the 
plays  I  have  presented  which  were  never 
performed,  and  the  tracts  I  have  published 
which  were  never  purchased.  It  seemed 
as  if  booksellers,  managers,  and  the  very 
public,  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to 
starve  me.  Still  I  could  not  prevail  upon 
myself  to  give  up  the  trial,  nor  abandon 
those  dreams  of  renown  in  which  I  had 
indulged.  How  should  I  be  able  to  look 
the  literary  circle  of  my  native  village  in 
the  face,  if  I  were  so  completely  to  falsify 
their  predictions  ?  For  some  time  longer, 
therefore,  I  continued  to  write  for  fame, 
and  was,  of  course,  the  most  miserable  dog 
in  existence,  besides  being  in  continual 
risk  of  starvation.  I  accumulated  loads  of 
literary  treasure  on  my  shelves — loads 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


which  were  to  be  treasures  to  posterity  ; 
but,  alas  !  they  put  not  a  penny  into  my 
purse.  What  wras  all  this  wealth  to  my 
present  necessities?  I  could  not  patch 
my  elbows  with  an  ode  ;  nor  satisfy  my 
hunger  with  blank  verse.  "  Shall  a  man 
fill  his  belly  with  the  east  wind?"  says 
the  proverb.  He  may  as  well  do  so  as 
with  poetry. 

I  have  many  a  time  strolled  sorrowfully 
along  with  a  sad  heart  and  an  empty 
stomach,  about  five  o'clock,  and  looked 
wistfully  down  the  areas  in  the  west  end 
of  the  town,  and  seen  through  the  kitchen 
windows  the  fires  gleaming,  and  the  joints 
of  meat  turning  on  the  spits  and  dripping 
with  gravy,  and  the  cook-maids  beating 
up  puddings,  or  trussing  turkeys,  and  felt 
for  the  moment  that  if  I  could  but  have 
the  run  of  one  of  those  kitchens,  Apollo 
and  the  Muses  might  have  the  hungry 
heights  of  Parnassus  for  me.  Oh,  sir ! 
talk  of  meditations  among  the  tombs — 
they  are  nothing  so  melancholy  as  the 
meditations  of  a  poor  devil  without  penny 
in  pouch,  along  a  line  of  kitchen- windows 
towards  dinner-time. 

At  length,  when  almost  reduced  to 
famine  and  despair,  the  idea  all  at  once 
entered  my  head,  that  perhaps  I  was  not 
so  clever  a  fellow  as  the  village  and 
myself  had  supposed.  It  was  the  sal 
vation  of  me.  The  moment  the  idea 
popped  into  my  brain  it  brought  conviction 
and  comfort  with  it.  I  awoke  as  from  a 
dream — I  gave  up  immortal  fame  to  those 
who  could  live  on  air ;  took  to  writing 
for  mere  bread ;  and  have  ever  since  had 
a  very  tolerable  life  of  it.  There  is  no 
man  of  letters  so  much  at  his  ease,  sir, 
as  he  who  has  no  character  to  gain  or 
lose.  I  had  to  train  myself  to  it  a  little, 
and  to  clip  my  wings  short  at  first,  or 
they  would  have  carried  me  up  into  poetry 
in  spite  of  myself.  So  I  determined  to 
begin  by  the  opposite  extreme,  and  aban 
doning  the  higher  regions  of  the  craft, 
I  came  plump  down  to  the  lowest,  and 
turned  creeper. 

"  Creeper !  and  pray  what  is  that  ?" 
said  I. 

"Oh,  sir,  I  see  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
language  of  the  craft :  a  creeper  is  one 
who  furnishes  the  newspapers  with  pa 
ragraphs  at  so  much  a  line ;  one  who 
goes  about  in  quest  of  misfortunes  ;  at 


tends  the  Bow  Street  Office,  the  Courts  of 
Justice,  and  every  other  den  of  mischief 
and  iniquity.  We  are  paid  at  the  rate  of 
a  penny  a  line,  and  as  we  can  sell  the 
same  paragraph  to  almost  every  paper, 
we  sometimes  pick  up  a  very  decent  day's 
work.  Now  and  then  the  Muse  is  unkind, 
or  the  day  uncommonly  quiet,  and  then 
we  rather  starve ;  and  sometimes  the 
unconscionable  editors  will  clip  our  pa 
ragraphs  when  they  are  a  little  too 
rhetorical,  and  snip  off  two-pence  or 
three-pence  at  a  go.  I  have  many  a 
time  had  my  pot  of  porter  nipped  off  of 
my  dinner  in  this  way,  and  have  had  to 
dine  with  dry  lips.  However,  I  cannot 
complain.  I  rose  gradually  in  the  lower 
ranks  of  the  craft,  and  am  now,  I  think, 
in  the  most  comfortable  region  of  litera 
ture." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  what  may  you 
be  at  present  ?" 

"  At  present,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  re 
gular  job-writer,  and  turn  my  hand  to 
any  thing.  I  work  up  the  writings  of 
others  at  so  much  a  sheet;  turn  off 
translations  ;  write  second-rate  articles  to 
fill  up  reviews  and  magazines ;  compile 
travels  and  voyages,  and  furnish  theatrical 
criticisms  for  the  newspapers.  All  this 
authorship,  you  perceive,  is  anonymous ; 
it  gives  me  no  reputation  except  among 
the  trade ;  where  I  am  considered  an 
author  of  all  work,  and  am  always  sure 
of  employ.  That's  the  only  reputation  I 
want.  I  sleep  soundly,  without  dread  of 
duns  or  critics,  and  leave  immortal  fame 
to  those  that  choose  to  fret  and  fight  about 
it.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  only  happy 
author  in  this  world  is  he  who  is  below 
the  care  of  reputation." 


NOTORIETY. 

WHEN  we  had  emerged  from  the  lite 
rary  nest  of  honest  Dribble,  and  had 
passed  safely  through  the  dangers  of 
Break  neck  Stairs,  and  the  labyrinths  of 
Fleet-market,  Buckthorne  indulged  in 
many  comments  upon  the  peep  into  lite 
rary  life  which  he  had  furnished  me. 

I  expressed  my  surprise  at  finding  it  so 
different  a  world  from  what  I  had  ima- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


gined.  "  It  is  always  so,"  said  he,  "  with 
strangers.  The  land  of  literature  is  a 
fairy  land  to  those  who  view  it  from  a 
distance,  but,  like  all  other  landscapes, 
the  charm  fades  on  a  nearer  approach, 
and  the  thorns  and  briars  become  visible. 
The  republic  of  letters  is  the  most  factious 
and  discordant  of  all  republics,  ancient 
or  modern." 

"  Yet,"  said  I,  smiling,  "  you  would 
not  have  me  take  honest  Dribble's  ex 
perience  as  a  view  of  the  land.  He  is 
but  a  mousing  owl ;  a  mere  groundling. 
We  should  have  quite  a  different  strain 
from  one  of  those  fortunate  authors  whom 
we  see  sporting  about  the  empyreal  heights 
of  fashion,  like  swallows  in  the  blue  sky 
of  a  summer's  day." 

"  Perhaps  we  might,"  replied  he,  "  but 
I  doubt  it.  I  doubt  whether,  if  any  one, 
even  of  the  most  successful,  were  to  tell 
his  actual  feelings,  you  would  not  find 
the  truth  of  friend  Dribble's  philosophy 
with  respect  to  reputation.  One  you 
would  find  carrying  a  gay  face  to  the 
world,  while  some  vulture  critic  was 
preying  upon  his  very  liver.  Another,  who 
was  simple  enough  to  mistake  fashion  for 
fame,  you  would  find  watching  counte 
nances,  and  cultivating  invitations,  more 
ambitious  to  figure  in  the  beau  monde 
than  the  world  of  letters,  and  apt  to  be 
rendered  wretched  by  the  neglect  of  an 
illiterate  peer,  or  a  dissipated  duchess. 
Those  who  were  rising  to  fame,  you 
would  find  tormented  with  anxiety  to  get 
higher ;  and  those  who  had  gained  the 
summit,  in  constant  apprehension  of  a 
decline. 

"  Even  those  who  are  indifferent  to 
the  buzz  of  notoriety,  and  the  farce  of 
fashion,  are  not  much  better  off,  being 
incessantly  harassed  by  intrusions  on 
their  leisure,  and  interruptions  of  their 
pursuits ;  for,  whatever  may  be  his  feel 
ings,  when  once  an  author  is  launched 
into  notoriety,  he  must  go  the  rounds 
until  the  idle  curiosity  of  the  day  is  satis 
fied,  and  he  is  thrown  aside  to  make  way 
for  some  new  caprice.  Upon  the  whole, 
I  do  not  know  but  he  is  most  fortunate 
who  engages  in  the  whirl  through  ambi 
tion,  however  tormenting ;  as  it  is  doubly 
irksome  to  be  obliged  to  join  in  the  game 
without  being  interested  in  the  stake. 

"  There  is  a  constant  demand  in  the 


fashionable  world  for  novelty ;  every 
nine  days  must  have  its  wonder,  no 
matter  of  what  kind.  At  one  time  it  is 
an  author :  at  another  a  fire-eater ;  at 
another  a  composer,  an  Indian  juggler, 
or  an  Indian  chief;  a  man  from  the 
North  Pole  or  the  Pyramids  :  each  figures 
through  his  brief  term  of  notoriety,  and 
then  makes  way  for  the  succeeding 
wonder.  You  must  know  that  we  have 
oddity-fanciers  among  our  ladies  of  rank, 
who  collect  about  them  all  kinds  of 
remarkable  beings ;  fiddlers,  statesmen, 
singers,  warriors,  artists,  philosophers, 
actors,  and  poets  ;  every  kind  of  person 
age,  in  short,  who  is  noted  for  something 
peculiar:  so  that  their  routs  are  like 
fancy  balls,  where  every  one  comes  { in 
character.' 

"  I  have  had  infinite  amusement  at 
these  parties  in  noticing  how  industri 
ously  every  one  was  playing  a  part,  and 
acting  out  of  his  natural  line.  There  is 
not  a  more  complete  game  at  cross-pur 
poses  than  the  intercourse  of  the  literary 
and  the  great.  The  fine  gentleman  is 
always  anxious  to  be  thought  a  wit,  and 
the  wit  a  fine  gentleman. 

"  I  have  noticed  a  lord  endeavouring 
to  look  wise  and  to  talk  learnedly  with 
a  man  of  letters,  who  was  aiming  at  a 
fashionable  air,  and  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  had  lived  about  town.  The  peer 
quoted  a  score  or  two  of  learned  authors, 
with  whom  he  would  fain  be  thought,  in 
timate,  while  the  author  talked  of  Sir 
John  this,  and  Sir  Harry  that,  and  extoll 
ed  the  burgundy  he  had  drunk  at  Lord 
Such-a-one's.  Each  seemed  to  forget 
that  he  could  only  be  interesting  to  the 
other  in  his  proper  character.  Had  the 
peer  been  merely  a  man  of  erudition, 
the  author  would  never  have  listened  to 
his  prosing ;  and  had  the  author  known 
all  the  nobility  in  the  Court  Calendar,  it 
would  have  given  him  no  interest  in  the 
eyes  of  the  peer. 

"  In  the  same  way  I  have  seen  a  fine 
lady,  remarkable  for  beauty,  weary  a 
philosopher  with  flimsy  metaphysics, 
while  the  philosopher  put  on  an  awk 
ward  air  of  gallantry,  played  with  her 
fan,  and  prattled  about  the  opera.  I  have 
heard  a  sentimental  poet  talk  very  stu 
pidly  with  a  statesman  about  the  national 
debt ;  and  on  joining  a  knot  of  scientific 


70 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


old  gentlemen  conversing  in  a  corner, 
expecting  to  hear  the  discussion  of  some 
valuable  discovery,  I  found  they  were 
only  amusing  themselves  with  a  fat 
story." 


A  PRACTICAL  PHILOSOPHER. 

THE  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  Buck- 
thorne's  early  schoolmate,  together  with 
a  variety  of  peculiarities  which  I  had 
remarked  in  himself,  gave  me  a  strong 
curiosity  to  know  something  of  his  own 
history.  I  am  a  traveller  of  the  good 
old  school,  and  am  fond  of  the  custom 
laid  down  in  books,  according  to  which, 
whenever  travellers  met,  they  sat  down 
forthwith  and  gave  a  history  of  them 
selves  and  their  adventures.  This  Buck 
thorne,  too,  was  a  man  much  to  my 
taste ;  he  had  seen  the  world,  and  min 
gled  with  society,  yet  retained  the  strong 
eccentricities  of  a  man  who  had  lived 
much  alone.  There  was  a  careless  dash 
of  good-humour  about  him  which  pleased 
nne  exceedingly;  and  at  times  an  odd 
tinge  of  melancholy  mingled  with  his 
humour,  and  gave  it  an  additional  zest. 
He  was  apt  to  run  into  long  speculations 
upon  society  and  manners,  and  to  indulge 
in  whimsical  views  of  human  nature,  yet 
there  was  nothing  ill-tempered  in  his 
satire.  It  ran  more  upon  the  follies  than 
the  vices  of  mankind^  and  even  the 
follies  of  his  fellow-man  were  treated 
with  the  leniency  of  one  who  felt  himself 
to  be  but  frail.  He  had  evidently  been 
a  little  chilled  and  buffeted  by  fortune, 
without  being  soured  thereby :  as  some 
fruits  become  mellower  and  more  gene 
rous  in  their  flavour  from  having  been 
bruised  and  frostbitten. 

I  have  always  had  a  great  relish  for 
the  conversation  of  practical  philosophers 
of  this  stamp,  who  have  profited  by  the 
"  sweet  uses"  of  adversity  without  im 
bibing  its  bitterness  ;  who  have  learnt  to 
estimate  the  world  rightly,  yet  good- 
humouredly ;  and  who,  while  they  per 
ceive  the  truth  of  the  saying,  that  "  all 
is  vanity,"  are  yet  able  to  do  so  without 
vexation  of  spirit. 

Such  a  man  was  Buckthorne.  In  ge 
neral  a  laughing  philosopher ;  and  if  at 


any  time  a  shade  of  sadness  stole  across 
his  brow,  it  was  but  transient ;  like  a 
summer  cloud,  which  soon  goes  by,  and 
freshens  and  revives  the  fields  over  which 
it  passes. 

I  was  walking  with  him  one  day  in 
Kensington  Gardens — for  he  was  a  know 
ing  epicure  in  all  the  cheap  pleasures 
and  rural  haunts  within  reach  of  the 
metropolis.  It  was  a  delightful  warm 
morning  in  spring  ;  and  he  was  in  the 
happy  mood  of  a  pastoral  citizen,  when 
just  turned  loose  into  grass  and  sunshine. 
He  had  been  watching  a  lark  which, 
rising  from  a  bed  of  daisies  and  yellow- 
cups,  had  sung  his  way  up  to  a  Bright 
snowy  cloud  floating  in  the  deep  blue  sky. 

"  Of  all  birds,"  said  he,  "  I  should  like 
to  be  a  lark.  He  revels  in  the  brightest 
time  of  the  day,  in  the  happiest  season 
of  the  year,  among  fresh  meadows  and 
opening  flowers ;  and  when  he  has  sated 
himself  with  the  sweetness  of  earth,  he 
wings  his  flight  up  to  heaven  as  if  he 
would  drink  in  the  melody  of  the  morn 
ing  stars.  Hark  to  that  note !  How  it 
comes  thrilling  down  upon  the  ear! 
What  a  stream  of  music,  note  falling 
over  note  in  delicious  cadence !  Who 
would  trouble  his  head  about  operas  and 
concerts  when  he  could  walk  in  the  fields 
and  hear  such  music  for  nothing  ?  These 
are  the  enjoyments  which  set  riches  at 
scorn,  and  make  even  a  poor  man  inde 
pendent  ; 

I  care  not,  Fortune,  what  you  do  deny:— 
You  cannot  rob  me  of  free  nature's  grace : 

You  cannot  shut  the  windows  of  the  sky, 
Through  which  Aurora  shows  her  bright'ning 

face ; 
You  cannot  bar  my  constant  feet  to  trace 

The  woods  and  lawns  by  living  streams  at  eve—- 

"  Sir,  there  are  homilies  in  nature's 
works  worth  all  the  wisdom  of  the 
schools,  if  we  could  but  read  them 
rightly,  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  les 
sons  I  ever  received  in  a  time  of  trouble, 
was  from  hearing  the  notes  of  a  lark." 

I  profited  by  this  communicative  vein 
to  intimate  to  Buckthorne  a  wish  to  know 
something  of  the  events  of  his  life,  which 
I  fancied  must  have  been  an  eventiful  one. 

He  smiled  when  I  expressed  my  de 
sire.  « I  have  no  great  story,"  said  he, 
"  to  relate.  A  mere  tissue  of  errors  and 
follies.  But,  such  as  it  is,  you  shall 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


71 


have  one  epoch  of  it,  by  which  you  may 
judge  of  the  rest."  And  so,  without  any 
further  prelude,  he  gave  me  the  follow 
ing  anecdotes  of  his  early  adventures. 


BUCKTHORNE ; 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  WAS  born  to  very  little  property,  but 
to  great  expectations — which  is,  perhaps, 
one  of  the  most  unlucky  fortunes  that  a 
man  can  be  born  to.  My  father  was 
a  country  gentleman,  the  last  of  a  very 
ancient  and  honourable  but  decayed 
family,  and  resided  in  an  old  hunting- 
lodge  in  Warwickshire.  He  was  a  keen 
sportsman,  and  lived  to  the  extent  of  his 
moderate  income,  so  that  I  had  little  to 
expect  from  that  quarter ;  but  then  I  had 
a  rich  uncle  by  the  mother's  side,  a 
penurious,  accumulating  curmudgeon, 
who  it  was  confidently  expected  would 
make  me  his  heir,  because  he  was  an 
old  bachelor,  because  I  was  named  after 
him,  and  because  he  hated  all  the  world 
except  myself. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  inveterate  hater,  a 
miser  even  in  misanthropy,  and  hoarded 
up  a  grudge  as  he  did  a  guinea.  Thus, 
though  my  mother  was  an  only  sister, 
he  had  never  forgiven  her  marriage  with 
my  father,  against  whom  he  had  a  cold, 
still,  immovable  pique,  which  had  lain 
at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  like  a  stone 
in  a  well,  ever  since  they  had  been 
schoolboys  together.  My  mother,  how 
ever,  considered  me  as  the  intermediate 
being  that  was  to  bring  every  thing  again 
into  harmony,  for  she  looked  on  me  as 
a  prodigy — God  bless  her  !  my  heart 
overflows  whenever  I  recall  her  ten 
derness.  She  was  the  most  excellent, 
the  most  indulgent  of  mothers.  I  was 
her  only  child :  it  was  a  pity  she  had  no 
more,  for  she  had  fondness  of  heart 
enough  to  have  spoiled  a  dozen ! 

I  was  sent  at  an  early  age  to  a  public 
school,  sorely  against  my  mother's 
wishes ;  but  my  father  insisted  that  it 
was  the  only  way  to  make  boys  hardy. 
The  school  was  kept  by  a  conscientious 
prig  of  the  ancient  system,  who  did  his 


duty  by  the  boys  intrusted  to  his  care : 
that  is  to  say,  we  were  flogged  soundly 
when  we  did  not  get  our  lessons.  We 
were  put  into  classes,  and  thus  flogged 
on  in  droves  along  the  highways  of 
knowledge,  in  much  the  same  manner  as 
cattle  are  driven  to  market ;  where  those 
that  are  heavy  in  gait,  or  short  in  leg, 
have  to  suffer  for  the  superior  alertness 
or  longer  limbs  of  their  companions. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  it  with  shame, 
I  was  an  incorrigible  laggard.  I  have 
always  had  the  poetical  feeling,  that  is 
to  say,  I  have  always  been  an  idle  fel 
low,  and  prone  to  play  the  vagabond.  I 
used  to  get  away  from  my  books  and 
school  whenever  I  could,  and  ramble 
about  the  fields.  I  was  surrounded  by 
seductions  for  such  a  temperament.  The 
schoolhouse  was  an  old-fashioned  white 
washed  mansion,  of  wood  and  plaster, 
standing  on  the  skirts  of  a  beautiful 
village :  close  by  it  was  the  venerable 
church,  with  a  tall  Gothic  spire ;  before 
it  spread  a  lovely  green  valley,  with  a 
little  stream  glistening  along  through 
willow  groves ;  while  a  line  of  blue  hills 
that  bounded  the  landscape  gave  rise  to- 
many  a  summer-day  dream  as  to  the 
fairy  land  that  lay  beyond. 

In  spite  of  all  the  scourgings  I  suffered 
at  that  school  to  make  me  love  my  book, 
I  cannot  but  look  back  on  the  place  with 
fondness.  Indeed,  I  considered  this  fre 
quent  flagellation  as  the  common  lot  of 
humanity,  and  the  regular  mode  in  which 
scholars  were  made. 

My  kind  mother  used  to  lament  over 
my  details  of  the  sore  trials  I  underwent 
in  the  cause  of  learning ;  but  my  father 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  expostulations. 
He  had  been  flogged  through  school  him 
self,  and  swore  there  was  no  other  way 
of  making  a  man  of  parts ;  though,  let 
me  speak  it  with  all  due  reverence,  my 
father  was  but  an  indifferent  illustration 
of  his  theory,  for  he  was  considered  a 
grievous  blockhead. 

My  poetical  temperament  evinced  itself 
at  a  very  early  period.  The  village 
church  was  attended  every  Sunday  by 
a  neighbouring  squire,  the  lord  of  the 
manor,  whose  park  stretched  quite  to 
the  village,  and  whose  spacious  country- 
seat  seemed  to  take  the  church  under  its 
protection.  Indeed,  you  would  have 


72 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


thought  the  church  had  been  consecrated 
to  him  instead  of  to  the  Deity.  The 
parish-clerk  bowed  low  before  him,  and 
the  vergers  humbled  themselves  unto  the 
dust  in  his  presence.  He  always  entered 
a  little  late,  and  with  some  stir ;  striking 
his  cane  emphatically  on  the  ground, 
swaying  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  looking 
loftily  to  the  right  and  left  as  he  walked 
slowly  up  the  aisle  ;  and  the  parson,  who 
always  ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  him, 
never  commenced  service  until  he  ap 
peared.  He  sat  with  his  family  in  a 
large  pew,  gorgeously  lined,  humbling 
himself  devoutly  on  velvet  cushions,  and 
reading  lessons  of  meekness  and  lowli 
ness  of  spirit  out  of  splendid  gold  and 
morocco  prayer-books.  Whenever  the 
parson  spoke  of  the  difficulty  of  a  rich 
man's  entering  the  kingdom  of  Heaven, 
the  eyes  of  the  congregation  would  turn 
towards  the  "  grand  pew,"  and  I  thought 
the  squire  seemed  pleased  with  the  ap 
plication. 

The  pomp  of  this  pew,  and  the  aristo- 
cratical  air  of  the  family,  struck  my 
imagination  wonderfully;  and  I  fell  des 
perately  in  love  with  a  little  daughter  of 
the  squire's,  about  twelve  years  of  age. 
This  freak  of  fancy  made  me  more 
truant  from  my  studies  than  ever.  I 
used  to  stroll  about  the  squire's  park, 
and  would  lurk  near  the  house,  to  catch 
glimpses  of  this  little  damsel  at  the  win 
dows,  or  playing  about  the  lawn,  or 
walking  out  with  her  governess. 

I  had  not  enterprise  nor  impudence 
enough  to  venture  from  my  concealment. 
Indeed  I  felt  like  an  arrant  poacher, 
until  I  read  one  or  two  of  Ovid's  Meta 
morphoses,  when  I  pictured  myself  as 
some  sylvan  deity,  and  she  a  coy  wood- 
nymph  of  whom  I  was  in  pursuit.  There 
is  something  extremely  delicious  in  these 
early  awakenings  of  the  tender  passion. 
I  can  feel  even  at  this  moment  the  throb 
bing  of  my  boyish  bosom,  whenever  by 
chance  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  white 
frock  fluttering  among  the  shrubbery.  I 
carried  about  in  my  bosom  a  volume  of 
Waller,  which  I  had  purloined  from  my 
mother's  library;  and  I  applied  to  my 
little  fair  one  all  the  compliments  lavished 
upon  Sacharissa. 

At  length  I  danced  with  her  at  a 
school-ball.  I  was  so  awkward  a  booby, 


that  I  dared  scarcely  speak  to  her;  I 
was  filled  with  awe  and  embarrassment 
in  her  presence ;  but  I  was  so  inspired, 
that  my  poetical  temperament  for  the 
first  time  broke  out  in  verse,  and  I  fabri 
cated  some  glowing  lines,  in  which  I 
be-rhymed  the  little  lady  under  the 
favourite  name  of  Sacharissa.  I  slipped 
the  verses,  trembling  and  blushing,  into 
her  hand  the  next  Sunday  as  she  came 
out  of  church.  The  little  prude  handed 
them  to  her  mamma ;  the  mamma  hand 
ed  them  to  the  squire ;  the  squire,  who 
had  no  soul  for  poetry,  sent  them  in 
dudgeon  to  the  schoolmaster;  and  the 
schoolmaster,  with  a  barbarity  worthy 
of  the  dark  ages,  gave  me  a  sound  and 
peculiarly  humiliating  flogging  for  thus 
trespassing  upon  Parnassus.  This  was 
a  sad  outset  for  a  votary  of  the  muse ;  it 
ought  to  have  cured  me  of  my  passion 
for  poetry ;  but  it  only  confirmed  it,  for 
I  felt  the  spirit  of  a  martyr  rising  within 
me.  What  was  as  well,  perhaps,  it 
cured  me  of  my  passion  for  the  young 
lady  ;  for  I  felt  so  indignant  at  the  igno 
minious  horsing  I  had  incurred  in  cele 
brating  her  charms,  that  I  could  not  hold 
up  my  head  in  church.  Fortunately  for 
my  wounded  sensibility,  the  Midsummer 
holidays  came  on,  and  I  returned  home. 
My  mother,  as  usual,  inquired  into  all 
my  school  concerns,  my  little  pleasures, 
and  cares,  and  sorrows ;  for  boyhood 
has  its  share  of  the  one  as  well  as  of  the 
other.  I  told  her  all,  and  she  was  indig 
nant  at  the  treatment  I  had  experienced. 
She  fired  up  at  the  arrogance  of  the 
squire,  and  the  prudery  of  the  daughter ; 
and  as  to  the  schoolmaster,  she  wondered 
where  was  the  use  of  having  schoolmas 
ters,  and  why  boys  could  not  remain  at 
home,  and  be  educated  by  tutors,  under 
the  eye  of  their  mothers.  She  asked  to 
see  the  verses  I  had  written,  and  she 
was  delighted  with  them ;  for,  to  confess 
the  truth,  she  had  a  pretty  taste  in 
poetry.  She  even  showed  them  to  the 
parson's  wife,  who  protested  they  were 
charming  ;  and  the  parson's  three  daugh 
ters  insisted  on  each  having  a  copy  of 
them. 

All  this  was  exceedingly  balsamic,  and 
I  was  still  more  consoled  and  encouraged, 
when  the  young  ladies,  who  were  the 
blue-stockings  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


had  read  Dr.  Johnson's  Lives  quite 
through,  assured  my  mother  that  great 
|  geniuses  never  studied,  but  were  always 
idle ;  upon  which  I  hegan  to  surmise 
that  I  was  myself  something  out  of  the 
common  run.  My  father,  however,  was 
of  a  very  different  opinion  ;  for  when 'my 
mother,  in  the  pride  of  her  heart,  showed 
him  my  copy  of  verses,  he  threw  them 
out  of  the  window,  asking  her  "  if  she 
meant  to  make  a  ballad-monger  of  the 
boy  ?"  But  he  was  a  careless,  common- 
thinking  man,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I 
ever  loved  him  much ;  my  mother  ab 
sorbed  all  my  filial  affection. 

I  used  occasionally,  during  holidays, 
to  be  sent  on  short  visits  to  the  uncle, 
who  was  to  make  me  his  heir ;  they 
thought  it  would  keep  me  in  his  mind, 
and  render  him  fond  of  me.  He  was  a 
withered,  anxious-looking  old  fellow,  and 
lived  in  a  desolate  old  country-seat,  which 
he  suffered  to  go  to  ruin  from  absolute 
niggardliness.  He  kept  but  one  man 
servant,  who  had  lived,  or  rather  starved, 
with  him  for  years.  No  woman  was 
allowed-to  sleep  in  the  house.  A  daugh 
ter  of  the  old  servant  lived  by  the  gate, 
in  what  had  been  a  porter's  lodge,  and 
was  permitted  to  come  into  the  house 
about  an  hour  each  day,  to  make  the 
beds,  and  cook  a  morsel  of  provisions. 
The  park  that  surrounded  the  house  was 
all  run  wild :  the  trees  were  grown  out 
of  shape ;  the  fish-ponds  stagnant ;  the 
urns  and  statues  fallen  from  their  pedes 
tals,  and  buried  among  the  rank  grass. 
The  hares  and  pheasants  were  so  little 
molested,  except  by  poachers,  that  they 
bred  in  great  abundance,  and  sported 
about  the  rough  lawns  and  weedy 
avenues.  To  guard  the  premises  and 
frighten  off  robbers,  of  whom  he  was 
somewhat  apprehensive,  and  visiters,  of 
whom  he  was  in  almost  equal  awe,  my 
uncle  kept  two  or  three  bloodhounds, 
who  were  always  prowling  round  the 
house,  and  were  the  dread  of  the  neigh 
bouring  peasantry.  They  were  gaunt 
and  half  starved,  seemed  ready  to  de 
vour  one  from  mere  hunger,  and  were 
an  effectual  check  on  any  stranger's 
approach  to  this  wizard  castle. 

Such  was  my  uncle's  house,  which  I 
used  to  visit  now  and  then  during  the 
holidays.  I  was,  as  I  before  said,  the 

VOL.  II.  7 


old  man's  favourite ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
did  not  hate  me  so  much  as  he  did  the 
rest  of  the  world.  I  had  been  apprised 
of  his  character,  and  cautioned  to  culti 
vate  his  good-will ;  but  I  was  too  young 
and  careless  to  be  a  courtier,  and,  indeed, 
have  never  been  sufficiently  studious  of 
my  interests  to  let  them  govern  my  feel 
ings.  However,  we  jogged  on  very  well 
together,  and  as  my  visits  cost  him  al 
most  nothing,  they  did  not  seem  to  be 
very  unwelcome.  I  brought  with  me 
my  fishing-rod,  and  half  supplied  the 
table  from  the  fish-ponds. 

Our  meals  were  solitary  and  unsocial. 
My  uncle  rarely  spoke;  he  pointed  to 
whatever  he  wanted,  and  the  servant 
perfectly  understood  him.  Indeed,  his 
man  John,  or  Iron  John,  as  he  was  called 
in  the  neighbourhood,  was  a  counterpart 
of  his  master.  He  was  a  tall,  bony  old 
fellow,  with  a  dry  wig,  that  seemed  made 
of  cow's  tail,  and  a  face  as  tough  as 
though  it  had  been  made  of  cow's  hide. 
He  was  generally  clad  in  a  long,  patched 
livery  coat,  taken  out  of  the  wardrobe  of 
the  house,  and  which  bagged  loosely 
about  him,  having  evidently  belonged  to 
some  corpulent  predecessor,  in  the  more 
plenteous  days  of  the  mansion.  From 
long  habits  of  taciturnity  the  hinges  of 
his  jaws  seemed  to  have  grown  abso 
lutely  rusty,  and  it  cost  him  as  much 
effort  to  set  them  ajar,  and  to  let  out 
a  tolerable  sentence,  as  it  would  have 
done  to  set  open  the  iron  gates  of  the 
park,  and  let  out  the  old  family  carnage, 
that  was  dropping  to  pieces  in  the  coach 
house. 

I  cannot  say,  however,  but  that  I  was 
for  some  time  amused  with  my  uncle's 
peculiarities.  Even  the  very  desolate- 
ness  of  the  establishment  had  something 
in  it  that  hit  my  fancy.  When  the 
weather  was  fine,  I  used  to  amuse  myself 
in  a  solitary  way,  by  rambling  about  the 
park,  and  coursing  like  a  colt  across  its 
lawns.  The  hares  and  pheasants  seemed 
to  stare  with  surprise  to  see  a  human 
being  walking  these  forbidden  grounds 
by  daylight.  Sometimes  1  amused  my 
self  by  jerking  stones,  or  shooting  at 
birds  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  for  to  have 
used  a  gun  would  have  been  treason. 
Now  and  then  my  path  was  crossed  by  a 
little  red-headed,  ragged-tailed  urchin, 


74 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


the  son  of  the  woman  at  the  lodge,  who 
ran  wild  about  the  premises.  I  tried  to 
draw  him  into  familiarity,  and  to  make  a 
companion  of  him ;  but  he  seemed  to 
have  imbibed  the  strange  unsocial  cha 
racter  of  every  thing  around  him,  and 
always  kept  aloof;  so  I  considered  him 
as  another  Orson,  and  amused  myself 
with  shooting  at  him  with  my  bow 
and  arrows,  and  he  would  hold  up  his 
breeches  with  one  hand,  and  scamper 
away  like  a  deer. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  lone 
liness  and  wildness  strangely  pleasing 
to  me.  The  great  stables,  empty  and 
weather-broken,  with  the  names  of  fa 
vourite  horses  over  the  vacant  stalls ; 
the  windows  bricked  and  boarded  up  ; 
the  broken  roofs,  garrisoned  by  rooks 
and  jackdaws,  all  had  a  singularly  forlorn 
appearance.  One  would  have  concluded 
the  house  to  be  totally  uninhabited,  were 
it  not  for  a  little  thread  of  blue  smoke, 
which  now  and  then  curled  up  like  a 
corkscrew,  from  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
wide  chimneys,  where  my  uncle's  starve 
ling  meal  was  cooking. 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  a  remote 
corner  of  the  building,  strongly  secured, 
and  generally  locked.  I  was  never  ad 
mitted  into  this  stronghold,  where  the 
old  man  would  remain  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  time,  drawn  up,  like  a  veteran 
spider,  in  the  citadel  of  his  web.  The 
rest  of  the  mansion,  however,  was  open 
to  me,  and  I  wandered  about  it  uncon 
strained.  The  damp  and  rain  which 
beat  in  through  the  broken  windows, 
crumbled  the  paper  from  the  walls, 
mouldered  the  pictures,  and  gradually 
destroyed  the  furniture.  I  loved  to  roam 
about  the  wide  waste  chambers  in  bad 
weather,  and  listen  to  the  howling  of  the 
wind,  and  the  banging  about  of  the  doors 
and  window-shutters.  I  pleased  myself 
with  the  idea  how  completely,  when  I 
came  to  the  estate,  I  would  renovate  all 
things,  and  make  the  old  building  ring 
with  merriment,  till  it  was  astonished  at 
its  own  jocundity. 

The  chamber  which  I  occupied  on 
these  visits,  was  the  same  that  had  been 
my  mother's  when  a  girl.  There  was 
still  the  toilet-table  of  her  own  adorning, 
the  landscapes  of  her  own  drawing.  She 
had  never  seen  it  since  her  marriage,  but 


would  often  ask  me,  if  every  thing  was 
still  the  same.  All  was  just  the  same, 
for  I  loved  that  chamber  on  her  account, 
and  had  taken  pains  to  put  every  thing 
in  order,  and  to  mend  all  the  flaws  in  the 
windows  with  my  own  hands.  I  antici 
pated  the  time  when  I  should  once  more 
welcome  her  to  the  house  of  her  fathers, 
and  restore  her  to  this  little  nestling-place 
of  her  childhood. 

At  length  my  evil  genius,  or  what, 
perhaps,  is  the  same  thing,  the  Muse, 
inspired  me  with  the  notion  of  rhyming 
again.  My  uncle,  who  never  went  to 
church,  used  on  Sundays  to  read  chapters 
out  of  the  Bible ;  and  Iron  John,  the 
woman  from  the  lodge,  and  myself,  were 
his  congregation.  It  seemed  to  be  all 
one  to  him  what  he  read,  so  long  as  it 
was  something  from  the  Bible.  Some 
times,  therefore,  it  would  be  the  Song  of 
Solomon ;  and  this  withered  anatomy 
would  read  about  being  "  stayed  with 
flagons,  and  comforted  with  apples,  for 
he  was  sick  of  love."  Sometimes  he 
would  hobble,  with  spectacles  on  nose, 
through  whole  chapters  of  hard  Hebrew 
names  in  Deuteronomy,  at  which  the 
poor  woman  would  sigh  and  groan,  as  if 
wonderfully  moved.  His  favourite  book, 
however,  was  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress;" 
and  when  he  came  to  that  part  which 
treats  of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  De 
spair,  I  thought  invariably  of  him  and 
his  desolate  old  country-seat.  So  much 
did  the  idea  amuse  me,  that  I  took  to 
scribbling  about  it  under  the  trees  in  the 
park  ;  and  in  a  few  days  had  made  some 
progress  in  a  poem,  in  which  I  had  given 
a  description  of  the  place,  under  the  name 
of  Doubting  Castle,  and  personified  my 
uncle  as  Giant  Despair. 

I  lost  my  poem  somewhere  about  the 
house,  and  I  soon  suspected  that  my 
uncle  had  found  it,  as  he  harshly  inti 
mated  to  me  that  I  could  return  home, 
and  that  I  need  not  come  and  see  him 
again  till  he  should  send  for  me. 

Just  about  this  time  my  mother  died. 
I  cannot  dwell  upon  the  circumstance. 
My  heart,  careless  and  wayward  as  it  is, 
gushes  with  the  recollection.  Her  death 
was  an  event  that  perhaps  gave  a  turn 
to  all  my  after  fortunes.  With  her  died 
all  that  made  home  attractive.  I  had  no 
longer  any  body  whom  I  was  ambitious 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


75 


to  please,  or  fearful  to  offend.  My  father 
was  a  good  kind  of  a  man  in  his  way, 
but  he  had  bad  maxims  in  education, 
and  we  differed  in  material  points.  It 
makes  a  vast  difference  in  opinion  about 
the  utility  of  the  rod,  which  end  happens 
to  fall  to  one's  share.  I  never  could  "be 
brought  into  my  father's  way  of  thinking 
on  the  subject. 

I  now,  therefore,  began  to  grow  very 
impatient  of  remaining  at  school,  to  be 
flogged  for  things  that  I  did  not  like.  I 
longed  for  variety,  especially  now  that  I 
had  not  my  uncle's  house  to  resort  to, 
by  way  of  diversifying  the  dulness  of 
school,  with  the  dreariness  of  his  coun 
try-seat. 

I  was  now  almost  seventeen,  tall  for 
my  age,  and  full  of  idle  fancies.  I  had 
a  roving,  inextinguishable  desire  to  see 
different  kinds  of  life,  and  different  or 
ders  of  society ;  and  this  vagrant  humour 
had  been  fostered  in  me  by  Tom  Dribble, 
the  prime  wag  and  great  genius  of  the 
school,  who  had  all  the  rambling  propen 
sities  of  a  poet. 

I  used  to  sit  at  my  desk  in  the  school, 
on  a  fine  summer's  day,  and  instead  of 
studying  the  book  which  lay  open  before 
me,  my  eye  was  gazing  through  the 
window  on  the  green  fields  and  blue 
hills.  How  I  envied  the  happy  groups 
seated  on  the  tops  of  stage-coaches,  chat 
ting,  and  joking,  and  laughing,  as  they 
were  whirled  by  the  schoolhouse  on  their 
way  to  the  metropolis  !  Even  the  wa 
goners,  trudging  along  beside  their  pon 
derous  teams,  and  traversing  the  king 
dom  from  one  end  to  the  other,  were 
objects  of  envy  to  me  :  I  fancied  to  my 
self  what  adventures  they  must  experi 
ence,  and  what  odd  scenes  of  life  they 
must  witness.  All  this  was,  doubtless, 
the  poetical  temperament  working  within 
me,  and  tempting  me  forth  into  a  world 
of  its  own  creation,  which  I  mistook  for 
the  world  of  real  life. 

While  my  mother  lived,  this  strong 
propensity  to  rove  was  counteracted  by 
the  stronger  attractions  of  home,  and  by 
the  powerful  ties  of  affection  which  drew 
me  near  to  her  side ;  but  now  that  she 
was  gone,  the  attractions  had  ceased  ; 
the  ties  were  severed.  I  had  no  longer 
an  anchorage-ground  for  my  heart,  but 
was  at  the  mercy  of  every  vagrant  im 


pulse.  Nothing  but  the  narrow  allow 
ance  on  which  my  father  kept  me,  and 
the  consequent  penury  of  my  purse,  pre 
vented  me  from  mounting  the  top  of  a 
stage-coach,  and  launching  myself  adrift 
on  the  great  ocean  of  life. 

Just  about  this  time  the  village  was 
agitated  for  a  day  or  two,  by  the  passing 
through  of  several  caravans,  containing 
wild  beasts,  and  other  spectacles,  for  a 
great  fair  annually  held  at  a  neighbour 
ing  town. 

I  had  never  seen  a  fair  of  any  conse 
quence,  and  my  curiosity  was  powerfully 
awakened  by  this  bustle  of  preparation. 
I  gazed  with  respect  and  wonder  at  the 
vagrant  personages  who  accompanied 
these  caravans.  I  loitered  about  the 
village  inn,  listening  with  curiosity  and 
delight  to  the  slang  talk  and  cant  jokes 
of  the  showmen  and  their  followers ;  and 
I  felt  an  eager  desire  to  witness  this  fair, 
which  my  fancy  decked  out  as  some 
thing  wonderfully  fine. 

A  holiday  afternoon  presented,  when 
I  could  be  absent  from  noon  until  even 
ing.  A  wagon  was  going  from  the  vil 
lage  to  the  fair :  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation,  nor  the  eloquence  of  Tom 
Dribble,  who  was  a  truant  to  the  very 
heart's  core.  We  hired  seats,  and  set 
off  full  of  boyish  expectation.  I  pro 
mised  myself  that  I  would  but  take  a 
peep  at  the  land  of  promise,  and  hasten 
back  again  before  my  absence  should  be 
noticed. 

Heavens !  how  happy  I  was  on  arriv 
ing  at  the  fair  !  How  I  was  enchanted 
with  the  world  of  fun  and  pageantry 
around  me !  The  humours  of  Punch, 
the  feats  of  the  equestrians,  the  magical 
tricks  of  the  conjurors  !  But  what  prin 
cipally  caught  my  attention  was  an  itine 
rant  theatre,  where  a  tragedy,  pantomime, 
and  farce,  were  all  acted  in  the  course 
of  half  an  hour ;  and  more  of  the  dra 
matis  persona)  murdered,  than  at  either 
Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden  in  the 
course  of  a  whole  evening.  I  have  since 
seen  many  a  play  performed  by  the  best 
actors  in  the  world,  but  never  have  I 
derived  half  the  delight  from  any  that  I 
did  from  this  first  representation. 

There  was  a  ferocious  tyrant  in  a 
scullcap  like  an  inverted  porringer,  and 
a  dress  of  red  baize,  magnificently  em- 


4- 


76 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


broidered  with  gilt  leather ;  with  his  face 
so  bewhiskered,  and  his  eyebrows  so 
knit  and  expanded  with  burnt  cork,  that 
he  made  my  heart  quake  within  me,  as 
he  stamped  about  the  little  stage.  I  was 
enraptured  too  with  the  surpassing  beauty 
of  a  distressed  damsel  in  faded  pink  silk, 
and  dirty  white  muslin,  whom  he  held  in 
cruel  captivity  by  way  of  gaining  her 
affections,  and  who  wept,  and  wrung  her 
hands,  and  flourished  a  ragged  while 
handkerchief,  from  the  top  of  an  impreg 
nable  tower  of  the  size  of  a  bandbox. 

Even  after  I  had  come  out  from  the 
play,  I  could  not  tear  myself  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  theatre,  but  lingered, 
gazing  and  wondering,  and  laughing  at 
the  dramatis  personse  as  they  performed 
their  antics,  or  danced  upon  a  stage  in 
front  of  the  booth,  to  decoy  a  new  set  of 
spectators. 

I  was  so  bewildered  by  the  scene,  and 
so  lost  in  the  crowd  of  sensations  that 
kept  swarming  upon  me,  that  I  was  like 
one  entranced.  I  lost  my  companion, 
Tom  Dribble,  in  a  tumult  and  scuffle 
that  took  place  near  one  of  the  shows ; 
but  I  was  too  much  occupied  in  mind  to 
think  long  about  him.  I  strolled  about 
until  dark,  when  the  fair  was  lighted  up, 
and  a  new  scene  of  magic  opened  upon 
me.  The  illumination  of  the  tents  and 
booths,  the  brilliant  effect  of  the  stages 
decorated  with  lamps,  with  dramatic 
groups  flaunting  about  them  in  gaudy 
dresses,  contrasted  splendidly  with  the 
surrounding  darkness ;  while  the  uproar 
of  drums,  trumpets,  fiddles,  hautboys, 
and  cymbals,  mingled  with  the  harangues 
of  the  showmen,  the  squeaking  of  Punch, 
and  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the  crowd, 
all  united  to  complete  my  giddy  distrac 
tion. 

Time  flew  without  my  perceiving  it. 
When  I  came  to  myself  and  thought  of 
the  school,  I  hastened  to  return.  I  in 
quired  for  the  wagon  in  which  I  had 
I  come :  it  had  been  gone  for  hours !  I 
asked  the  time :  it  was  almost  midnight ! 
A  sudden  quaking  seized  me.  How  was 
I  to  get  back  to  school  1  I  was  too 
weary  to  make  the  journey  on  foot,  and 
I  knew  not  where  to  apply  for  a  convey 
ance.  Even  if  I  should  find  one,  could 
I  venture  to  disturb  the  schoolhouse  long 
after  midnight — to  arouse  that  sleeping 


lion  the  usher  in  the  very  midst  of  his 
night's  rest  1 — the  idea  was  too  dreadful 
for  a  delinquent  schoolboy.  All  the 
horrors  of  return  rushed  upon  me.  My 
absence  must  long  before  this  have  been 
remarked  ; — and  absent  for  a  whole 
night ! — a  deed  of  darkness  not  easily  to 
be  expiated.  The  rod  of  the  pedagogue 
budded  forth  into  tenfold  terrors  before 
my  affrighted  fancy.  I  pictured  to  my 
self  punishment  and  humiliation  in  every 
variety  of  form,  and  my  heart  sickened 
at  the  picture.  Alas !  how  often  are  the 
petty  ills  of  boyhood  as  painful  to  our 
tender  natures,  as  are  the  sterner  evils 
of  manhood  to  our  robuster  minds  ! 

I  wandered  about  among  the  booths, 
and  I  might  have  derived  a  lesson  from 
my  actual  feelings,  how  much  the  charms 
of  this  world  depend  upon  ourselves ;  for 
I  no  longer  saw  any  thing  gay  or  delight 
ful  in  the  revelry  around  me.  At  length 
I  lay  down,  wearied  and  perplexed,  be 
hind  one  of  the  large  tents,  and,  covering 
myself  with  the  margin  of  the  tent  cloth 
to  keep  off  the  night  chill,  I  soon  fell 
asleep. 

I  had  not  slept  long,  when  I  was 
awakened  by  the  noise  of  merriment 
within  an  adjoining  booth.  It  was  the 
itinerant  theatre,  rudely  constructed  of 
boards  and  canvass.  I  peeped  through 
an  aperture,  and  saw  the  whole  dramatis 
personaB,  tragedy,  comedy,  and  panto 
mime,  all  refreshing  themselves  after  the 
final  dismissal  of  their  auditors.  They 
were  merry  and  gamesome,  and  made 
the  flimsy  theatre  ring  with  their  laugh 
ter.  I  w»as  astonished  to  see  the  tragedy 
tyrant  in  red  baize  and  fierce  whiskers, 
who  had  made  my  heart  quake  as  he 
strutted  about  the  boards,  now  trans 
formed  into  a  fat,  good-humoured  fellow; 
the  beaming  porringer  laid  aside  from 
his  brow,  and  his  jolly  face  washed  from 
all  the  terrors  of  burnt  cork.  I  was  de 
lighted,  too,  to  see  the  distressed  damsel, 
in  faded  silk  and  dirty  muslin,  who  had 
trembled  under  his  tyranny,  and  afflicted 
me  so  much  by  her  sorrows,  now  seated 
familiarly  on  his  knee,  and  quaffing  from 
the  same  tankard.  Harlequin  lay  asleep 
on  one  of  the  benches  ;  and  monks, 
satyrs,  and  vestal  virgins,  were  grouped 
together,  laughing  outrageously  at  a 
broad  story,  told  by  an  unhappy  count, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


77 


who  had  been  barbarously  murdered  in 
the  tragedy. 

This  was,  indeed,  novelty  to  me.  It 
was  a  peep  into  another  planet.  I  gazed 
and  listened  with  intense  curiosity  and 
enjoyment.  They  had  a  thousand  odd 
stories  and  jokes  about  the  events  of  the 
day,  and  burlesque  descriptions  and  mi- 
mickings  of  the  spectators  who  had  been 
admiring  them.  Their  conversation  was 
full  of  allusions  to  their  adventures  at 
different  places  where  they  had  exhi 
bited  ;  the  characters  they  had  met  with 
in  different  villages ;  and  the  ludicrous 
difficulties  in  which  they  had  occasionally 
been  involved.  All  past  cares  and  trou 
bles  were  now  turned,  by  these  thought 
less  beings,  into  matter  of  merriment, 
and  made  to  contribute  to  the  gayety  of 
the  moment.  They  had  been  moving 
from  fair  to  fair  about  the  kingdom,  and 
were  the  next  morning  to  set  out  on  their 
way  to  London.  My  resolution  was 
taken.  I  stole  from  my  nest ;  and  crept 
through  a  hedge  into  a  neighbouring  field, 
where  I  went  to  work  to  make  a  tatter 
demalion  of  myself.  I  tore  my  clothes  ; 
soiled  them  with  dirt ;  begrimed  my  face 
and  hands,  and  crawling  near  one  of  the 
booths,  purloined  an  old  hat,  and  left  my 
new  one  in  its  place.  It  was  an  honest 
theft,  and  I  hope  may  not  hereafter  rise 
up  in  judgment  against  me. 

I  now  ventured  to  the  scene  of  merry 
making,  and  presenting  myself  before  the 
dramatic  corps,  offered  myself  as  a  vo 
lunteer.  I  felt  terribly  agitated  and  abash 
ed,  for*  never  before  "  stood  I  in  such  a 
presence."  I  had  addressed  myself  to 
the  manager  of  the  company.  He  was 
a  fat  man,  dressed  in  dirty  white,  with 
a  red  sash  fringed  with  tinsel  swathed 
round  his  body;  his  face  was  smeared 
with  paint,  and  a  majestic  plume  towered 
from  an  old  spangled  black  bonnet.  He 
was  the  Jupiter  Tonans  of  this  Olympus, 
and  was  surrounded  by  the  inferior  gods 
and  goddesses  of  his  court.  He  sat  on 
the  end  of  a  bench,  by  a  table,  with  one 
arm  a-kimbo,  and  the  other  extended  to 
the  handle  of  a  tankard,  which  he  had 
slowly  set  down  from  his  lips,  as  he  sur 
veyed  me  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a 
moment  of  awful  scrutiny ;  and  I  fancied 
the  groups  around  all  watching  as  in  silent 
suspense,  and  waiting  for  the  imperial  nod. 


He  questioned  me  as  to  who  I  was  ; 
what  were  my  qualifications  ;  and  what 
terms  I  expected.  I  passed  myself  off 
for  a  discharged  servant  from  a  gentle 
man's  family ;  and  as,  happily,  one  does 
not  require  a  special  recommendation  to 
get  admitted  into  bad  company,  the  ques 
tions  on  that  head  were  easily  satisfied. 
As  to  my  accomplishments  I  could  spout 
a  little  poetry,  and  knew  several  scenes 
of  plays,  which  I  had  learnt  at  school 

exhibitions.     I  could  dance That 

was  enough.  No  further  questions  were 
asked  me  as  to  accomplishments ;  it  was 
the  very  thing  they  wanted  ;  and  as  I 
asked  no  wages  but  merely  meat  and 
drink,  and  safe  conduct  about  the  world, 
a  bargain  was  struck  in  a  moment. 

Behold  me,  therefore,  transformed  on 
a  sudden  from  a  gentleman  student  to  a 
dancing  buffoon :  for  such,  in  fact,  was 
the  character  in  which  I  made  my  debut. 
I  was  one  of  those  who  formed  the 
groups  in  the  dramas,  and  was  princi 
pally  employed  on  the  stage  in  front  of 
the  booth  to  attract  company.  I  was 
equipped  as  a  satyr,  in  a  dress  of  drab 
frieze  that  fitted  to  my  shape,  with  a 
great  laughing  mask,  ornamented  with 
huge  ears  and  short  horns.  I  was  pleased 
with  the  disguise,  because  it  kept  me 
from  the  danger  of  being  discovered, 
whilst  we  were  in  that  part  of  the  coun 
try  ;  and  as  I  had  merely  to  dance  and 
make  antics,  the  character  was  favoura 
ble  to  a  debutant — being  almost  on  a  par 
with  Simon  Snug's  part  of  the  lion, 
which  required  nothing  but  roaring. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  was  at 
this  sudden  change  in  my  situation.  I 
felt  no  degradation,  for  I  had  seen  too 
little  of  society  to  be  thoughtful  about 
the  difference  of  rank;  and  a  boy  of 
sixteen  is  seldom  aristocratical.  I  had 
given  up  no  friend,  for  there  seemed  to 
be  no  one  in  the  world  that  cared  for  me 
now  that  my  poor  mother  was  dead ;  I 
had  given  up  no  pleasure,  for  my  plea 
sure  was  to  ramble  about  and  indulge 
the  flow  of  a  poetical  imagination,  and  I 
now  enjoyed  it  in  perfection.  There  is 
no  life  so  truly  poetical  as  that  of  a 
dancing  buffoon. 

It  may  be  said  that  all  this  argued 
grovelling  inclinations.  I  do  not  think 
so.  Not  that  I  mean  to  vindicate  myself 

7* 


78 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


in  any  great  degree :  I  know  too  well 
what  a  whimsical  compound  I  am.  But 
in  this  instance  I  was  seduced  by  no  love 
of  low  company,  nor  disposition  to  in 
dulge  in  low  vices.  I  have  always 
despised  the  brutally  vulgar,  and  I  have 
always  had  a  disgust  at  vice,  whether  in 
high  or  low  life.  I  was  governed  merely 
by  a  sudden  and  thoughtless  impulse.  I 
had  no  idea  of  resorting  to  this  profession 
as  a  mode  of  life,  or  of  attaching  myself 
to  these  people,  as  my  future  class  of 
society.  I  thought  merely  of  a  tempo 
rary  gratification  to  my  curiosity,  and 
an  indulgence  of  my  humours.  I  had 
already  a  strong  relish  for  the  peculiari 
ties  of  character  and  the  varieties  of 
situation,  and  I  have  always  been  fond  of 
the  comedy  of  life,  and  desirous  of  seeing 
it  through  all  its  shifting  scenes. 

In  mingling,  therefore,  among  mounte 
banks  and  buffoons,  I  was  protected  by 
the  very  vivacity  of  imagination  which 
had  led  me  among  them ;  I  moved  about, 
enveloped,  as  it  were,  in  a  protecting 
delusion,  which  my  fancy  spread  around 
me.  I  assimilated  to  these  people  only 
as  they  struck  me  poetically ;  their 
whimsical  ways  and  a  certain  pictu- 
resqueness  in  their  mode  of  life  enter 
tained  me ;  but  I  was  neither  amused  nor 
corrupted  by  their  vices.  In  short,  I 
mingled  among  them,  as  Prince  Hal  did 
among  his  graceless  associates,  merely 
to  gratify  my  humour. 

I  did  not  investigate  my  motives  in  this 
manner  at  the  time,  for  I  was  too  care 
less  and  thoughtless  to  reason  about  the 
matter ;  but  I  do  so  now,  when  I  look 
back  with  trembling  to  think  of  the  ordeal 
to  which  I  unthinkingly  exposed  myself, 
and  the  manner  in  which  I  passed 
through  it.  Nothing,  I  am  convinced, 
but  the  poetical  temperament,  that  hur 
ried  me  into  the  scrape,  brought  me  out 
of  it  without  my  becoming  an  arrant 
vagabond. 

Full  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment, 
giddy  with  the  wildness  of  animal  spirits, 
so  rapturous  in  a  boy,  I  capered,  I  danced, 
I  played  a  thousand  fantastic  tricks  about 
the  stage,  in  the  villages  in  which  we 
exhibited  ;  and  I  was  universally  pro 
nounced  the  most  agreeable  monster  that 
had  ever  been  seen  in  those  parts.  My 
disappearance  from  school  had  awakened 


my  father's  anxiety ;  for  I  one  day  heard 
a  description  of  myself  cried  before  the 
very  booth  in  which  I  was  exhibiting, 
with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for  any  intel 
ligence  of  me.  I  had  no  great  scruple 
about  letting  my  father  suffer  a  little  un 
easiness  on  my  account ;  it  would  punish 
him  for  past  indifference,  and  would 
make  him  value  me  the  more  when  he 
found  me  again. 

I  have  wondered  that  some  of  my 
comrades  did  not  recognise  me  in  the 
stray  sheep  that  was  cried ;  but  they 
were  all,  no  doubt,  occupied  by  their 
own  concerns.  They  were  all  labouring 
seriously  in  their  antic  vocation ;  for 
folly  was  a  mere  trade  with  most  of  them, 
and  they  often  grinned  and  capered  with 
heavy  hearts.  With  me,  on  the  contrary, 
it  was  all  real.  I  acted  con  amore,  and 
rattled  and  laughed  from  the  irrepressible 
gayety  of  my  spirits.  It  is  true  that, 
now  and  then,  I  started  and  looked  grave 
on  receiving  a  sudden  thwack  from  the 
wooden  sword  of  Harlequin  in  the  course 
of  my  gambols,  as  it  brought  to  mind 
the  birch  of  my  schoolmaster.  But  I 
soon  got  accustomed  to  it,  and  bore  all 
the  cuffing,  and  kicking,  and  tumbling 
about,  which  form  the  practical  wit  of 
your  itinerant  pantomime,  with  a  good- 
humour  that  made  me  a  prodigious  fa 
vourite. 

The  country  campaign  of  the  troop 
was  soon  at  an  end,  and  we  set  off  for 
the  metropolis,  to  perform  at  the  fairs 
which  are  held  in  its  vicinity.  The 
greater  part  of  our  theatrical  property 
was  sent  on  direct,  to  be  in  a  state  of 
preparation  for  the  opening  of  the  fairs  ; 
while  a  detachment  of  the  company 
travelled  slowly  on,  foraging  among  the 
villages.  I  was  amused  with  the  desul 
tory,  hap-hazard  kind  of  life  we  led ; 
here  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow.  Some 
times  revelling  in  ale-houses,  sometimes 
feasting  under  hedges  in  the  green  fields. 
When  audiences  were  crowded,  and  bu 
siness  profitable,  we  fared  well ;  and 
when  otherwise,  we  fared  scantily,  con 
soled  ourselves,  and  made  up  with  anti 
cipations  of  the  next  day's  success. 

At  length  the  increasing  frequency  of 
coaches  hurrying  past  us,  covered  with 
passengers ;  the  increasing  number  of 
carriages,  carts,  wagons,  gigs,  droves 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


79 


of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep,  all  throng 
ing  the  road ;  the  snug  country  boxes 
with  trim  flower-gardens  twelve  feet 
square,  and  their  trees  twelve  feet  high, 
all  powdered  with  dust ;  and  the  innu- 
I  merable  seminaries  for  young  ladies  and 
gentlemen  situated  along  the  road  for  the 
benefit  of  country  air  and  rural  retire 
ment  ;  all  these  insignia  announced  that 
the  mighty  London  was  at  hand.  The 
hurry,  and  the  crowd,  and  the  bustle, 
and  the  noise,  and  the  dust,  increased  as 
we  proceeded,  until  I  saw  the  great  cloud 
of  smoke  hanging  in  the  air,  like  a  canopy 
of  state,  over  this  queen  of  cities. 

In  this  way  then,  did  I  enter  the  me 
tropolis,  a  strolling  vagabond,  on  the  top 
of  a  caravan,  with  a  crew  of  vagabonds 
about  me ;  but  I  was  as  happy  as  a 
prince  ;  for,  like  Prince  Hal,  I  felt  myself 
superior  to  my  situation,  and  knew  that 
I  could  at  any  time  cast  it  off,  and  emerge 
into  my  proper  sphere. 

How  my  eyes  sparkled  as  we  passed 
Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  I  saw  splendid 
equipages  rolling  by ;  with  powdered 
footmen  behind,  in  rich  liveries,  with  fine 
nosegays,  and  gold-headed  canes ;  and 
with  lovely  women  within,  so  sumptuously 
dressed,  and  so  surpassingly  fair  !  I  was 
always  extremely  sensible  to  female 
beauty,  and  here  I  saw  it  in  all  its  power 
of  fascination  ;  for  whatever  may  be  said 
of  "  beauty  unadorned,"  there  is  some 
thing  almost  awful  in  female  loveliness 
decked  out  in  jewelled  state.  The  swan- 
like  neck  encircled  with  diamonds ;  the 
raven  locks  clustered  with  pearls  ;  the 
ruby  glowing  on  the  snowy  bosom,  are 
objects  which  I  could  never  contemplate 
without  emotion ;  and  a  dazzling  white 
arm  clasped  with  bracelets,  and  taper 
transparent  fingers,  laden  with  sparkling 
rings,  are  to  me  irresistible. 

My  very  eyes  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the 
high  and  courtly  beauty  that  passed  be 
fore  me.  It  surpassed  all  that  my  ima 
gination  had  conceived  of  the  sex.  I 
shrunk,  for  a  moment,  into  shame  at  the 
company  in  which  I  was  placed,  and 
repined  at  the  vast  distance  that  seemed 
to  intervene  between  me  and  these  mag 
nificent  beings. 

I  forbear  to  give  a  detail  of  the  happy 
life  I  led  about  the  skirts  of  the  metropo 
lis,  playing  at  the  various  fairs  held  there 


during  the  latter  part  of  spring,  and  the 
beginning  of  summer.  This  continued 
change  from  place  to  place,  and  scene  to 
scene,  fed  my  imagination  with  novelties, 
and  kept  my  spirits  in  a  perpetual  state 
of  excitement.  As  I  was  tall  of  my 
age,  I  aspired,  at  one  time,  to  play  heroes 
in  tragedy  ;  but,  after  two  or  three  trials, 
I  was  pronounced  by  the  manager  totally 
unfit  for  the  line ;  and  our  first  tragic 
actress,  who  was  a  large  woman,  and 
held  a  small  hero  in  abhorrence,  confirm 
ed  his  decision. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  attempted  to  give 
point  to  language  which  had  no  point, 
and  nature  to  scenes  which  had  no  nature. 
They  said  I  did  not  fill  out  my  charac 
ters  ;  and  they  were  right.  The  charac 
ters  had  all  been  prepared  for  a  different 
sort  of  a  man.  Our  tragedy  hero  was 
a  round,  robustious  fellow,  with  an 
amazing  voice  ;  who  stamped  and  slapped 
his  breast  until  his  wig  shook  again ;  and 
who  roared  and  bellowed  out  his  bombast 
until  every  phrase  swelled  upon  the  ear 
like  the  sound  of  a  kettledrum.  I  might 
as  well  have  attempted  to  fill  out  his 
clothes  as  his  characters.  When  we  had 
a  dialogue  together,  I  was  nothing  before 
him,  with  my  slender  voice  and  discrimi 
nating  manner.  I  might  as  well  have 
attempted  to  parry  a  cudgel  with  a  small 
sword.  If  he  found  me  in  any  way 
gaining  ground  upon  him,  he  would  take 
refuge  in  his  mighty  voice,  and  throw  his 
tones  like  peals  of  thunder  at  me,  until 
they  were  drowned  in  the  still  louder 
thunders  of  applause  from  the  audience. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  suspect  that  I  was 
not  shown  fair  play,  and  that  there  was 
management  at  the  bottom  ;  for,  without 
vanity,  I  think  I  was  a  better  actor  than 
he.  As  I  had  not  embarked  in  the  vaga 
bond  line  through  ambition,  I  did  not 
repine  at  lack  of  preferment ;  but  1  was 
grieved  to  find  that  a  vagrant  life  was 
not  without  its  cares  and  anxieties  ;  and 
that  jealousies,  intrigues,  and  mad  ambi 
tion,  were  to  be  found  even  among  vaga 
bonds. 

Indeed,  as  I  became  more  familiar 
with  my  situation,  and  the  delusions  of 
fancy  gradually  faded  away,  I  began  to 
find  that  my  associates  were  not  the 
happy  careless  creatures  I  had  at  first 
imagined  them.  They  were  jealous  of 


80 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


each  other's  talents ;  they  quarrelled 
about  parts,  the  same  as  the  actors  on 
the  grand  theatres  ;  they  quarrelled  about 
dresses ;  and  there  was  one  robe  of  yellow 
silk,  trimmed  with  red,  and  a  head-dress 
of  three  rumpled  ostrich  feathers,  which 
were  continually  setting  the  ladies  of  the 
company  by  the  ears.  Even  those  who 
had  attained  the  highest  honours  were 
not  more  happy  than  the  rest ;  for  Mr. 
Flimsey  himself,  our  first  tragedian,  and 
apparently  a  jovial,  good-humoured  fel 
low,  confessed  to  me  one  day,  in  the 
fulness  of  his  heart,  that  he  was  a  mise 
rable  man.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  a 
relative  by  marriage,  though  not  by 
blood,  who  was  manager  of  a  theatre  in 
a  small  country  town.  And  this  same 
brother  ("  a  little  more  than  kin,  but  less 
than  kind")  looked  down  upon  him,  and 
treated  him  with  contumely,  because, 
forsooth,  he  was  but  a  strolling  player. 
I  tried  to  console  him  with  the  thoughts 
of  the  vast  applause  he  daily  received, 
but  it  was  all  in  vain.  He  declared  that 
it  gave  him  no  delight,  and  that  he  should 
never  be  a  happy  man,  until  the  name  of 
Flimsey  rivalled  the  name  of  Crimp. 

How  little  do  those  before  the  scenes 
know  of  what  passes  behind !  how  little 
can  they  judge,  from  the  countenances  of 
actors,  of  what  is  passing  in  their  hearts ! 
I  have  known  two  lovers  quarrel  like  cats 
behind  the  scenes,  who  were,  the  moment 
after,  to  fly  into  each  other's  embraces. 
And  I  have  dreaded,  when  our  Belvidera 
was  to  take  her  farewell  kiss  of  her 
Jaffier,  lest  she  should  bite  a  piece  out  of 
his  cheek.  Our  tragedian  was  a  rough 
joker  off  the  stage  ;  our  prime  clown  the 
most  peevish  mortal  living.  The  latter 
used  to  go  about  snapping  and  snarling, 
with  a  broad  laugh  painted  on  his  coun 
tenance;  and  I  can  assure  you  that 
whatever  may  be  said  of  the  gravity  of 
a  monkey,  or  the  melancholy  of  a  gibed 
cat,  there  is  not  a  more  melancholy  crea 
ture  in  existence  than  a  mountebank  off 
duty. 

The  only  thing  in  which  all  parties 
agreed,  was  to  backbite  the  manager, 
and  cabal  against  his  regulations.  This, 
however,  I  have  since  discovered  to  be 
a  common  trait  of  human  nature,  and  to 
take  place  in  all  communities.  It  would 
seem  to  be  the  main  business  of  man  to 


repine  at  government.  In  all  situations 
of  life  into  which  I  have  looked,  I  have 
found  mankind  divided  into  two  grand 
parties :  those  who  ride,  and  those  who 
are  ridden.  The  great  struggle  of  life 
seems  to  be  which  shall  keep  in  the.  sad 
dle.  This,  it  appears  t©  me,  is  the  fun 
damental  principle  of  politics,  whether  in 
great  or  little  life.  However,  I  do  not 
mean  to  moralize — but  one  cannot  al 
ways  sink  the  philosopher. 

Well  then,  to  return  to  myself,  it  was 
determined,  as  I  said,  that  I  was  not  fit 
for  tragedy,  and,  unluckily,  as  my  study 
was  bad,  having  a  very  poor  memory,  I 
was  pronounced  unfit  for  comedy  also ; 
besides,  the  line  of  young  gentlemen  was 
already  engrossed  by  an  actor  with 
whom  I  could  not  pretend  to  enter  into 
competition,  he  having  filled  it  for  almost 
half  a  century.  I  came  down  again, 
therefore,  to  pantomime.  In  consequence, 
however,  of  the  good  offices  of  the  mana 
ger's  lady,  who  had  taken  a  liking  to 
me,  I  was  promoted  from  the  part  of  the 
satyr  to  that  of  the  lover ;  and  with  my 
face  patched  and  painted,  a  huge  cravat 
of  paper,  a  steeple-crowned  hat,  and 
dangling  long-skirted  sky-blue  coat,  was 
metamorphosed  into  the  lover  of  Colum 
bine.  My  part  did  not  call  for  much  of 
the  tender  and  sentimental.  I  had  merely 
to  pursue  the  fugitive  fair  one ;  to  have 
a  door  now  and  then  slammed  in  my 
face ;  to  run  my  head  occasionally 
against  a  post ;  to  tumble  and  roll  about 
with  Pantaloon  and  the  clown ;  and  to 
endure  the  hearty  thwacks  of  Harlequin's 
wooden  sword. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  my  poetical 
temperament  began  to  ferment  within 
me,  and  to  work  out  new  troubles.  The 
inflammatory  air  of  a  great  metropolis, 
added  to  the  rural  scenes  in  which  the 
fairs  were  held,  such  as  Greenwich  Park, 
Epping  Forest,  and  the  lovely  valley  of 
West  End,  had  a  powerful  effect  upon 
me.  While  in  Greenwich  Park  I  was 
witness  to  the  old  holiday  games  of  run 
ning  down  hill,  and  kissing  in  the  ring  ; 
and  then  the  firmament  of  blooming  faces 
and  blue  eyes  that  would  be  turned  to 
wards  me,  as  I  was  playing  antics  on 
the  stage ;  all  these  set  my  young  blood 
and  my  poetical  vein  in  full  flow.  In 
short,  I  played  the  character  to  "the  life, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


81 


and  became  desperately  enamoured  of 
Columbine.  She  was  a  trim,  well-made, 
tempting  girl,  with  a  roguish  dimpling 
face,  and  fine  chestnut  hair  clustering  all 
about  it.  The  moment  I  got  fairly  smit 
ten  there  was  an  end  to  all  playing.^  I 
was  such  a  creature  of  fancy  and  feel 
ing,  that  I  could  not  put  on  a  pretended, 
when  I  was  powerfully  affected  by  a  real 
emotion.  I  could  not  sport  with  a  fiction 
that  came  so  near  to  the  fact.  I  became 
too  natural  in  my  acting  to  succeed. 
And  then,  what  a  situation  for  a  lover ! 
I  was  a  mere  stripling,  and  she  played 
with  my  passion ;  for  giivls  soon  grow 
more  adroit  and  knowing  in  these  mat 
ters  than  your  awkward  youngsters. 
What  agonies  had  I  to  suffer!  Every 
time  that  she  danced  in  front  of  the 
booth,  and  made  such  liberal  displays  of 
her  charms,  I  was  in  torment.  To  com 
plete  my  misery,  I  had  a  real  rival  in 
Harlequin,  an  active,  vigorous,  knowing 
varlet,  of  six-and-twenty.  What  had  a 
raw,  inexperienced  youngster  like  me  to 
hope  from  such  a  competition  1 

I  had  still,  however,  some  advantages 
in  my  favour.  In  spite  of  my  change  of 
life,  I  retained  that  indescribable  some 
thing  which  always  distinguishes  the 
gentleman  ;  that  something  which  dwells 
in  a  man's  air  and  deportment,  and  not 
in  his  clothes ;  and  which  it  is  as  diffi 
cult  for  a  gentleman  to  put  off,  as  for  a 
vulgar  fellow  to  put  on.  The  company 
generally  felt  it,  and  used  to  call  me 
Little  Gentleman  Jack.  The  girl  felt  it 
too,  and,  in  spite  of  her  predilection  for 
my  powerful  rival,  she  liked  to  flirt  with 
me.  This  only  aggravated  my  troubles, 
by  increasing  my  passion,  and  awaken 
ing  the  jealousy  of  her  party-coloured 
lover. 

Alas !  think  what  I  suffered  at  being 
obliged  to  keep  up  an  ineffectual  chase 
after  my  Columbine  through  whole  pan 
tomimes  ;  to  see  her  carried  off  in  the 
vigorous  arms  of  the  happy  Harlequin ; 
and  to  be  obliged,  instead  of  snatching 
her  from  him,  to  tumble  sprawling  with 
Pantaloon  and  the  clown,  and  bear  the 
infernal  and  degrading  thwacks  of  my 
rival's  weapon  of  lath,  which,  may 
Heaven  confound  him  !  (excuse  my  pas 
sion)  the  villain  laid  on  with  a  malicious 
good-will :  nay,  I  could  absolutely  hear 


E 


him  chuckle  and  laugh  beneath  his  ac 
cursed  mask — I  beg  pardon  for  growing 
a  little  warm  in  my  narrative — I  wish  to 
be  cool,  but  these  recollections  will  some 
times  agitate  me.  I  have  heard  and 
read  of  many  desperate  and  deplorable 
situations  of  lovers,  but  none,  I  think,  in 
which  true  love  was  ever  exposed  to  so 
severe  and  peculiar  a  trial. 

This  could  not  last  long;  flesh  and 
blood,  at  least  such  flesh  and  blood  as 
mine,  could  not  bear  it.  I  had  repeated 
heart-burnings  and  quarrels  with  my 
rival,  in  which  he  treated  me  with  the 
mortifying  forbearance  of  a  man  towards 
a  child.  Had  he  quarrelled  outright  with 
me,  I  could  have  stomached  it,  at  least  I 
should  have  known  what  part  to  take ; 
but  to  be  humoured  and  treated  as  a 
child  in  the  presence  of  my  mistress, 
when  I  felt  all  the  bantam  spirit  of  a 
little  man  swelling  within  me — Gods !  it 
was  insufferable ! 

At  length,  we  were  exhibiting  one  day 
at  West  End  fair,  which  was  at  that  time 
a  very  fashionable  resort,  and  often  be 
leaguered  with  gay  equipages  from  town. 
Among  the  spectators  that  filled  the  front 
row  of  our  little  canvass  theatre  one  af 
ternoon,  when  1  had  to  figure  in  a  panto 
mime,  were  a  number  of  young  ladies 
from  a  boarding-school,  with  their  go 
verness.  Guess  my  confusion,  when,  in 
the  midst  of  my  antics,  I  beheld  among 
the  number  my  quondam  flame;  her 
whom  I  had  be-rhymed  at  school,  her  for 
whose  charms  I  had  smarted  so  severely, 
the  cruel  Sacharissa  !  What  was  worse, 
I  fancied  she  recollected  me,  and  was  re 
peating  the  story  of  my  humiliating  fla- 
geliation,  for  I  saw  her  whispering  to 
her  companions  and  her  governess.  I 
lost  all  consciousness  of  the  part  I  was 
acting,  and  of  the  place  where  I  was.  I 
felt  shrunk  to  nothing,  and  could  have 
crept  into  a  rat-hole — unluckily,  none 
was  open  to  receive  me.  Before  I  could 
recover  from  my  confusion,  I  was 
tumbled  over  by  Pantaloon  and  the 
clown,  and  I  felt  the  sword  of  Harlequin 
making  vigorous  assaults  in  a  manner 
most  degrading  to  my  dignity. 

Heaven  and  earth !  was  I  again  to 
suffer  martyrdom  in  this  ignominious, 
manner,  in  the  knowledge  and  even  be 
fore  the  very  eyes  of  this  most  beautiful, 


82 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


but  most  disdainful  of  fair  ones  ?  All  my 
long-smothered    wrath     broke     out     at 
once  ;  the  dormant  feelings  of  the  gentle 
man   arose   within   me.     Stung   to    the 
quick    by    intolerable     mortification,    I  j 
sprang  on  my  feet  in  an  instant ;  leaped  j 
upon  Harlequin  like  a  young  tiger ;  tore  ; 
off  his  mask ;  buffeted  him  in  the  face ;  ; 
and  soon  shed  more  blood  on  the  stage, 
than   had   been   spilt  upon  it  during  a 
whole   tragic   campaign  of  battles    and 
murders. 

As  soon  as  Harlequin  recovered  from 
his  surprise,  he  returned  my  assault  with 
interest.  I  was  nothing  in  his  hands. 
I  was  game,  to  be  sure,  for  I  was  a  gen 
tleman  ;  but  he  had  the  clownish  advan 
tage  of  bone  and  muscle.  I  felt  as  if  I 
could  have  fought  even  unto  the  death ; 
and  I  was  likely  to  do  so,  for  he  was, 
according  to  the  boxing  phrase,  "  putting 
my  head  into  chancery,"  when  the  gentle 
Columbine  flew  to  my  assistance.  God 
bless  the  women !  they  are  always  on 
the  side  of  the  weak  and  the  oppressed ! 

The  battle  now  became  general ;  the 
dramatis  persona?  ranged  on  either  side. 
The  manager  interposed  in  vain ;  in  vain 
were  his  spangled  black  bonnet  and  tow 
ering  white  feathers  seen  whisking  about, 
and  nodding,  and  bobbing  in  the  thickest 
of  the  fight.  Warriors,  ladies,  priests, 
satyrs,  kings,  queens,  gods,  and  god 
desses,  all  joined  pell-mell  in  the  fray : 
never,  since  the  conflict  under  the  walls 
of  Troy,  had  there  been  such  a  chance- 
medley  warfare  of  combatants,  human 
and  divine.  The  audience  applauded, 
the  ladies  shrieked,  and  fled  from  the 
theatre ;  and  a  scene  of  discord  ensued 
that  baffles  all  description. 

Nothing  but  the  interference  of  the 
peace-officers  restored  some  degree  of 
order.  The  havoc,  however,  that  had 
been  made  among  dresses  and  decora 
tions,  put  an  end  to  all  further  acting  for 
that  day.  The  battle  over,  the  next 
thing  was  to  inquire  why  it  was  begun ; 
a  common  question  among  politicians 
after  a  bloody  and  unprofitable  war,  and 
one  not  always  easy  to  be  answered.  It 
was  soon  traced  to  me,  and  my  unac 
countable  transport  of  passion,  which 
they  could  only  attribute  to  my  having 
run  a  muck.  The  manager  was  judge 
and  jury,  and  plaintiff  into  the  bargain ; 


and  in  such  cases  justice  is  always 
speedily  administered.  He  came  out  of 
the  fight  as  sublime  a  wreck  as  the  San- 
tissima  Trinidada.  His  gallant  plumes, 
which  once  towered  aloft,  were  drooping 
about  his  ears  ;  his  robe  of  state  hung  in 
ribands  from  his  back,  and  but  ill  con 
cealed  the  ravages  he  had  suffered  in  the 
rear.  He  had  received  kicks  and  cuffs 
from  all  sides  during  the  tumult ;  for 
every  one  took  the  opportunity  of  slily 
gratifying  some  lurking  grudge  on  his 
fat  carcass.  He  was  a  discreet  man, 
and  did  not  choose  to  declare  war  with 
all  his  company ;  so  he  swore  all  those 
kicks  and  cuffs  had  been  given  by  me, 
and  I  let  him  enjoy  the  opinion.  Some 
wounds  he  bore,  however,  which  were 
the  incontestable  traces  of  a  woman's 
warfare :  his  sleek  rosy  cheek  was 
scored  by  trickling  furrows,  which  were 
ascribed  to  the  nails  of  my  intrepid  and 
devoted  Columbine.  The  ire  of  the  mo 
narch  was  not  to  be  appeased ;  he  had 
suffered  in  his  person,  and  he  had  suf 
fered  in  his  purse ;  his  dignity,  too,  had 
been  insulted,  and  that  went  for  some 
thing  ;  for  dignity  is  always  more  irasci 
ble  the  more  petty  the  potentate.  He 
wreaked  his  wrath  upon  the  beginners  of 
the  affray,  and  Columbine  and  myself 
were  discharged,  at  once,  from  the  com 
pany. 

Figure  me,  then,  to  yourself,  a  strip 
ling  of  little  more  than  sixteen,  a  gentle 
man  by  birth,  a  vagabond  by  trade, 
turned  adrift  upon  the  world,  making  the 
best  of  my  way  through  the  crowd  of 
West  End  fair;  my  mountebank  dress 
fluttering  in  rags  about  me ;  the  weeping 
Columbine  hanging  upon  my  arm,  in 
splendid  but  tattered  finery ;  the  tears 
coursing  one  by  one  down  her  face, 
carrying  off  the  red  paint  in  torrents, 
and  literally  "  preying  upon  her  damask 
cheek." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  us  as  we 
passed,  and  hooted  in  our  rear.  I  felt 
the  ridicule  of  my  situation,  but  had  too 
much  gallantry  to  desert  this  fair  one, 
who  had  sacrificed  every  thing  for  me. 
Having  wandered  through  the  fair,  we 
emerged,  like  another  Adam  and  Eve, 
into  unknown  regions,  and  "  had  the 
world  before  us,  where  to  choose." 
Never  was  a  more  disconsolate  pair 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


seen  in  the  soft  valley  of  West  End. 
The  luckless  Columbine  cast  back  many 
a  lingering  look  at  the  fair,  which 
seemed  to  put  on  a  more  than  usual 
splendour:  its  tents,  and  booths,  and 
party-coloured  groups,  all  brightening  in 
the  sunshine,  and  gleaming  among  the 
trees ;  and  its  gay  flags  and  streamers 
fluttering  in  the  light  summer  airs. 
With  a  heavy  sigh  she  would  lean  on 
my  arm  and  proceed.  I  had  no  hope 
nor  consolation  to  give  her ;  but  she  had 
linked  herself  to  my  fortunes,  and  she 
was  too  much  of  a  woman  to  desert  me. 

Pensive  and  silent,  then,  we  traversed 
the  beautiful  fields  which  lie  behind 
Hampstead,  and  wandered  on,  until  the 
fiddle,  and  the  hautboy,  and  the  shout, 
and  the  laugh,  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
deep  sound  of  the  big  bass  drum,  and 
even  that  died  away  into  a  distant  rum 
ble.  We  passed  along  the  pleasant,  se 
questered  walk  of  Nightingale  Lane.  For 
a  pair  of  lovers,  what  scene  could  be 
more  propitious? — But  such  a  pair  of 
lovers  !  Not  a  nightingale  sang  to  soothe 
us  :  the  very  gypsies,  who  were  encamped 
there  during  the  fair,  made  no  offer  to 
tell  the  fortunes  of  such  an  ill-omened 
couple,  whose  fortunes,  I  suppose,  they 
thought  too  legibly  written  to  need  an 
interpreter;  and  the  gipsy  children 
crawled  into  their  cabins,  and  peeped 
out  fearfully  at  us  as  we  went  by.  For 
a  moment  I  paused,  and  was  almost 
tempted  to  turn  gipsy ;  but  the  poetical 
feeling,  for  the  present,  was  fully  satis 
fied,  and  I  passed  on.  Thus  we  tra 
velled  and  travelled,  like  a  prince  and 
princess  in  a  Nursery  Tale,  until  we  had 
traversed  a  part  of  Hampstead  Heath, 
and  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Jack 
Straw's  Castle.  Here,  wearied  and 
dispirited,  we  seated  ourselves  on  the 
margin  of  the  hill,  hard  by  the  very 
mile-stone  where  Whittington  of  yore 
heard  the  Bow-bells  ring  out  the  presage 
of  his  future  greatness.  Alas !  no  bell 
rung  an  invitation  to  us,  as  we  looked 
disconsolately  upon  the  distant  city.  Old 
London  seemed  to  wrap  itself  unsociably 
in  its  mantle  of  brown  smoke,  and  to 
offer  no  encouragement  to  such  a  couple 
of  tatterdemalions. 

For  once,  at  least,  the  usual  course  of 
the  pantomime  was  reversed,  Harlequin 


was  jilted,  and  the  lover  had  carried  off 
Columbine  in  good  earnest.  But  what 
was  I  to  do  with  her?  I  could  not  take  her 
in  my  hand,  return  to  my  father,  throw 
myself  on  my  knees,  and  crave  his 
forgiveness  and  his  blessing,  according 
to  dramatic  usage.  The  very  dogs 
would  have  chased  such  a  draggled- 
tailed  beauty  from  the  grounds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  doleful  dumps, 
some  one  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder, 
and,  looking  up,  I  saw  a  couple  of  rough 
sturdy  fellows  standing  behind  me.  Not 
knowing  what  to  expect,  I  jumped  on  my 
legs,  and  was  preparing  again  to  make 
battle  ;  but  I  was  tripped  up  and  secured 
in  a  twinkling. 

"  Come,  come,  young  master,"  said 
one  of  the  fellows,  in  a  gruff  but  good- 
humoured  tone,  "  don't  let's  have  any  of 
your  tantrums  ;  one  would  have  thought 
you  had  had  swing  enough  for  this  bout. 
Come ;  it's  high  time  to  leave  off  harle- 
quinading,  and  go  home  to  your  father." 

In  fact,  I  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
remorseless  men.  The  cruel  Sacharissa 
had  proclaimed  who  I  was,  and  that  a 
reward  had  been  offered  throughout  the 
country  for  any  tidings  of  me  ;  and  they 
had  seen  a  description  of  me  which  had 
been  inserted  in  the  public  papers.  Those 
harpies,  therefore,  for  the  mere  sake  of 
filthy  lucre,  were  resolved  to  deliver  me 
over  into  the  hands  of  my  father,  and 
the  clutches  of  my  pedagogue. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  swore  I  would 
not  leave  my  faithful  and  afflicted  Colum 
bine.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  tore  myself 
from  their  grasp,  and  flew  to  her ;  and 
vowed  to  protect  her ;  and  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  cheek,  and  with  them  a 
whole  blush  that  might  have  vied  with 
the  carnation  for  brilliancy.  My  perse 
cutors  were  inflexible  :  they  even  seemed 
to  exult  in  our  distress ;  and  to  enjoy 
this  theatrical  display  of  dirt,  and  finery, 
and  tribulation.  I  was  carried  off  in 
despair,  leaving  my  Columbine  destitute 
in  the  wide  world ;  but  many  a  look  of 
agony  did  I  cast  back  at  her  as  she  stood 
gazing  piteously  after  me  from  the  brink 
of  Hampstead  Hill ;  so  forlorn,  so  fine, 
so  ragged,  so  bedraggled,  yet  so  beau 
tiful. 

Thus  ended  my  first  peep  into  the 
world.  I  returned  home,  rich  in  good- 


84 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


for-nothing  experience,  and  dreading  the 
reward  I  was  to  receive  for  my  improve 
ment.  My  reception,  however,  was  quite 
different  from  what  I  had  expected.  My 
father  had  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him, 
and  did  not  seem  to  like  me  the  worse 
for  my  freak,  which  he  termed  "  sowing 
my  wild  oats."  He  happened  to  have 
some  of  his  sporting  friends  to  dine  the 
very  day  of  my  return ;  they  made  me 
tell  some  of  my  adventures,  and  laughed 
heartily  at  them. 

One  old  fellow,  with  an  outrageously 
red  nose,  took  to  me  hugely.  I  heard 
him  whisper  to  my  father  that  I  was  a 
lad  of  mettle,  and  might  make  something 
clever ;  to  which  my  father  replied,  that 
1  had  good  points,  but  was  an  ill-broken 
whelp,  and  required  a  great  deal  of  the 
whip.  Perhaps  this  very  conversation 
raised  me  a  little  in  his  esteem,  for  I 
found  the  red-nosed  old  gentleman  was  a 
veteran  fox-hunter  of  the  neighbourhood, 
for  whose  opinion  my  father  had  vast 
deference.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  would 
have  pardoned  any  thing  in  me  more 
readily  than  poetry,  which  he  called  a 
cursed,  sneaking,  puling,  housekeeping 
employment,  the  bane  of  all  fine  man 
hood.  He  swore  it  was  unworthy  of  a 
youngster  of  my  expectations,  who  was 
one  day  to  have  so  great  an  estate,  and 
would  be  able  to  keep  horses  and  hounds, 
and  hire  poets  to  write  songs  for  him 
into  the  bargain. 

I  had  now  satisfied,  for  a  time,  my 
roving  propensity.  I  had  exhausted  the 
poetical  feeling.  I  had  been  heartily 
buffeted  out  of  my  love  for  theatrical 
display.  I  felt  humiliated  by  my  .expo 
sure,  and  was  willing  to  hide  my  head 
any  where  for  a  season,  so  that  I  might 
be  out  of  the  way  of  the  ridicule  of  the 
world ;  for  I  found  folks  not  altogether 
so  indulgent  abroad  as  they  were  at  my 
father's  table.  I  could  not  stay  at  home  ; 
the  house  was  intolerably  doleful,  now 
that  my  mother  was  no  longer  there  to 
cherish  me.  Every  thing  around  spoke 
mournfully  of  her.  The  little  flower- 
garden  in  which  she  delighted  was  all  in 
disorder  and  overrun  with  weeds.  I 
attempted  for  a  day  or  two  to  arrange  it, 
but  my  heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier 
as  I  laboured.  Every  little  broken-down 
flower,  that  I  had  seen  her  rear  so  ten 


derly,  seemed  to  plead  in  mute  eloquence 
to  my  feelings.  There  was  a  favourite 
honeysuckle  which  I  had  seen  her  often 
training  with  assiduity,  and  had  heard 
her  say  it  would  be  the  pride  of  her 
garden.  I  found  it  grovelling  along  the 
ground,  tangled  and  wild,  and  twining 
round  every  worthless  weed ;  and  it 
struck  me  as  an  emblem  of  myself,  a 
mere  scatterling,  running  to  waste  and 
uselessness.  I  could  work  no  longer  in 
the  garden. 

My  father  sent  me  to  pay  a  visit  to 
my  uncle,  by  way  of  keeping  the  old 
gentleman  in  mind  of  me.  I  was  re 
ceived,  as  usual,  without  any  expression 
of  discontent,  which  we  always  consi 
dered  equivalent  to  a  hearty  welcome. 
Whether  he  had  ever  heard  of  my  stroll 
ing  freak  or  not  I  could  not  discover,  he 
and  his  man  were  both  so  taciturn.  I 
spent  a  day  or  two  roaming  about  the 
dreary  mansion  and  neglected  park,  and 
felt  at  one  time,  I  believe,  a  touch  of 
poetry,  for  I  was  tempted  to  drown  my 
self  in  a  fish-pond ;  I  rebuked  the  evil 
spirit,  however,  and  it  left  me.  I  found 
the  same  red- headed  boy  running  wild 
about  the  park,  but  I  felt  in  no  humour 
to  hunt  him  at  present.  On  the  con 
trary,  I  tried  to  coax  him  to  me,  and  to 
make  friends  with  him ;  but  the  young 
savage  was  untameable. 

When  I  returned  from  my  uncle's,  I 
remained  at  home  for  some  time,  for  my 
father  was  disposed,  he  said,  to  make  a 
man  of  me.  He  took  me  out  hunting 
with  him,  and  I  became  a  great  favourite 
of  the  red-nosed  squire,  because  I  rode 
at  every  thing,  never  refused  the  boldest 
leap,  and  was  always  sure  to  be  in  at 
the  death.  1  used  often,  however,  to 
offend  my  father  at  hunting  dinners,  by 
taking  the  wrong  side  in  politics.  My 
father  was  amazingly  ignorant,  so  igno 
rant,  in  fact,  as  not  to  know  that  he 
knew  nothing.  He  was  staunch,  how 
ever,  to  church  and  king,  and  full  of  old- 
fashioned  prejudices.  Now  I  had  picked 
up  a  little  knowledge  in  politics  and 
religion,,  during  my  rambles  with  the 
strollers,  and  found  myself  capable  of 
setting  him  right  as  to  many  of  his  anti 
quated  notions.  1  felt  it  my  duty  to  do 
so ;  we  were  apt,  therefore,  to  differ  oc 
casionally  in  the  political  discussions 


H 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


85 


which  sometimes  arose  at  those  hunting 
dinners. 

I  was  at  that  age  when  a  man  knows 
least,  and  is  most  vain  of  his  knowledge, 
and  when  he  is  extremely  tenacious  in 
defending  his  opinion  upon  subjects  about 
which  he  knows  nothing.  My  father 
was  a  hard  man  for  any  one  to  argue 
with,  for  he  never  knew  when  he  was 
refuted.  I  sometimes  posed  him  a  little, 
but  then  he  had  one  argument  that 
always  settled  the  question;  he  would 
threaten  to  knock  me  down.  I  believe 
he  at  last  grew  tired  of  me,  because  I 
both  puttalked  and  outrode  him.  The 
red-nosed  squire,  too,  got  out  of  conceit 
of  me,  because,  in  the  heat  of  the  chase, 
I  rode  over  him  one  day  as  he  and  his 
horse  lay  sprawling  in  the  dirt :  so  I 
found  myself  getting  into  disgrace  with 
all  the  world,  and  would  have  got  heartily 
out  of  humour  with  myself,  had  I  not 
been  kept  in  tolerable  self-conceit  by  the 
parson's  three  daughters. 

They  were  the  same  who  had  admired 
my  poetry  on  a  former  occasion,  when 
it  had  brought  me  into  disgrace  at  school ; 
and  I  had  ever  since  retained  an  exalted 
idea  of  their  judgment.  Indeed,  they 
were  young  ladies  not  merely  of  taste, 
but  science.  Their  education  had  been 
superintended  by  their  mother,  who  was 
a  blue-stocking.  They  knew  enough  of 
botany  to  tell  the  technical  names  of  all 
the  flowers  in  the  garden,  and  all  their 
secret  concerns  into  the  bargain.  They 
knew  music  too,  not  mere  commonplace 
music,  but  Rossini  and  Mozart,  and  they 
sang  Moore's  Irish  Melodies  to  perfec 
tion.  They  had  pretty  little  work-tables, 
covered  with  all  kind  of  objects  of  taste ; 
specimens  of  lava,  and  painted  eggs,  and 
work-boxes,  painted  and  varnished  by 
themselves.  They  excelled  in  knotting 
and  netting,  and  painted  in  water-colours ; 
and  made  feather  fans,  and  fire-screens, 
and  worked  in  silks  and  worsteds ;  and 
talked  French  and  Italian,  and  knew 
Shakspeare  by  heart.  They  even  knew 
something  of  geology  and  mineralogy  ; 
and  went  about  the  neighbourhood  knock 
ing  stones  to  pieces,  to  the  great  admira 
tion  and  perplexity  of  the  country  folk. 

I  am  a  little  too  minute,  perhaps,  in 
detailing  their  accomplishments,  but  I 
wish  to  let  you  see  that  these  were  not 

VOL.  II.      '  8 


commonplace  young  ladies,  but  had  pre 
tensions  quite  above  'the  ordinary  run. 
It  was  some  consolation  to  me,  therefore, 
to  find  favour  in  such  eyes.  Indeed,  they 
had  always  marked  me  out  for  a  genius, 
and  considered  my  late  vagrant  freak  as 
fresh  proof  of  the  fact.  They  observed 
that  Shakspeare  himself  had  been  a  mere 
Pickle  in  his  youth ;  that  he  had  stolen 
deer,  as  every  one  knew,  and  kept  loose 
company,  and  consorted  with  actors  :  so 
I  comforted  myself  marvellously  with  the 
idea  of  having  so  decided  a  Shakspearean 
trait  in  my  character. 

The  youngest  of  the  three,  however, 
was  my  grand  consolation.  She  was  a 
pale,  sentimental  girl,  with  long  "  hya- 
cinthine"  ringlets  hanging  about  her  face. 
She  wrote  poetry  herself,  and  we  kept 
up  a  poetical  correspondence.  She  had 
a  taste  for  the  drama  too,  and  I  taught 
her  how  to  act  several  of  the  scenes  in 
Romeo  and  Juliet.  I  used  to  rehearse 
the  garden  scene  under  her  lattice,  which 
looked  out  from  among  woodbine  and 
honeysuckles  into  the  churchyard.  I 
began  to  think  her  amazingly  pretty  as 
well  as  clever,  and  I  believe  I  should 
have  finished  by  falling  in  love  with  her, 
had  not  her  father  discovered  our  theatri 
cal  studies.  He  was  a  studious,  abstracted 
man,  generally  too  much  absorbed  in  his 
learned  and  religious  labours  to  notice 
the  little  foibles  of  his  daughters,  and, 
perhaps,  blinded  by  a  father's  fondness ; 
but  he  unexpectedly  put  his  head  out  of 
his  study-window  one  day  in  the  midst 
of  a  scene,  and  put  a  stop  to  our  re 
hearsals.  He  had  a  vast  deal  of  that 
prosaic  good  sense  which  I  for  ever 
found  a  stumbling-block  in  my  poetical 
path.  My  rambling  freak  had  not  struck 
the  good  man  as  poetically  as  it  had  his 
daughters.  He  drew  his  comparison  from 
a  different  manual.  He  looked  upon  me 
as  a  prodigal  son,  and  doubted  whether 
I  should  ever  arrive  at  the  happy  catas 
trophe  of  the  fatted  calf. 

I  fancy  some  intimation  was  given  to 
my  father  of  this  new  breaking-out  of 
my  poetical  temperament,  for  he  sud 
denly  intimated  that  it  was  high  time  I 
should  prepare  for  the  University.  I 
dreaded  a  return  to  the  school  from 
whence  I  had  eloped  :  the  ridicule  of  my 
fellow-scholars,  and  the  glances  from  the 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


squire's  pew,  would  have  been  worse 
than  death  to  me.  I  was  fortunately 
spared  the  humiliation.  My  father  sent 
me  to  board  with  a  country  clergyman, 
who  had  three  or  four  other  boys  under 
his  care.  I  went  to  him  joyfully,  for  I 
had  often  heard  my  mother  mention  him 
with  esteem.  In  fact,  he  had  been  an 
admirer  of  hers  in  his  younger  days, 
though  too  humble  in  his  fortune  and 
modest  in  pretensions  to  aspire  to  her 
hand  ;  but  he  had  ever  retained  a  tender 
regard  for  her.  He  was  a  good  man  ;  a 
worthy  specimen  of  that  valuable  body 
of  our  country  clergy  who  silently  and 
unostentatiously  do  a  vast  deal  of  good  ; 
who  are,  as  it  were,  woven  into  the  whole 
system  of  rural  life,  and  operate  upon  it 
with  the  steady  yet  unobtrusive  influence 
of  temperate  piety  and  learned  good 
sense.  He  lived  in  a  small  village  not 
far  from  Warwick,  one  of  those  little 
communities  where  the  scanty  flock  is, 
in  a  manner,  folded  into  the  bosom  of  the 
pastor.  The  venerable  church,  in  its 
grass-grown  cemetery,  was  one  of  those 
rural  temples  which  are  scattered  about 
our  country  as  if  to  sanctify  the  land. 

I  have  the  worthy  pastor  before  my 
mind's  eye  at  this  moment,  with  his  mild 
benevolent  countenance,  rendered  still 
more  venerable  by  his  silver  hairs.  I 
have  him  before  me  as  I  saw  him  on  my 
arrival,  seated  in  the  embowered  porch 
of  his  small  parsonage,  with  a  flower- 
garden  before  it,  and  his  pupils  gathered 
round  him  like  his  children.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  reception  of  me,  for  I 
believe  he  thought  of  my  poor  mother  at 
the  time,  and  his  heart  yearned  towards 
her  child.  His  eye  glistened  when  he 
received  me  at  the  door,  and  he  took  me 
into  his  arms  as  the  adopted  child  of  his 
affections.  Never  had  I  been  so  for 
tunately  placed.  He  was  one  of  those 
excellent  members  of  our  church,  who 
help  out  their  narrow  salaries  by  instruct 
ing  a  few  gentlemen's  sons.  I  am  con 
vinced  those  little  seminaries  are  among 
the  best  nurseries  of  talent  and  virtue  in 
the  land.  Both  heart  and  mind  are  cul 
tivated  and  improved.  The  preceptor  is 
the  companion  and  the  friend  of  his 
pupils.  His  sacred  character  gives  him 
dignity  in  their  eyes,  and  his  solemn 
functions  produce  that  elevation  of  mind 


and  sobriety  of  conduct  necessary  to 
those  who  are  to  teach  youth  to  think 
and  act  worthily. 

I  speak  from  my  own  random  observa 
tion  and  experience,  but  I  think  I  speak 
correctly.  At  any  rate,  I  can  trace 
much  of  what  is  good  in  my  own  hetero 
geneous  compound  to  the  short  time  I 
was  under  the  instruction  of  that  good 
man.  He  entered  into  the  cares  and 
occupations  and  amusements  of  his  pu 
pils  ;  and  won  his  way  into  our  confi 
dence,  and  studied  our  hearts  and  minds 
more  intently  than  we  did  our  books. 

He  soon  sounded  the  depth  of  my 
character.  I  had  become,  as  I  have 
already  hinted,  a  little  liberal  in  my 
notions,  and  apt  to  philosophize  on  both 
politics  and  religion ;  having  seen  some 
thing  of  men  and  things,  and  learnt, 
from  my  fellow-philosophers,  the  stroll 
ers,  to  despise  all  vulgar  prejudices.  He 
did  not  attempt  to  cast  down  my  vain 
glory,  nor  to  question  my  right  view 
of  things ;  he  merely  instilled  into  my 
mind  a  little  information  on  these  topics; 
though  in  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  way,  that 
never  ruffled  a  feather  of  my  self-conceit. 
I  was  astonished  to  find  what  a  change 
a  little  knowledge  makes  in  one's  mode 
of  viewing  matters  ;  and  how  very  differ 
ent  a  subject  is  when  one  thinks,  or  when 
one  only  talks  about  it.  I  conceived  a 
vast  deference  for  my  teacher,  and  was 
ambitious  of  his  good  opinion.  In  my 
zeal  to  make  a  favourable  impression,  I 
presented  him  with  a  whole  ream  of  my 
poetry.  He  read  it  attentively,  smiled, 
and  pressed  my  hand  when  he  returned 
it  to  me,  but  said  nothing.  The  next 
day  he  set  me  at  mathematics. 

Somehow  or  other  the  process  of 
teaching  seemed  robbed  by  him  of  all 
its  austerity.  I  was  not  conscious  that 
he  thwarted  an  inclination  or  opposed  a 
wish  ;  but  I  felt  that,  for  the  time,  my  in 
clinations  were  entirely  changed.  I  be 
came  fond  of  study,  and  zealous  to  im 
prove  myself.  I  made  tolerable  advances 
in  studies,  which  I  had  before  considered 
as  unattainable,  and  I  wondered  at  my 
own  proficiency.  I  thought,  too,  I  asto 
nished  my  preceptor ;  for  I  often  caught 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  a  peculiar 
expression.  I  suspect,  since,  that  he 
was  pensively  tracing  in  my  counte- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


87 


nance  the  early  lineaments  of  my 
mother. 

Education  was  not  apportioned  by  him 
into  tasks,  and  enjoined  as  a  labour,  to 
be  abandoned  with  joy  the  moment  the 
hour  of  study  was  expired.  We  hadj  it 
is  true,  our  allotted  hours  of  occupation, 
to  give  us  habits  of  method,  and  of  the 
distribution  of  time ;  but  they  were  made 
pleasant  to  us,  and  our  feelings  were 
enlisted  in  the  cause.  When  they  were 
over,  education  still  went  on.  It  per 
vaded  all  our  relaxations  and  amuse 
ments.  There  was  a  steady  march  of 
improvement.  Much  of  his  instruction 
was  given  during  pleasant  rambles,  or 
when  seated  on  the  margin  of  the  Avon ; 
and  information  received  in  that  way, 
often  makes  a  deeper  impression  than 
when  acquired  by  poring  over  books. 
I  have  many  of  the  pure  and  eloquent 
precepts  that  flowed  from  his  lips  asso 
ciated  in  my  mind  with  lovely  scenes  in 
nature,  which  make  the  recollection  of 
them  indescribably  delightful. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  any  mira 
cle  was  effected  with  me.  After  all  said 
and  done,  I  was  but  a  weak  disciple. 
My  poetical  temperament  still  wrought 
within  me  and  wrestled  hard  with  wis 
dom,  and,  I  fear,  maintained  the  mas 
tery.  I  found  mathematics  an  intolera 
ble  task  in  fine  weather.  I  would  be 
prone  to  forget  my  problems,  to  watch 
the  birds  hopping  about  the  windows, 
or  the  bees  humming  about  the  honey 
suckles  ;  and  whenever  I  could  steal 
away,  I  would  wander  about  the  grassy 
borders  of  the  Avon,  and  excuse  this 
truant  propensity  to  myself  with  the  idea 
that  I  was  treading  classic  ground,  over 
which  Shakspeare  had  wandered.  What 
luxurious  idleness  have  I  indulged,  as  I 
lay  under  the  trees  and  watched  the 
silver  waves  rippling  through  the  arches 
of  the  broken  bridge,  and  laving  the 
rocky  bases  of  old  Warwick  Castle  ;  and 
how  often  have  I  thought  of  sweet  Shak 
speare,  and  in  my  boyish  enthusiasm 
have  kissed  the  waves  which  had  washed 
his  native  village ! 

My  good  preceptor  would  often  ac 
company  me  in  these  desultory  rambles. 
He  sought  to  get  hold  of  this  vagrant 
mood  of  mind  and  turn  it  to  some  ac 
count.  He  endeavoured  to  teach  me  to 


mingle  thought  with  mere  sensation ;  to 
moralize  on  the  scenes  around;  and  to 
make  the  Beauties  of  nature  administer 
to  the  understanding  and  the  heart.  He 
endeavoured  to  direct  my  imagination  to 
high  and  noble  objects  *  and  to  fill  it  with 
lofty  images.  In  a  word,  he  did  all  he 
could  to  make  the  best  of  a  poetical  tem 
perament,  and  to  counteract  the  mischief 
which  had  been  done  to  me  by  great 
expectations. 

Had  I  been  earlier  put  under  the  care 
of  the  good  pastor,  or  remained  with  him 
a  longer  time,  I  really  believe  he  would 
have  made  something  of  me.  He  had 
already  brought  a  great  deal  of  what 
had  been  flogged  into  me  into  tolerable 
order,  and  had  weeded  out  much  of  the 
unprofitable  wisdom  which  had  sprung 
up  in  my  vagabondizing.  I  already  be 
gan  to  find  that  with  all  my  genius  a 
little  study  would  be  no  disadvantage  to 
me ;  and,  in  spite  of  my  vagrant  freaks, 
I  began  to  doubt  of  my  being  a  second 
Shakspeare. 

Just  as  I  was  making  these  precious 
discoveries,  the  good  parson  died.  It 
was  a  melancholy  day  throughout  the 
neighbourhood.  He  had  his  little  flock 
of  scholars,  his  children,  as  he  used  to 
call  us,  gathered  around  him  in  his  dying 
moments ;  and  he  gave  us  the  parting 
advice  of  a  father,  now  that  he  had  to 
leave  us,  and  we  were  to  be  separated 
from  each  other,  and  scattered  about  the 
world.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
talked  with  me  earnestly  and  affection 
ately,  and  called  to  mind  my  mother, 
and  used  her  name  to  enforce  his  dying 
exhortations,  for  I  rather  think  he  consi 
dered  me  the  most  erring  and  heedless 
of  his  flock.  He  held  my  hand  in  his, 
long  after  he  had  done  speaking,  and 
kept  his  eye  fixed  on  me  tenderly  and 
almost  piteously :  his  lips  moved  as  if  he 
were  silently  praying  for  me ;  and  he 
died  away,  still  holding  me  by  the  hand. 

There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  church 
when  the  funeral  service  was  read  from 
the  pulpit  from  which  he  had  so  often 
preached.  When  the  body  was  com 
mitted  to  the  earth,  our  little  band  ga 
thered  round  it,  and  watched  the  coffin 
as  it  was  lowered  into  the  grave.  The 
parishioners  looked  at  us  with  •sympa 
thy  ;  for  we  were  mourners  not  merely 


88 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


in  dress  but  in  heart.  We  lingered  about 
the  grave,  and  clung  to  one  another  for 
a  time  weeping  and  speechless,  and  then 
parted,  like  a  band  of  brothers  parting 
from  the  paternal  hearth,  never  to  as 
semble  there  again. 

How  had  the  gentle  spirit  of  that  good 
man  sweetened  our  natures,  and  linked 
our  young  hearts  together  by  the  kindest 
ties !  I  have  always  had  a  throb  of  plea 
sure  at  meeting  with  an  old  schoolmate, 
even  though  one  of  my  truant  associates ; 
but  whenever,  in  the  course  of  my  life, 
I  have  encountered  one  of  that  little  flock 
with  which  I  was  folded  on  the  banks  of 
the  Avon,  it  has  been  with  a  gush  of 
affection,  and  a  glow  of  virtue,  that  for 
the  moment  have  made  me  a  better 
man. 

I  was  now  sent  to  Oxford,  and  was 
wonderfully  impressed  on  first  entering 
it  as  a  student.  Learning  here  puts  on 
all  its  majesty.  It  is  lodged  in  palaces ; 
it  is  sanctified  by  the  sacred  ceremonies 
of  religion ;  it  has  a  pomp  and  circum 
stance  which  powerfully  affect  the  ima 
gination.  Such,  at  least,  it  had  in  my 
eyes,  thoughtless  as  I  was.  My  previous 
studies  with  the  worthy  pastor,  had  pre 
pared  me  to  regard  it  with  deference  and 
awe.  He  had  been  educated  here,  and 
always  spoke  of  the  University  with  filial 
fondness  and  classic  veneration.  When 
I  beheld  the  clustering  spires  and  pinna 
cles  of  this  most  august  of  cities  rising 
from  the  plain,  I  hailed  them  in  my 
enthusiasm  as  the  points  of  a  diadem, 
which  the  nation  had  placed  upon  the 
brows  of  science. 

For  a  time  old  Oxford  was  full  of 
enjoyment  for  me.  There  was  a  charm 
about  its  monastic  buildings ;  its-  great 
Gothic  quadrangles ;  its  solemn  halls, 
and  shadowy  cloisters.  I  delighted,  in 
the  evenings,  to  get  in  places  surrounded 
by  the  colleges,  where  all  modern  build 
ings  were  screened  from  the  sight ;  and 
to  see  the  professors  and  the  students 
sweeping  along  in  the  dusk  in  their  anti 
quated  caps  and  gowns.  I  seemed  for  a 
time  to  be  transported  among  the  people 
and  edifices  of  the  old  times.  I  was  a 
frequent  attendant,  also,  of  the  evening 
service  in  the  New  College  Hall;  to  hear 
the  fine  organ,  and  the  choir  swelling  an 
anthem  in  that  solemn  building,  where 


painting,  music,  and  architecture,  are  in 
such  admirable  unison. 

A  favourite  haunt,  too,  was  the  beau 
tiful  walk  bordered  by  lofty  elms  along 
the  river,  behind  the  gray  walls  of  Mag 
dalen  College,  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
Addison's  Walk,  from  being  his  favourite 
walk,  when  an  Oxford  student.  I  be 
came  also  a  lounger  in  the  Bodleian 
Library,  and  a  great  dipper  into  books, 
though  I  cannot  say  that  I  studied  them; 
in  fact,  being  no  longer  under  direction 
or  control,  I  was  gradually  relapsing  into 
mere  indulgence  of  the  fancy.  Still  this 
would  have  been  pleasant  and  harmless 
enough,  and  I  might  have  awakened  from 
mere  literary  dreaming  to  something  bet 
ter.  The  chances  were  in  my  favour, 
for  the  riotous  times  of  the  University 
were  past.  The  days  of  hard  drinking 
were  at  an  end.  The  old  feuds  of 
"  Town  and  Gown,"  like  the  civil  wars 
of  the  White  and  Red  Rose,  had  died 
away ;  and  student  and  citizen  slept  in 
whole  skins,  without  risk  of  being  sum 
moned  in  the  night  to  bloody  brawl.  It 
had  become  the  fashion  to  study  at  the 
University,  and  the  odds  were  always 
in  favour  of  my  following  the  fashion. 
Unluckily,  however,  I  fell  in  company 
with  a  special  knot  of  young  fellows,  of 
lively  parts  and  ready  wit,  who  had 
lived  occasionally  upon  town,  and  be 
come  initiated  into  the  Fancy.  They 
voted  study  to  be  the  toil  of  dull  minds, 
by  which  they  slowly  crept  up  the  hill, 
while  genius  arrived  at  it  at  a  bound. 
I  felt  ashamed  to  play  the  owl  among 
such  gay  birds;  so  I  threw  by  my  books, 
and  became  a  man  of  spirit. 

As  my  father  made  me  a  tolerable 
allowance,  notwithstanding  the  narrow 
ness  of  his  income,  having  an  eye  always 
to  my  great  expectations,  I  was  enabled 
to  appear  to  advantage  among  my  com 
panions.  I  cultivated  all  kinds  of  sports 
and  exercises.  I  was  one  of  the  most 
expert  oarsmen  that  rowed  on  the  Isis. 
I  boxed,  fenced,  angled,  shot,  and  hunted  ; 
and  my  rooms  in  college  were  always 
decorated  with  whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs, 
fowling-pieces,  fishing-rods,  foils,  and 
boxing-gloves.  A  pair  of  leather  breeches 
would  seem  to  be  throwing  one  leg  out 
of  the  half-open  drawers,  and  empty  bot 
tles  lumbered  the  bottom  of  every  closet. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


89 


My  father  came  to  see  me  at  college 
when  I  was  in  the  height  of  my  career. 
He  asked  me  how  I  came  on  with  my 
studies,  and  what  kind  of  hunting  there 
was  in  the  neighbourhood.  He  examined 
my  various  sporting  apparatus  with  a 
curious  eye  ;  wanted  to  know  if  any  of 
the  professors  were  fox-hunters,  and 
whether  they  were  generally  good  shots, 
for  he  suspected  their  studying  so  much 
must  be  hurtful  to  the  sight.  We  had  a 
day's  shooting  together.  I  delighted  him 
with  my  skill,  and  astonished  him  by  my 
learned  disquisitions  on  horseflesh,  and 
on  Manton's  guns ;  so,  upon  the  whole, 
he  departed  highly  satisfied  with  my  im 
provement  at  college. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot 
be  idle  long  without  getting  in  love.  I 
had  not  been  a  very  long  time  a  man  of 
spirit,  therefore,  before  I  became  deeply 
enamoured  of  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  in 
the  High  Street,  who,  in  fact,  was  the 
admiration  of  many  of  the  students.  I 
wrote  several  sonnets  in  praise  of  her, 
and  spent  half  of  my  pocket-money  at 
the  shop,  in  buying  articles  which  I  did 
not  want,  that  I  might  have  an  oppor 
tunity  of  speaking  to  her.  Her  father,  a 
severe-looking  old  gentleman,  with  bright 
silver  buckles,  and  a  crisp-curled  wig, 
kept  a  strict  guard  on  her,  as  the  fathers 
generally  do  upon  their  daughters  in  Ox 
ford,  and  well  they  may.  I  tried  to  get 
into  his  good  graces,  and  to  be  social 
with  him,  but  all  in  vain.  I  said  several 
good  things  in  his  shop,  but  he  never 
laughed :  he  had  no  relish  for  wit  and 
humour.  He  was  one  of  those  dry  old 
gentlemen  who  keep  youngsters  at  bay. 
He  had  already  brought  up  two  or  three 
daughters,  and  was  experienced  in  the 
ways  of  students.  He  was  as  knowing 
and  wary  as  a  gray  old  badger  that  has 
often  been  hunted.  To  see  him  on 
Sunday,  so  stiff  and  starched  in  his  de 
meanour,  so  precise  in  his  dress,  with  his 
daughter  under  his  arm,  was  enough  to 
deter  all  graceless  youngsters  from  ap 
proaching. 

I  managed,  however,  in  spite  of  his 
vigilance,  to  have  several  conversations 
with  the  daughter,  as  I  cheapened  articles 
in  the  shop.  I  made  terrible  long  bar 
gains,  and  examined  the  articles  over  and 
over  before  I  purchased.  In  the  mean 


time,  I  would  convey  a  sonnet  or  an 
acrostic  under  cover  of  a  piece  of  cambric, 
or  slipped  into  a  pair  of  stockings  ;  I 
would  whisper  soft  nonsense  into  her  ear 
as  I  'haggled  about  the  price  ;  and  would 
squeeze  her  hand  tenderly  as  I  received 
my  half-pence  of  change  in  a  bit  of 
whity-brown  paper.  Let  this  serve  as  a 
hint  to  all  haberdashers  who  have  pretty 
daughters  for  shop-girls,  and  young  stu 
dents  for  customers.  I  do  not  know 
whether  my  •  words  and  looks  were  very 
eloquent,  but  my  poetry  was  irresistible  ; 
for,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  girl  had  some 
literary  taste,  and  was  seldom  without  a 
book  from  the  circulating  library. 

By  the  divine  power  of  poetry,  there 
fore,  which  is  so  potent  with  the  lovely 
sex,  did  I  subdue  the  heart  of  this  fair 
little  '  haberdasher.  We  carried  on  a 
sentimental  correspondence  for  a  time 
across  the  counter,  and  I  supplied  her 
with  rhyme  by  the  stocking-full.  At 
length  I  prevailed  on  her  to  grant  an 
assignation.  But  how  was  this  to  be 
effected?  Her  father  kept  her  always 
under  his  eye ;  she  never  walked  out 
alone ;  and  the  house  was  locked  up  the 
moment  that  the  shop  was  shut.  All 
these  difficulties  served  but  to  give  zest 
to  the  adventure.  I  proposed  that  the  as 
signation  should  be  in  her  own  chamber, 
into  which  I  would  climb  at  night.  The 
plan  was  irresistible — A  cruel  father,  a 
secret  lover,  and  a  clandestine  meet 
ing  !  All  the  little  girl's  studies  from  the 
circulating  library  seemed  about  to  be 
realized. 

But  what  had  I  in  view  in  making  this 
assignation  1  Indeed,  I  know  not.  I  had 
no  evil  intentions,  nor  can  I  say  that  I 
had  any  good  ones.  I  liked  the  girl,  and 
wanted  to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
more  of  her ;  and  the  assignation  was 
made,  as  I  have  done  many  things  else, 
heedlessly  and  without  forethought.  I 
asked  myself  a  few  questions  of  the  kind, 
after  all  my  arrangements  were  made, 
but  the  answers  were  very  unsatisfactory. 
"Am  I  to  ruin  this  poor  thoughtless  girl  ?" 
said  I  to  myself.  "  No  !"  was  the  prompt 
and  indignant  answer.  "Am  I  to  run 
away  with  her  ?" — "  Whither,  and  to 
what  purpose  ?" — "  Well,  then,  am  I  to 
marry  her '?" — "  Poh  !  a  man  of  my  ex 
pectations  marry  a  shopkeeper's  daugh- 


90 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


ter !"  "  What  then  am  I  to  do  with  her  ?" 
"  Hum — why — let  me  get  into  the  cham 
ber  first,  and  then  consider — "  and  so  the 
self-examination  ended. 

Well,  sir,  "  come  what  come  might," 
I  stole  under  cover  of  the  darkness  to  the 
dwelling  of  my  dulcinea.  All  was  quiet. 
At  the  concerted  signal  her  window  was 
gently  opened.  It  was  just  above  the 
projecting  bow-window  of  her  father's 
shop,  which  assisted  me  in  mounting. 
The  house  was  low,  and  I  was  enabled 
to  scale  the  fortress  with  tolerable  ease. 
I  clambered  with  a  beating  heart ;  I 
reached  the  casement ;  I  hoisted  my  body 
half  into  the  chamber ;  and  was  welcomed, 
not  by  the  embraces  of  my  expecting  fair 
one,  but  by  the  grasp  of  the  crabbed- 
looking  old  father  in  the  crisp-curled  wig. 

I  extricated  myself  from  his  clutches, 
and  endeavoured  to  make  my  retreat ; 
but  I  was  confounded  by  his  cries  of 
thieves !  and  robbers !  I  was  bothered 
too  by  his  Sunday  cane,  which  was 
amazingly  busy  about  my  head  as  I  de 
scended,  and  against  which  my  hat  was 
but  a  poor  protection.  Never  before  had 
I  an  idea  of  the  activity  of  an  old  man's 
arm,  and  the  hardness  of  the  knob  of  an 
ivory-headed  cane.  In  my  hurry  and 
confusion  I  missed  my  footing,  and  fell 
sprawling  on  the  pavement.  I  was  im 
mediately  surrounded  by  myrmidons, 
who,  I  doubt  not,  were  on  the  watch  for 
me.  Indeed,  I  was  in  no  situation  to 
escape,  for  I  had  sprained  my  ancle  in 
the  fall,  and  could  not  stand.  I  was 
seized  as  a  housebreaker;  and  to  exo 
nerate  myself  of  a  greater  crime,  I  had 
to  accuse  myself  of  a  less.  I  made 
known  who  I  was,  and  why  I  came  there. 
Alas !  the  varlets  knew  it  already,  and 
were  only  amusing  themselves  at  my 
expense.  My  perfidious  muse  had  been 
playing  me  one  of  her  slippery  tricks. 
The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father  had 
found  my  sonnets  and  acrostics  hid  away 
in  holes  and  corners  of  his  shop  :  he  had 
no  taste  for  poetry  like  his  daughter,  and 
had  instituted  a  rigorous  though  silent 
observation.  He  had  moused  upon  our 
letters,  detected  our  plans,  and  prepared 
every  thing  for  my  reception.  Thus  was 
I  ever  doomed  to  be  led  into  scrapes  by 
the  muse.  Let  no  man  henceforth  carry 
on  a  secret  amour  in  poetry  ! 


The  old  man's  ire  was  in  some  measure 
appeased  by  the  pummeling  of  my  head 
and  the  anguish  of  my  sprain  ;  so  he  did 
not  put  me  to  death  on  the  spot.  He  was 
even  humane  enough  to  furnish  a  shutter, 
on  which  I  was  carried  back  to  college 
like  a  wounded  warrior.  The  porter  was 
roused  to  admit  me.  The  college  gate 
was  thrown  open  for  my  entry.  The 
affair  was  blazed  about  the  next  morning, 
and  became  the  joke  of  the  college  from 
the  buttery  to  the  hall. 

I  had  leisure  to  repent  during  several 
weeks'  confinement  by  my  sprain,  which 
I  passed  in  translating  Boethius'  Consola 
tions  of  Philosophy.  I  received  a  most 
tender  and  ill-spelled  letter  from  my 
mistress,  who  had  been  sent  to  a  relation 
in  Coventry.  She  protested  her  innocence 
of  my  misfortunes,  and  vowed  to  be  true 
to  me  "  till  deth."  I  took  no  notice  of 
the  letter,  for  I  was  cured,  for  the  present, 
both  of  love  and  poetry.  Women,  how 
ever,  are  more  constant  in  their  attach 
ments  than  men,  whatever  philosophers 
may  say  to  the  contrary.  I  am  assured 
that  she  actually  remained  faithful  to  her 
vow  for  several  months ;  but  she  had  to 
deal  with  a  cruel  father,  whose  heart  was 
as  hard  as  the  knob  of  his  cane.  He  was 
not  to  be  touched  by  tears  or  poetry,  but 
absolutely  compelled  her  to  marry  a  re 
putable  young  tradesman,  who  made  her 
a  happy  woman  in  spite  of  herself,  and 
of  all  the  rules  of  romance :  and,  what 
is  more,  the  mother  of  several  children. 
They  are  at  this  very  day  a  thriving  cou 
ple,  and  keep  a  snug  corner  shop,  just 
opposite  the  figure  of  Peeping  Tom,  at 
Coventry. 

I  will  not  fatigue  you  by  any  more 
details  of  my  studies  at  Oxford  ;  though 
they  were  not  always  as  severe  as  these, 
nor  did  I  always  pay  as  dear  for  my 
lessons.  To  be  brief,  then,  I  lived  on  in 
my  usual  miscellaneous  manner,  gra 
dually  getting  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  until  I  had  attained  my  twenty-first 
year.  I  had  scarcely  come  of  age  when 
I  heard  of  the  sudden  death  of  my  father. 
The  shock  was  severe,  for  though  he  had 
never  treated  me  with  much  kindness, 
still  he  was  my  father,  and  at  his  death  I 
felt  alone  in  the  world. 

I  returned  home,  and  found  myself  the 
solitary  master  of  the  paternal  mansion. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


91 


A  crowd  of  gloomy  feelings  came  throng 
ing  upon  me.  It  was  a  place  that  always 
sobered  me,  and  brought  me  to  reflection  ; 
now  especially,  it  looked  so  deserted  and 
melancholy.  I  entered  the  little  brcak- 
fasting-room.  There  were  my  father's 
whip  and  spurs  hanging  by  the  fireplace; 
the  Stud-Book,  Sporting  Magazine,  and 
Racing  Calendar,  his  only  reading.  His 
favourite  spaniel  lay  on  the  hearth-rug. 
The  poor  animal,  who  had  never  before 
noticed  me,  now  came  fondling  about  me, 
licked  my  hand,  then  looked  round  the 
room,  whined,  wagged  his  tail  slightly, 
and  gazed  wistfully  in  my  face.  I  felt 
the  full  force  of  the  appeal.  "  Poor 
Dash,"  said  I,  "  we  are  both  alone  in  the 
world,  with  nobody  to  care  for  us,  and 
will  take  care  of  one  another."  The 
dog  never  quitted  me  afterwards. 

I  could  not  go  into  my  mother's  room 
— my  heart  swelled  when  I  passed  within 
sight  of  the  door.  Her  portrait  hung  in 
the  parlour,  just  over  the  place  she  used 
to  sit.  As  I  cast  my  eyes  on  it,  I  thought 
it  looked  at  me  with  tenderness,  and  I 
burst  into  tears.  I  was  a  careless  dog,  it 
is  true,  hardened  a  little,  perhaps,  by 
living  in  public  schools,  and  buffeting 
about  among  strangers,  who  cared  nothing 
for  me ;  but  the  recollection  of  a  mother's 
tenderness  was  overcoming. 

I  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  temperament 
to  be  long  depressed.  There  was  a  re 
action  in  my  system  that  always  brought 
me  up  again  after  every  pressure ;  and, 
indeed,  my  spirits  were  most  buoyant 
after  a  temporary  prostration.  I  settled 
the  concerns  of  the  estate  as  soon  as 
possible ;  realized  my  property,  which 
was  not  very  considerable,  but  which 
appeared  a  vast  deal  to  me,  having  a 
poetical  eye,  that  magnified  every  thing  ; 
and  finding  myself  at  the  end  of  a  few 
months,  free  of  all  further  business  or 
restraint,  I  determined  to  go  to  London 
and  enjoy  myself.  Why  should  not  I  ? — 
I  was  young,  animated,  joyous ;  had 
plenty  of  funds  for  present  pleasures,  and 
my  uncle's  estate  in  the  perspective.  Let 
those  mope  at  college,  and  pore  over 
books,  thought  I,  who  have  their  way  to 
make  in  the  world  ;  it  would  be  ridiculous 
drudgery  in  a  youth  of  my  expectations  ! 

Away  to  London,  therefore,  I  rattled 
in  a  tandem,  determined  to  take  the  town 


gaily.  I  passed  through  several  of  the 
villages  where  I  had  played  the  Jack 
Pudding  a  few  years  before  ;  and  I  visited 
the  scenes  of  many  of  my  adventures 
and  follies,  merely  from  that  feeling  of 
melancholy  pleasure  which  we  have  in 
stepping  again  the  footprints  of  foregone 
existence,  even  when  they  have  passed 
among  weeds  and  briars.  I  made  a 
circuit  in  the  latter  part  of  my  journey, 
so  as  to  take  in  West  End  and  Hampstead, 
the  scenes  of  my  last  dramatic  exploit, 
and  of  the  battle  royal  of  the  booth.  As 
I  drove  along  the  ridge  of  Hampstead 
Hill,  by  Jack  Straw's  Castle,  I  paused  at 
the  spot  where  Columbine  and  I  had  sat 
down  so  disconsolately  in  our  ragged 
finery,  and  had  looked  dubiously  on 
London.  I  almost  expected  to  see  her 
again,  standing  on  the  hill's  brink,  "  like 
Niobe,  all  tears  ;" — mournful  as  Babylon 
in  ruins ! 

"  Poor  Columbine !"  said  I,  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  "  thou  wert  a  gallant,  gene 
rous  girl — a  true  woman  ;  faithful  to  the 
distressed,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  thyself 
in  the  cause  of  worthless  man  !" 

I  tried  to  whistle  off  the  recollection  of 
her,  for  there  was  always  something  of 
self-reproach  with  it.  I  drove  gaily  along 
the  road,  enjoying  the  stare  of  hostlers 
and  stable-boys,  as  I  managed  my  horses 
knowingly  down  the  steep  street  of  Hamp 
stead  ;  when,  just  at  the  skirts  of  the  vil 
lage,  one  of  the  traces  of  my  leader  came 
loose.  I  pulled  up,  and  as  the  animal 
was  restive,  and  my  servant  a  bungler,  I 
called  for  assistance  to  the  robustious 
master  of  a  snug  alehouse,  who  stood  at 
his  door  with  a  tankard  in  his  hand.  He 
came  readily  to  assist  me,  followed  by 
his  wife,  with  her  bosom  half  open,  a 
child  in  her  arms,  and  two  more  at  her 
heels.  I  stared  for  a  moment,  as  if 
doubting  my  eyes.  I  could  not  be  mis 
taken  ;  in  the  fat,  beer-blown  landlord  of 
the  alehouse,  I  recognised  my  old  rival 
Harlequin,  and  in  his  slattern  spouse,  the 
once  trim  and  dimpling  Columbine. 

The  change  of  my  looks  from  youth 
to  manhood,  and  the  change  in  my  cir 
cumstances,  prevented  them  from  recog 
nising  me.  They  could  not  suspect  in 
the  dashing  young  buck,  fashionably 
dressed  and  driving  his  own  equipage, 
the  painted  beau,  with  old  peaked  hat, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


and  long,  flimsy,  sky-blue  coat.  My 
heart  yearned  with  kindness  towards 
Columbine,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  her 
establishment  a  thriving  one.  As  soon 
as  the  harness  was  adjusted,  I  tossed 
a  small  purse  of  gold  into  her  ample 
bosom  ;  and  then,  pretending  to  give  my 
horses  a  hearty  cut  of  the  whip,  I  made 
the  lash  curl  with  a  whistling  about  the 
sleek  sides  of  ancient  Harlequin.  The 
horses  dashed  off  like  lightning,  and  I 
was  whirled  out  of  sight  before  either  of 
the  parties  could  get  over  their  surprise 
at  my  liberal  donations.  I  have  always 
considered  this  as  one  of  the  greatest 
proofs  of  rny  poetical  genius ;  it  was 
distributing  poetical  justice  in  perfection. 

I  now  entered  London  en  cavalier,  and 
became  a  blood  upon  town.  I  took 
fashionable  lodgings  in  the  West  End; 
employed  the  first  tailor ;  frequented  the 
regular  lounges ;  gambled  a  little ;  lost 
my  money  good-humouredly,  and  gained 
a  number  of  fashionable,  good-for-nothing 
acquaintances.  I  gained  some  reputa 
tion  also  for  a  man  of  science,  having 
become  an  expert  boxer  in  the  course  of 
my  studies  at  Oxford.  I  was  distin 
guished,  therefore,  among  the  gentlemen 
of  the  Fancy ;  became  hand  and  glove 
with  certain  boxing  noblemen,  and  was 
the  admiration  of  the  Fives  Court.  A 
gentleman's  science,  however,  is  apt  to 
get  him  into  sad  scrapes;  he  is  too  prone 
to  play  the  knight-errant,  and  to  pick  up 
quarrels  which  less  scientific  gentlemen 
would  quietly  avoid.  I  undertook  one 
day  to  punish  the  insolence  of  a  porter. 
He  was  a  Hercules  of  a  fellow,  but  then 
I  was  so  secure  in  my  science !  I  gained 
the  victory  of  course.  The  porter  pock 
eted  his  humiliation,  bound  up  his  broken 
head,  and  went  about  his  business  as 
unconcernedly  as  though  nothing  had 
happened;  while  I  went  to  bed  with  my 
victory,  and  did  not  dare  to  show  my 
battered  face  for  a  fortnight. :  by  which  I 
discovered  that  a  gentleman  may  have 
the  worst  of  the  battle  even  when  victo 
rious. 

I  am  naturally  a  philosopher,  and  no 
one  can  moralize  better  after  a  misfor 
tune  has  taken  place :  so  I  lay  on  my 
bed  and  moralized  on  this  sorry  ambi 
tion,  which  levels  the  gentleman  with  the 
clown.  I  know  it  is  the  opinion  of  many 


sages,  who  have  thought  deeply  on  these 
matters,  that  the  noble  science  of  boxing 
keeps  up  the  bull-dog  courage  of  the 
nation ;  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  decry 
the  advantage  of  becoming  a  nation  of 
bull-dogs ;  but  I  now  saw  clearly  that  it 
was  calculated  to  keep  up  the  breed  of 
English  ruffians.  "  What  is  the  Fives 
Court,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  turned  un 
comfortably  in  bed,  "  but  a  college  of 
scoundrelism,  where  every  bully  ruffian 
in  the  land  may  gain  a  fellowship?  What 
is  the  slang  language  of  '  The  Fancy' 
but  a  jargon  by  which  fools  and  knaves 
commune  and  understand  each  other,  and 
enjoy  a  kind  of  superiority  over  the  un 
initiated?  What  is  a  boxing-match  but 
an  arena,  where  the  noble  and  the  illus 
trious  are  jostled  into  familiarity  with 
the  infamous  and  the  vulgar  ?  What,  in 
fact,  is  the  Fancy  itself,  but  a  chain  of 
easy  communication,  extending  from  the 
peer  down  to  the  pickpocket,  through  the 
medium  of  which  a  man  of  rank  may 
find  he  has  shaken  hands,  at  three  re 
moves,  with  the  murderer  on  the  gibbet  ? 
"  Enough  !"  ejaculated  I,  thoroughly 
convinced  through  the  force  of  my  phi 
losophy,  and  the  pain  of  my  bruises — 
"I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  The 
Fancy."  So  when  I  had  recovered  from 
my  victory,  I  turned  my  attention  to 
softer  themes,  and  became  a  devoted 
admirer  of  the  ladies.  Had  I  had  more 
industry  and  ambition  in  my  nature,  I 
might  have  worked  my  way  to  the  very 
height  of  fashion,  as  I  saw  many  labo 
rious  gentlemen  doing  around  me.  But 
it  is  a  toilsome,  an  anxious,  and  an  un 
happy  life :  there  are  few  beings  so 
sleepless  and  miserable  as  your  cultiva 
tors  of  fashionable  smiles.  I  was  quite 
content  with  that  kind  of  society  which 
forms  the  frontiers  of  fashion,  arid  may 
be  easily  taken  possession  of.  I  found  it 
a  light,  easy,  productive  soil.  I  had  but 
to  go  about  and  sow  visiting-cards,  and  I 
reaped  a  whole  harvest  of  invitations. 
Indeed,  my  figure  and  address  were  by 
no  means  against  me.  It  was  whispered, 
too,  among  the  young  ladies,  that  I  was 
prodigiously  clever,  and  wrote  poetry; 
and  the  old  ladies  had  ascertained  that  I 
was  a  young  gentleman  of  good  family, 
handsome  fortune,  and  "  great  expecta 
tions." 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


93 


I  now  was  carried  away  by  the  hurry 
of  gay  life,  so  intoxicating  to  a  young 
man,  and  which  a  man  of  poetical  tem 
perament  enjoys  so  highly  on  his  first 
tasting  of  it :  that  rapid  variety  of  sensa 
tions  ;  that  whirl  of  brilliant  objects ;  that 
succession  of  pungent  pleasures !  I  had 
no  time  for  thought.  I  only  felt.  I 
never  attempted  to  write  poetry ;  my 
poetry  seemed  all  to  go  off  by  transpira 
tion.  I  lived  poetry  ;  it  was  all  a  poeti 
cal  dream  to  me.  A  mere  sensualist 
knows  nothing  of  the  delights  of  a  splen 
did  metropolis.  He  lives  in  a  round  of 
animal  gratifications  and  heartless  habits. 
But  to  a  young  man  of  poetical  feelings, 
it  is  an  ideal  world,  a  scene  of  enchant 
ment  and  delusion  ;  his  imagination  is  in 
perpetual  excitement,  and  gives  a  spiri 
tual  zest  to  every  pleasure. 

A  season  of  town-life,  however,  some 
what  sobered  me  of  my  intoxication  ;  or, 
rather,  I  was  rendered  more  serious  by 
one  of  my  old  complaints — I  fell  in  love. 
It  was  with  a  very  pretty,  though  a  very 
haughty  fair  one,  who  had  come  to  Lon 
don  under  the  care  of  an  old  maiden 
aunt  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  winter  in 
town,  and  to  get  married.  There  was 
not  a  doubt  of  her  commanding  a  choice 
of  lovers ;  for  she  had  long  been  the 
belle  of  a  little  cathedral  city,  and  one  of 
the  poets  of  the  place  had  absolutely 
celebrated  her  beauty  in  a  copy  of  Latin 
verses.  The  most  extravagant  anticipa 
tions  were  formed  by  her  friends  of  the 
sensation  she  would  produce.  It  was 
feared  by  some  that  she  might  be  preci 
pitate  in  her  choice,  and  take  up  with 
some  inferior  title.  The  aunt  was  deter 
mined  nothing  should  gain  her  under  a 
lord. 

Alas  !  with  all  her  charms,  the  young 
lady  lacked  the  one  thing  needful — she 
had  no  money.  So  she  waited  in  vain 
for  duke,  marquis,  or  earl,  to  throw  him 
self  at  her  feet.  As  the  season  waned, 
so  did  the  lady's  expectations;  when, 
just  towards  the  close,  I  made  my  ad 
vances. 

I  was  most  favourably  received  by  both 
the  young  lady  and  her  aunt.  It  is  true, 
I  had  no  title ;  but  then  such  great  ex 
pectations  !  A  marked  preference  was 
immediately  shown  me  over  two  rivals, 
the  younger  son  of  a  needy  baronet,  and 


a  captain  of  dragoons  on  half-pay.  I  did 
not  absolutely  take  the  field  in  form,  for 
I  was  determined  not  to  be  precipitate ; 
but  I  drove  my  equipage  frequently 
through  the  street  in  which  she  lived, 
and  was  always  sure  to  see  her  at  the 
window,  generally  with  a  book  in  her 
hand.  I  resumed  my  knack  at  rhyming, 
and  sent  her  a  long  copy  of  verses ; 
anonymously,  to  be  sure,  but  she  knew 
my  handwriting.  Both  aunt  and  niece, 
however,  displayed  the  most  delightful 
ignorance  on  the  subject.  The  young 
lady  showed  them  to  me ;  wondered 
whom  they  could  be  written  by;  and 
declared  there  was  nothing  in  this  world 
she  loved  so  much  as  poetry ;  while  the 
maiden  aunt  would  put  her  pinching 
spectacles  on  her  nose,  and  read  them, 
with  blunders  in  sense  and  sound,  that 
were  excruciating  to  an  author's  ears ; 
protesting  there  was  nothing  equal  to 
them  in  the  whole  Elegant  Extracts. 

The  fashionable  season  closed  without 
my  adventuring  to  make  a  declaration, 
though  I  certainly  had  encouragement. 
I  was  not  perfectly  sure  that  I  had 
effected  a  lodgment  in  the  young  lady's 
heart,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  aunt 
overdid  her  part,  and  was  a  little  too 
extravagant  in  her  liking  of  me.  I  knew 
that  maiden  aunts  were  not  apt  to  be 
captivated  by  the  mere  personal  merits 
of  their  nieces'  admirers ;  and  I  wanted 
to  ascertain  how  much  of  all  this  favour 
I  owed  to  driving  an  equipage,  and  hav 
ing  great  expectations. 

I  had  received  many  hints  how  charm 
ing  their  native  place  was  during  the 
summer  months  ;  what  pleasant  society 
they  had ;  and  what  beautiful  drives 
about  the  neighbourhood.  They  had 
not,  therefore,  returned  home  long,  be 
fore  I  made  my  appearance  in  dashing 
style,  driving  down  the  principal  street. 
The  very  next  morning  I  was  seen  at 
prayers,  seated  in  the  same  pew  with  the 
reigning  belle.  Questions  were  whis 
pered  about  the  aisles,  after  service, 
«  Who  is  he?"  and  «  What  is  he?"  And 
the  replies  were  as  usual,  "A  young 
gentleman  of  good  family  and  fortune, 
and  great  expectations." 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  peculi 
arities  of  this  reverend  little  place.  A 
cathedral,  with  its  dependencies  and  re- 


94 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


gulations,  presents  a  picture  of  other 
times,  and  of  a  different  order  of  things. 
It  is  a  rich  relic  of  a  more  poetical  age. 
There  still  linger  about  it  the  silence  arid 
solemnity  of  the  cloister.  In  the  present 
instance  especially,  where  the  cathedral 
was  large,  and  the  town  was  small,  its 
influence  was  the  more  apparent.  The 
solemn  pomp  of  the  service,  performed 
twice  a  day,  with  the  grand  intonations 
of  the  organ,  and  the  voices  of  the  choir 
swelling  through  the  magnificent  pile, 
diffused,  as  it  were,  a  perpetual  sabbath 
over  the  place.  This  routine  of  solemn 
ceremony  continually  going  on,  inde 
pendent,  as  it  were,  of  the  world;  this 
daily  offering  of  melody  and  praise,  as 
cending  like  incense  from  the  altar,  had 
a  powerful  effect  upon  my  imagination. 

The  aunt  introduced  me  to  her  coterie, 
formed  of  families  connected  with  the 
cathedral,  and  others  of  moderate  for 
tune,  but  high  respectability,  who  had 
nestled  themselves  under  the  wings  of 
the  cathedral  to  enjoy  good  society  at 
moderate  expense.  It  was  a  highly 
aristocratical  little  circle ;  scrupulous  in 
its  intercourse  with  others,  and  jealously 
cautious  about  admitting  any  thing  com 
mon  or  unclean. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  courtesies  of  the 
old  school  had  taken  refuge  here.  There 
were  continual  interchanges  of  civilities, 
and  of  small  presents  of  fruits  and  deli 
cacies,  and  of  complimentary  crow-quill 
billets ;  for  in  a  quiet,  well-bred  commu 
nity  like  this,  living  entirely  at  ease, 
little  duties,  and  little  amusements,  and 
little  civilities,  fill  up  the  day.  I  have 
seen,  in  the  midst  of  a  warm  day,  a  cor 
pulent,  powdered  footman,  issuing  from 
the  iron  gateway  of  a  stately  mansion, 
and  traversing  the  little  place  with  an 
air  of  mighty  import,  bearing  a  small 
tart  on  a  large  silver  salver. 

Their  evening  amusements  were  sober 
and  primitive.  They  assembled  at  a 
moderate  hour  ;  the  young  ladies  played 
music,  and  the  old  ladies  whist ;  and  at 
an  early  hour  they  dispersed.  There 
was  no  parade  on  these  social  occasions. 
Two  or  three  old  sedan  chairs  were  in 
constant  activity,  though  the  greater  part 
made  their  exit  in  clogs  and  pattens,  with 
a  footman  or  waiting-maid  carrying  a 
lantern  in  advance ;  and  long  before 


midnight  the  clank  of  pattens  and  gleam 
of  lanterns  about  the  quiet  little  place 
told  that  the  evening  party  had  dissolved. 

Still  I  did  not  feel  myself  altogether  so 
much  at  my  ease  as  I  had  anticipated, 
considering  the  smallness  of  the  place. 
I  found  it  very  different  from  other  coun 
try  places,  and  that  it  was  not  so  easy 
to  make  a  dash  there.  Sinner  that  I 
was !  the  very  dignity  and  decorum  of 
the  little  community  was  rebuking  to  me. 
I  feared  my  past  idleness  and  folly  would 
rise  in  judgment  against  me.  I  stood  in 
awe  of  the  dignitaries  of  the  cathedral, 
whom  I  saw  mingling  familiarly  in  so 
ciety.  I  became  nervous  on  this  point. 
The  creak  of  a  prebendary's  shoes, 
sounding  from  one  end  of  a  quiet  street 
to  the  other,  was  appalling  to  me ;  and 
the  sight  of  a  shovel-hat  was  sufficient 
at  any  time  to  check  me  in  the  midst  of 
my  boldest  poetical  soarings. 

And  then  the  good  aunt  could  not  be 
quiet,  but  would  cry  me  up  for  a  genius, 
and  extol  my  poetry  to  every  one.  So 
long  as  she  confined  this  to  the  ladies  it 
did  well  enough,  because  they  were  able 
to  feel  and  appreciate  poetry  of  the  new 
romantic  school.  Nothing  would  content 
the  good  lady,  however,  but  she  must 
read  my  verses  to  a  prebendary,  who 
had  long  been  the  undoubted  critic  of  the 
place.  He  was  a  thin,  delicate  old  gen 
tleman,  of  mild,  polished  manners,  steep 
ed  to  the  lips  in  classic  lore,  and  not 
easily  put  in  a  heat  by  any  hot-blooded 
poetry  of  the  day.  He  listened  to  my 
most  fervid  thoughts  and  fervid  words 
without  a  glow ;  shook  his  head  with  a 
smile,  and  condemned  them  as  not  being 
according  to  Horace,  as  not  being  legiti 
mate  poetry. 

Several  old  ladies,  who  had  heretofore 
been  my  admirers,  shook  their  heads  at 
hearing  this ;  they  could  not  think  of 
praising  any  poetry  that  was  not  accord 
ing  to  Horace  ;  and  as  to  any  thing  ille 
gitimate,  it  was  not  to  be  countenanced 
in  good  society.  Thanks  to  my  stars, 
however,  I  had  youth  and  novelty  on  my 
side :  so  the  young  ladies  persisted  in 
admiring  my  poetry  in  despite  of  Horace 
and  illegitimacy. 

I  consoled  myself  with  the  good  opinion 
of  the  young  ladies,  whom  I  had  always 
found  to  be  the  best  judges  of  poetry. 


V 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


95 


As  to  these  old  scholars,  said  I,  they  are 
apt  to  be  chilled  by  being  steeped  in  the 
cold  fountains  of  the  classics.  Still  I  felt 
that  I  was  losing  ground,  and  that  it  was 
necessary  to  bring  matters  to  a  point. 
Just  at  this  time  there  was  a  public  ball, 
attended  by  the  best  society  of  the  place, 
and  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood : 
I  took  great  pains  with  my  toilet  on  the 
occasion,  and  I  had  never  looked  better. 
I  had  determined  that  night  to  make  my 
grand  assault  on  the  heart  of  the  young 
lady,  to  battle  it  with  all  my  forces,  and 
the  next  morning  to  demand  a  surrender 
in  due  form. 

I  entered  the  ball-room  amidst  a  buzz 
and  flutter,  which  generally  took  place 
among  the  young  ladies  on  my  appear 
ance.  I  was  in  fine  spirits ;  for,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  had  exhilarated  myself  by  a 
cheerful  glass  of  wine  on  the  occasion.  I 
talked,  and  rattled,  and  said  a  thousand 
silly  things,  slap-dash,  with  all  the  con 
fidence  of  a  man  sure  of  his  auditors, — 
and  every  thing  had  its  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  my  triumph  I  observed 
a  little  knot  gathering  together  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  room.  By  degrees  it 
increased.  A  tittering  broke  out  there, 
and  glances  were  cast  round  at  me,  and 
then  there  would  be  fresh  tittering.  Some 
of  the  young  ladies  would  hurry  away 
to  distant  parts  of  the  room,  and  whisper 
to  their  friends.  Wherever  they  went, 
there  was  still  this  tittering  and  glancing 
at  me.  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
all  this.  I  looked  at  myself  from  head 
to  foot,  and  peeped  at  my  back  in  a  glass, 
to  see  if  any  thing  was  odd  about  my 
person ;  any  awkward  exposure,  any 
whimsical  tag  hanging  out : — no — every 
thing  was  right — I  was  a  perfect  picture. 
I  determined  that  it  must  be  some  choice 
saying  of  mine  that  was  bandied  about 
in  this  knot  of  merry  beauties,  and  I 
determined  to  enjoy  one  of  my  good 
things  in  the  rebound.  I  stepped  gently, 
therefore,  up  the  room,  smiling  at  every 
one  as  I  passed,  who,  I  must  say^  all 
smiled  and  tittered  in  return.  I  approach 
ed  the  group,  smirking  and  perking  my 
chin,  like  a  man  who  is  full  of  pleasant 
feeling,  and  sure  of  being  well  received. 
The  cluster  of  little  belles  opened  as  I 
advanced. 

Heavens  and  earth!   whom  should  I 


perceive  in  the  midst  of  them  but  my 
early  and  tormenting  flame,  the  ever 
lasting  Sacharissa  !  She  was  grown,  it 
is  true,  into  the  full  beauty  of  woman 
hood  ;  but  showed,  by  the  provoking 
merriment  of  her  countenance,  that  she 
perfectly  recollected  me,  and  the  ridicu 
lous  flagellations  of  which  she  had  twice 
been  the  cause. 

I  saw  at  once  the  exterminating  cloud 
of  ridicule  that  was  bursting  over  me. 
My  crest  fell.  The  flame  of  love  went 
suddenly  out  of  my  bosom,  or  was  extin 
guished  by  overwhelming  shame.  How 
I  got  down  the  room  I  know  not :  I  fan 
cied  every  one  tittering  at  me.  Just  as 
I  reached  the  door,  I  caught  a  glance  of 
my  mistress  and  her  aunt  listening  to  the 
whispers  of  Sacharissa,  the  old  lady  rais 
ing  her  hands  and  eyes,  and  the  face  of 
the  young  one  lighted  up,  as  I  imagined, 
with  scorn  ineffable.  I  paused  to  see  no 
more,  but  made  two  steps  from  the  top  of 
the  stairs  to  the  bottom.  The  next  morn 
ing,  before  sunrise,  I  beat  a  retreat,  and 
did  not  feel  the  blushes  cool  from  my 
tingling  cheeks,  until  I  had  lost  sight  of 
the  old  towers  of  the  cathedral. 

I  now  returned  to  town  thoughtful 
and  crestfallen.  My  money  was  nearly 
spent,  for  I  had  lived  freely  and  without 
calculation.  The  dream  of  love  was  over, 
and  the  reign  of  pleasure  at  an  end.  I 
determined  to  retrench  while  I  had  yet  a 
trifle  left :  so  selling  my  equipage  and 
horses  for  half  their  value,  I  quietly  put 
the  money  in  my  pocket,  and  turned 
pedestrian.  I  had  not  a  doubt  that,  with 
my  great  expectations,  I  could  at  any 
time  raise  funds,  either  on  usury  or  by 
borrowing ;  but  I  was  principled  against 
both  one  and  the  other,  and  resolved,  by 
strict  economy,  to  make  my  slender 
purse  hold  out  until  my  uncle  should 
give  up  the  ghost,  or  rather  the  estate.  I 
stayed  at  home,  therefore,  and  read,  and 
would  have  written,  but  I  had  already 
suffered  too  much  from  my  poetical  pro 
ductions,  which  had  generally  involved 
me  in  some  ridiculous  scrape.  I  gra 
dually  acquired  a  rusty  look,  and  had  a 
straitened  money-borrowing  air,  upon 
which  the  world  began  to  shy  me.  I 
have  never  felt  disposed  to  quarrel  with 
the  world  for  its  conduct ;  it  has  always 
used  me  well.  When  I  have  been  flush 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


and  gay,  and  disposed  for  society,  it  has 
caressed  me ;  and  when  I  have  been 
pinched  and  reduced,  and  wished  to  be 
alone,  why  it  has  left  me  alone;  and 
what  more  could  a  man  desire?  Take 
my  word  for  it,  this  world  is  a  more  oblig 
ing  world  than  people  generally  repre 
sent  it. 

Well,  sir,  in  the  midst  of  my  retrench 
ment,  my  retirement,  and  my  studious- 
ness,  I  received  news  that  my  uncle  was 
dangerously  ill.  I  hastened  on  the  wings 
of  an  heir's  affections  to  receive  his  dying 
breath  and  his  last  testament.  I  found 
him  attended  by  his  faithful  valet,  old 
Iron  Joffn  ;  by  the  woman  who  occa 
sionally  worked  about  the  house,  and  by 
the  foxy-headed  boy,  young  Orson,  whom 
I  had  occasionally  hunted  about  the  park. 
Iron  John  gasped  a  kind  of  asthmatical 
salutation  as  I  entered  the  room,  and 
received  me  with  something  almost  like 
a  smile  of  welcome.  The  woman  sat 
blubbering  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  and 
the  foxy-headed  Orson,  who  had  now 
grown  up  to  be  a  lubberly  lout,  stood 
gazing  in  stupid  vacancy  at  a  distance. 

My  uncle  lay  stretched  upon  his  back. 
The  chamber  was  without  fire,  or  any  of 
the  comforts  of  a  sick  room.  The  cob 
webs  flaunted  from  the  ceiling.  The 
tester  was  covered  with  dust,  and  the 
curtains  were  tattered.  From  under 
neath  the  bed  peeped  out  one  end  of  his 
strong-box.  Against  the  wainscot  were 
suspended  rusty  blunderbusses,  horse- 
pistols,  and  a  cut-and-thrust  sword,  with 
which  he  had  fortified  his  room  to  defend 
his  life  and  treasure.  He  had  employed 
no  physician  during  his  illness;  and  from 
the  scanty  relics  lying  on  the  table, 
seemed  almost  to  have  denied  to  himself 
the  assistance  of  a  cook. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  he  was  lying 
motionless ;  his  eyes  fixed  and  his  mouth 
open :  at  the  first  look  I  thought  him  a 
corpse.  The  noise  of  my  entrance  made 
him  turn  his  head.  At  the  sight  of  me 
a  ghastly  smile  came  over  his  face,  and 
his  glazing  eye  gleamed  with  satisfaction. 
It  was  the  only  smile  he  had  ever  given 
me,  and  it  went  to  my  heart.  "Poor  old 
man  !"  thought  I,  "  why  would  you  force 
me  to  leave  you  thus  desolate,  when  I 
see  that  my  presence  has  the  power  to 
cheer  you?" 


"  Nephew,"  said  he,  after  several  ef 
forts,  and  in  a  low  gasping  voice — "  I 
am  glad  you  are  come.  I  shall  now  die 
with  satisfaction.  Look,"  said  he,  rais 
ing  his  withered  hand,  and  pointing — 
"  Look  in  that  box  on  the  table  :  you 
will  find  that  I  have  not  forgotten  you." 

I  pressed  his  hand  to  my  heart,  and 
the  tears  stood  in  my  eyes.  I  sat  down 
by  his  bedside  and  watched  him,  but  he 
never  spoke  again.  My  presence,  how 
ever,  gave  him  evident  satisfaction  ;  for 
every  now  and  then,  as  he  looked  at  me, 
a  vague  smile  would  come  over  his  visage, 
and  he  would  feebly  point  to  the  sealed 
box  on  the  table.  As  the  day  wore  away, 
his  life  appeared  to  wear  away  with  it. 
Towards  sunset  his  hand  sunk  on  the 
bed,  and  lay  motionless,  his  eyes  grew 
glazed,  his  mouth  remained  open,  and 
thus  he  gradually  died. 

I  could  not  but  feel  shocked  at  this 
absolute  extinction  of  my  kindred.  I 
dropped  a  tear  of  real  sorrow  over  this 
strange  old  man,  who  had  thus  reserved 
the  smile  of  kindness  to  his  death-bed  ; 
like  an  evening  sun  after  a  gloomy  day, 
just  shining  out  to  set  in  darkness.  Leav 
ing  the  corpse  in  charge  of  the  domestics, 
I  retired  for  the  night. 

It  was  a  rough  night.  The  winds 
seemed  as  if  singing  my  uncle's  requiem 
about  the  mansion,  and  the  bloodhounds 
howled  without,  as  if  they  knew  of  the 
death  of  their  old  master.  Iron  John 
almost  grudged  me  the  tallow  candle  to 
burn  in  my  apartment,  and  light  up  its 
dreariness,  so  accustomed  had  he  been 
to  starveling  economy.  I  could  not  sleep. 
The  recollection  of  my  uncle's  dying 
scene,  and  the  dreary  sounds  about  the 
house  affected  my  mind.  These,  how 
ever,  were  succeeded  by  plans  for  the 
future,  and  I  lay  awake  the  greater  part 
of  the  night,  indulging  the  poetical  anti 
cipation  how  soon  I  should  make  these 
old  walls  ring  with  cheerful  life,  and 
restore  the  hospitality  of  my  mother's 
ancestors. 

My  uncle's  funeral  was  decent  but 
private.  I  knew  there  was  nobody  that 
respected  his  memory,  and  I  was  deter 
mined  that  none  should  be  summoned  to 
sneer  over  his  funeral,  and  make  merry 
at  his  grave.  He  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  the  neighbouring  village, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


97 


though  it  was  not  the  burying-place  of 
his  race ;  but  he  had  expressly  enjoined 
that  he  should  not  be  buried  with  his 
family ;  he  had  quarrelled  with  most  of 
them  when  living,  and  he  carried  his 
resentments  even  into  the  grave. 

I  defrayed  the  expenses  of  his  funeral 
out  of  my  own  purse,  that  I  might  have 
done  with  the  undertakers  at  once,  and 
|  clear  the  ill-omened  birds  from  the  pre 
mises.  I  invited  the  parson  of  the  parish, 
and  the  lawyer  from  the  village,  to  attend 
at  the  house  the  next  morning,  and  hear 
the  reading  of  the  will.  I  treated  them 
to  an  excellent  breakfast,  a  profusion  that 
had  not  been  seen  at  the  house  for  many 
a  year.  As  soon  as  the  breakfast  things 
were  removed,  I  summoned  Iron  John, 
the  woman,  and  the  boy,  for  I  was  par 
ticular  in  having  every  one  present  and 
proceeding  regularly.  The  box  was 
placed  on  the  table — all  was  silence — I 
broke  the  seal — raised  the  lid,  and  beheld 
— not  the  will — but  my  accursed  poem 
of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair  ! 

Could  any  mortal  have  conceived  that 
this  old  withered  man,  so  taciturn  and 
apparently  so  lost  to  feeling,  could  have 
treasured  up  for  years  the  thoughtless 
pleasantry  of  a  boy,  to  punish  him  with 
such  cruel  ingenuity  1  I  now  could  ac 
count  for  his  dying  smile,  the  only  one 
he  had  ever  given  me.  He  had  been  a 
grave  man  all  his  life;  it  was  strange 
that  he  should  die  in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
joke,  and  it  was  hard  that  that  joke 
should  be  at  my  expense. 

The  lawyer  and  the  parson  seemed  at 
a  loss  to  comprehend  the  matter.  "  Here 
must  be  some  mistake,"  said  the  lawyer ; 
"  there  is  no  will  here." 

"  Oh !"  said  Iron  John,  creaking  forth 
his  rusty  jaws,  "  if  it  is  a  will  you  are 
looking  for,  I  believe  I  can  find  one." 

He  retired  with  the  same  singular  smile 
with  which  he  had  greeted  me  on  my 
arrival,  and  which  I  now  apprehended 
boded  me  no  good.  In  a  little  while  he 
returned  with  a  will  perfect  at  all  points, 
properly  signed  and  sealed,  and  witnessed 
and  worded  with  horrible  correctness ;  in 
which  the  deceased  left  large  legacies  to 
Iron  John  and  his  daughter,  and  the 
residue  of  his  fortune  to  the  foxy-headed 
boy ;  who,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  was 
his  son  by  this  very  woman  ;  he  having 
VOL.  ii.  9 


married  her  privately,  and,  as  1  verily 
believe,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
have  an  heir,  and  so  balk  my  father  and 
his  issue  of  the  inheritance.  There  was 
one  little  proviso,  in  which  he  mentioned, 
that,  having  discovered  his  nephew  to 
have  a  pretty  turn  for  poetry,  he  pre 
sumed  he  had  no  occasion  for  wealth ; 
he  recommended  him,  however,  to  the 
patronage  of  the  heir,  and  requested  that 
he  might  have  a  garret,  rent-free,  in 
Doubting  Castle. 


GRAVE  REFLECTIONS 

OF 

A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN. 

MR.  BUCKTHORNE  had  paused  at  the 
death  of  his  uncle,  and  the  downfall  of 
his  great  expectations,  which  formed,  as 
he  said,  an  epoch  in  his  history  ;  and  it 
was  not  until  some  little  time  afterwards, 
and  in  a  very  sober  mood,  that  he  re 
sumed  his  party-coloured  narrative. 

After  leaving  the  remains  of  my  de 
funct  uncle,  said  he,  when  the  gate  closed 
between  me  and  what  was  once  to  have 
been  mine,  I  felt  thrust  out  naked  into 
the  world,  and  completely  abandoned  to 
fortune.  What  was  to  become  of  me  ? 
I  had  been  brought  up  to  nothing  but  ex 
pectations,  and  they  had  all  been  disap 
pointed.  I  had  no  relations  to  look  to 
for  counsel  or  assistance.  The  world 
seemed  all  to  have  died  away  from  me. 
Wave  after  wave  of  relationship  had 
ebbed  off,  and  I  was  left  a  mere  hulk 
upon  the  strand.  I  am  not  apt  to  be 
greatly  cast  down,  but  at  this  time  I  felt 
sadly  disheartened.  I  could  not  realize 
my  situation,  nor  form  a  conjecture  how 
I  was  to  get  forward.  I  was  now  to  en 
deavour  to  make  money.  The  idea  was 
new  and  strange  to  me.  It  was  like 
being  asked  to  discover  the  philosopher's 
stone.  I  had  never  thought  about  money 
otherwise  than  to  put  my  hand  into  my 
pocket  and  find  it ;  or  if  there  were  none 
there,  to  wait  until  a  new  supply  came 
from  home.  I  had  considered  life  as  a 
mere  space  of  time  to  be  filled  up  with 
enjoyments  :  but  to  have  it  portioned  out 
into  long  hours  and  days  of  toil,  merely 


98 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


that  I  might  gain  bread  to  give  me 
strength  to  toil  on — to  labour  but  for  the 
purpose  of  perpetuating  a  life  of  labour, 
was  new  and  appalling  to  me.  This 
may  appear  a  very  simple  matter  to 
some  ;  but  it  will  be  understood  by  every 
unlucky  wight  in  my  predicament,  who 
has  had  the  misfortune  of  being  born  to 
great  expectations. 

I  passed  several  days  in  rambling 
about  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood ;  partly 
because  I  absolutely  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  myself,  and  partly  because  I 
did  not  know  that  I  should  ever  see  them 
again.  I  clung  to  them  as  one  clings  to 
a  wreck,  though  he  knows  he  must 
eventually  cast  himself  loose  and  swim 
for  his  life.  I  sat  down  on  a  little  hill 
within  sight  of  my  paternal  home,  but  I 
did  not  venture  to  approach  it,  for  I  felt 
compunction  at  the  thoughtlessness  with 
which  I  had  dissipated  my  patrimony  : 
yet  was  I  to  blame,  when  I  had  the  rich 
possessions  of  my  curmudgeon  of  an 
uncle  in  expectation  ] 

The  new  possessor  of  the  place  was 
making  great  alterations.  The  house 
was  almost  rebuilt.  The  trees  which 
stood  about  it  were  cut  down :  my  mo 
ther's  flower-garden  was  thrown  into  a 
lawn — all  was  undergoing  a  change.  I 
turned  my  back  upon  it  with  a  sigh,  and 
rambled  to  another  part  of  the  country. 

How  thoughtful  a  little  adversity  makes 
one !  As  I  came  within  sight  of  the 
schoolhouse  where  I  had  so  often  been 
flogged  in  the  cause  of  wisdom,  you 
would  hardly  have  recognised  the  truant 
boy,  who,  but  a  few  years  since,  had 
eloped  so  heedlessly  from  its  walls.  I 
leaned  over  the  paling  of  the  play-ground, 
and  watched  the  scholars  at  their  games, 
and  looked  to  see  if  there  might  not  be 
some  urchin  among  them  like  what  I  was 
once,  full  of  gay  dreams  about  life  and 
the  world.  The  play-ground  seemed 
smaller  than  when  I  used  to  sport  about 
it.  The  house  and  park,  too,  of  the 
neighbouring  squire,  the  father  of  the 
cruel  Sacharissa,  had  shrunk  in  size  and 
diminished  in  magnificence.  The  distant 
hills  no  longer  appeared  so  far  off,  and, 
alas!  no  longer  awakened  ideas  of  a  fairy 
land  beyond. 

As  I  was  rambling  pensively  through 
a  neighbouring  meadow,  in  which  I  had 


many  a  time  gathered  primroses,  I  met 
the  very  pedagogue  who  had  been  the 
tyrant  and  dread  of  my  boyhood.  I  had 
sometimes  vowed  to  myself,  when  suffer 
ing  under  his  rod,  that  I  would  have  my 
revenge  if  I  ever  met  him  when  I  had 
grown  to  be  a  man.  The  time  had  come  ; 
but  I  had  no  disposition  to  keep  my  vow. 
The  few  years  which  had  matured  me 
into  a  vigorous  man  had  shrunk  him  into 
decrepitude.  He  appeared  to  have  had  a 
paralytic  stroke.  I  looked  at  him,  and 
wondered  that  this  poor  helpless  mortal 
could  have  been  an  object  of  terror  to 
me ;  that  I  should  have  watched  with 
anxiety  the  glance  of  that  failing  eye,  or 
dreaded  the  power  of  that  trembling 
hand.  He  tottered  feebly  along  the  path, 
and  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  over  a 
stile.  I  ran  and  assisted  him.  He  look 
ed  at  me  with  surprise,  but  did  not  recog 
nise  me,  and  made  a  low  bow  of  humility 
and  thanks.  T  had  no  disposition  to  make 
myself  known,  for  I  felt  that  I  had 
nothing  to  boast  of.  The  pains  he  had 
taken,  and  the  pains  he  had  inflicted, 
had  been  equally  useless.  His  repeated 
predictions  were  fully  verified,  and  I  felt 
that  little  Jack  Buckthorne,  the  idle  boy, 
had  grown  to  be  a  very  good-for-nothing 
man. 

This  is  all  very  comfortless  detail ;  but 
as  I  have  told  you  of  my  follies,  it  is 
meet  that  I  show  you  how  for  once  I  was 
schooled  for  them.  The  most  thought 
less  of  mortals  will  some  time  or  other 
have  his  day  of  gloom,  when  he  will  be 
compelled  to  reflect. 

I  felt  on  this  occasion  as  if  I  had  a 
kind  of  penance  to  perform,  and  I  made 
a  pilgrimage  in  expiation  of  my  past 
levity.  Having  passed  a  night  at  Leam 
ington,  I  set  off  by  a  private  path,  which 
leads  up  a  hill  through  a  grove  and 
across  quiet  fields,  till  I  came  to  the 
small  village,  or  rather  hamlet,  of  Len- 
ington.  I  sought  the  village  church.  It 
is  an  old  low  edifice  of  gray  stone,  on 
the  brow  of  a  small  hill,  looking  over 
fertile  fields,  towards  where  the  proud 
towers  of  Warwick  Castle  lift  themselves 
against  the  distant  horizon. 

A  part  of  the  churchyard  is  shaded  by 
large  trees.  Under  one  of  them  my 
mother  lay  buried.  You  have  no  doubt 
thought  me  a  light,  heartless  being.  I 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


99 


thought  myself  so ;  but  there  are  mo 
ments  of  adversity  which  let  us  into  some 
feelings  of  our  nature  to  which  we  might 
otherwise  remain  perpetual  strangers. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave  :  the  weeds 
were  already  matted  over  it,  and  the 
tombstone  was  half  hid  among  nettles. 
I  cleared  them  away,  and  they  stung  my 
hands  ;  but  I  was  heedless  of  the  pain,  for 
my  heart  ached  too  severely.  I  sat  down 
on  the  grave,  and  read  over  and  over 
again  the  epitaph  on  the  stone. 

It  was  simple, — but  it  was  true.  I 
had  written  it  myself.  I  had  tried  to 
write  a  poetical  epitaph,  but  in  vain ;  my 
feelings  refused  to  utter  themselves  in 
rhyme.  My  heart  had  gradually  been 
filling  during  my  lonely  wanderings ;  it 
was  now  charged  to  the  brim,  and  over 
flowed.  I  sunk  upon  the  grave,  and 
buried  my  face  in  the  tall  grass,  and 
wept  like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  man 
hood  upon  the  grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy 
upon  the  bosom  of  my  mother.  Alas ! 
how  little  do  we  appreciate  a  mother's 
tenderness  while  living !  how  heedless  are 
we  in  youth  of  all  her  anxieties  and  kind 
ness  !  But  when  she  is  dead  and  gone  ; 
when  the  cares  and  coldness  of  the  world 
come  withering  to  our  hearts  ;  when  we 
find  how  hard  it  is  to  find  true  sympathy; 
— how  few  love  us  for  ourselves ;  how 
few  will  befriend  us  in  our  misfortune — 
then  it  is  that  we  think  of  the  mother  we 
have  lost.  It  is  true  I  had  always  loved 
my  mother,  even  in  my  most  heedless 
days ;  but  I  felt  how  inconsiderate  and 
ineffectual  had  been  my  love.  My  heart 
melted  as  I  retraced  the  days  of  infancy, 
when  I  was  led  by  a  mother's  hand,  and 
rocked  to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arms,  and 
was  without  care  or  sorrow.  "O  my 
mother!"  exclaimed  I,  burying  my  face 
again  in  the  grass  of  the  grave  ;  "  O  that 
I  were  once  more  by  your  side ;  sleeping, 
never  to  wake  again  on  the  cares  and 
troubles  of  this  world." 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  tem 
perament,  and  the  violence  of  my  emo 
tion  gradually  exhausted  itself.  It  was 
a  hearty,  honest,  natural  discharge  of 
grief  which  had  been  slowly  accumu 
lating,  and  gave  me  wonderful  relief.  I 
rose  from  the  grave  as  if  I  had  been  offer 
ing  up  a  sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if  that 
sacrifice  had  been  accepted. 


I  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and 
plucked,  one  by  one,  the  weeds  from  her 
grave:  the  tears  trickled  more  slowly 
down  my  cheeks,  and  ceased  to  be  bitter. 
It  was  a  comfort  to  think  that  she  had 
died  before  sorrow  and  poverty  came 
upon  her  child,  and  that  all  his  great  ex 
pectations  were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand, 
and  looked  upon  the  landscape.  Its  quiet 
beauty  soothed  me.  The  whistle  of  a 
peasant  from  an  adjoining  field  came 
cheerily  to  my  ear.  I  seemed  to  respire 
hope  and  comfort  with  the  free  air  that 
whispered  through  the  leaves,  and  played 
lightly  with  my  hair,  and  dried  the  tears 
upon  my  cheek.  A  lark,  rising  from 
the  field  before  me,  and  leaving  as  it 
were  a  stream  of  song  behind  him  as  he 
rose,  lifted  my  fancy  with  him.  He 
hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the  place 
where  the  towers  of  Warwick  Castle 
marked  the  horizon,  and  seemed  as  if 
fluttering  with  delight  at  his  own  melody. 
"  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  if  there  were  such 
a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  this 
might  be  taken  for  some  poet  let  loose 
from  earth,  but  still  revelling  in  song, 
and  carolling  about  fair  fields  and  lordly 
towers." 

At  this  moment  the  long-forgotten  feel 
ing  of  poetry  rose  within  me.  A  thought 
sprung  at  once  into  my  mind. — "  I  will 
become  an  author !"  said  I.  "  I  have 
hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as  a  pleasure, 
and  it  has  brought  me  nothing  but  pain ; 
let  me  try  what  it  will  do  when  I  culti 
vate  it  with  devotion  as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution  thus  suddenly  aroused 
within  me  heaved  a  load  from  off  my 
heart.  I  felt  a  confidence  in  it  from  the 
very  place  where  it  was  formed.  It 
seemed  as  though  my  mother's  spirit 
whispered  it  to  me  from  her  grave.  "  I 
will  henceforth,"  said  I,  "  endeavour  to 
be  all  that  she  fondly  imagined  me.  I 
will  endeavour  to  act  as  if  she  were  wit 
ness  of  my  actions ;  I  will  endeavour  to 
acquit  myself  in  such  a  manner  that, 
when  I  revisit  her  grave,  there  may  at 
least  be  no  compunctious  bitterness  in 
my  tears." 

I  bowed  down  and  kissed  the  turf  in 
solemn  attestation  of  my  vow.  I  plucked 
some  primroses  that  were  growing  there, 
and  laid  them  next  my  heart.  I  left  the 


100 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


churchyard  with  my  spirits  once  more 
lifted  up,  and  set  out  a  third  time  for 
London  in  the  character  of  an  author. — 

Here  my  companion  made  a  pause, 
and  I  waited  in  anxious  suspense,  hoping 
to  have  a  whole  volume  of  literary  life 
unfolded  to  me.  He  seemed,  however, 
to  have  sunk  into  a  fit  of  pensive  musing, 
and  when,  after  some  time,  I  gently 
roused  him  by  a  question  or  two  as  to 
his  literary  career, 

"  No,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  over  that 
part  of  my  story  I  wish  to  leave  a  cloud. 
Let  the  mysteries  of  the  craft  rest  sacred 
for  me.  Let  those  who  have  never  ven 
tured  into  the  republic  of  letters  still  look 
upon  it  as  a  fairy  land.  Let  them  sup 
pose  the  author  the  very  being  they  pic 
ture  him  from  his  works — I  am  not  the 
man  to  mar  their  illusion.  I  am  not 
the  man  to  hint,  while  one  is  admiring 
the  silken  web  of  Persia,  that  it  has  been 
spun  from  the  entrails  of  a  miserable 
worm." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  tell  me 
nothing  of  your  literary  history,  let  me 
know  at  least  if  you  have  had  any  fur 
ther  intelligence  from  Doubting  Castle." 

"Willingly,"  replied  he,  "though  I 
have  but  little  to  communicate." 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 

A  LONG  time  elapsed,  said  Buckthorne, 
without  my  receiving  any  accounts  of 
my  cousin  and  his  estate.  Indeed,  I  felt 
so  much  soreness  on  the  subject,  that  I 
wished  if  possible  to  shut  it  from  my 
thoughts.  At  length  chance  took  me  to 
that  part  of  the  country,  and  I  could  not 
refrain  from  making  some  inquiries. 

I  learnt  that  my  cousin  had  grown  up 
ignorant,  self-willed,  and  clownish.  His 
ignorance  and  clownishness  had  pre 
vented  his  mingling  with  the  neighbour- 
I  ing  gentry  :  in  spite  of  his  great  fortune, 
he  had  been  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt 
to  gain  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  the 
parson,  and  had  at  length  shrunk  into 
the  limits  of  such  society  as  a  mere  man 
of  wealth  can  gather  in  a  country  neigh 
bourhood. 

He  kept  horses  and  hounds,  and  a 
roaring  table,  at  which  were  collected 


the  loose  livers  of  the  country  round,  and 
the  shabby  gentlemen  of  a  village  in  the 
vicinity.  When  he  could  get  no  other 
company,  he  would  smoke  and  drink 
with  his  own  servants,  who  in  turn 
fleeced  and  despised  him.  Still,  with  all 
his  apparent  prodigality,  he  had  a  leaven 
of  the  old  man  in  him  which  showed  that 
he  was  his  true-born  son.  He  lived  far 
within  his  income,  was  vulgar  in  his  ex 
penses,  and  penurious  in  many  points 
wherein  a  gentleman  would  be  extrava 
gant.  His  house-servants  were  obliged 
occasionally  to  work  on  his  estate, 
and  part  of  the  pleasure-grounds  were 
ploughed  up  and  devoted  to  husbandry. 

His  table,  though  plentiful,  was  coarse ; 
his  liquors  strong  and  bad  ;  and  more 
ale  and  whisky  were  expended  in  his 
establishment  than  generous  wine.  He 
was  loud  and  arrogant  at  his  own  table, 
and  exacted  a  rich  man's  homage  from 
his  vulgar  and  obsequious  guests. 

As  to  Iron  John,  his  old  grandfather, 
he  had  grown  impatient  of  the  tight  hand 
his  own  grandson  kept  over  him,  and 
quarrelled  with  him  soon  after  he  came 
to  the  estate.  The  old  man  had  retired 
to  the  neighbouring  village,  where  he 
lived  on  the  legacy  of  his  late  master, 
in  a  small  cottage,  and  was  as  seldom 
seen  out  of  it  as  a  rat  out  of  his  hole  in 
daylight. 

The  cub,  like  Caliban,  seemed  to  have 
an  instinctive  attachment  to  his  mother. 
She  resided  with  him,  but,  from  long 
habit,  she  acted  more  as  a  servant  than 
as  mistress  of  the  mansion ;  for  she  toiled 
in  all  the  domestic  drudgery,  and  was 
oftener  in  the  kitchen  than  in  the  par 
lour.  Such  was  the  information  which 
I  collected  of  my  rival  cousin,  who  had 
so  unexpectedly  elbowed  me  out  of  all 
my  expectations. 

I  now  felt  an  irresistible  hankering  to 
pay  a  visit  to  this  scene  of  my  boyhood, 
and  to  get  a  peep  at  the  odd  kind  of  life 
that  was  passing  within  the  mansion  of 
my  maternal  ancestors.  I  determined 
to  do  so  in  disguise.  My  booby  cousin 
had  never  seen  enough  of  me  to  be  very 
familiar  with  my  countenance,  and  a 
few  years  make  great  difference  between 
youth  and  manhood.  I  understood  he 
was  a  breeder  of  cattle,  and  proud  of  his 
stock ;  I  dressed  myself  therefore  as  a 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


101 


substantial  farmer,  and  with  the  assist 
ance  of  a  red  scratch  that  came  low 
down  on  my  forehead,  made  a  complete 
change  in  my  physiognomy. 

It  was  past  three  o'clock  when  I  ar 
rived  at  the  gate  of  the  park,  and  was 
admitted  by  an  old  woman,  who  was 
washing  in  a  dilapidated  building  which 
had  once  been  a  porter's  lodge.  I  ad 
vanced  up  the  remains  of  a  noble  avenue, 
many  of  the  trees  of  which  had  been  cut 
down  and  sold  for  timber.  The  grounds 
were  in  scarcely  better  keeping  than 
during  my  uncle's  lifetime.  The  grass 
was  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  the  trees 
wanted  pruning  and  clearing  of  dead 
branches.  Cattle  were  grazing  about  the 
lawns,  and  ducks  and  geese  swimming  in 
the  fish-ponds.  The  road  to  the  house 
bore  very  few  traces  of  carriage  wheels, 
as  my  cousin  received  few  visiters  but 
such  as  came  on  foot  or  horseback,  and 
never  used  a  carriage  himself.  Once 
indeed,  as  I  was  told,  he  had  the  old 
family  carriage  drawn  out  from  among 
the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  the  coach-house, 
and  furbished  up,  and  had  driven,  with 
his  mother,  to  the  village  church,  to  take 
formal  possession  of  the  family  pew  ;  but 
there  was  such  hooting  and  laughing 
after  them,  as  they  passed  through  the 
village,  and  such  giggling  and  bantering 
about  the  church-door,  that  the  pageant 
had  never  made  a  re-appearance. 

As  I  approached  the  house,  a  legion  of 
whelps  sallied  out,  barking  at  me,  accom 
panied  by  the  low  howling,  rather  than 
barking,  of  two  old  worn-out  blood 
hounds,  which  I  recognised  for  the  an 
cient  life-guards  of  my  uncle.  The  house 
had  still  a  neglected  random  appearance, 
though  much  altered  for  the  better  since 
my  last  visit.  Several  of  the  windows 
were  broken  and  patched  up  with  boards, 
and  others  had  been  bricked  up  to  save 
taxes.  I  observed  smoke,  however,  rising 
from  the  chimneys,  a  phenomenon  rarely 
witnessed  in  the  ancient  establishment. 
Oh  passing  that  part  of  the  house  where 
the  dining-room  was  situated,  I  heard 
the  sound  of  boisterous  merriment,  where 
three  or  four  voices  were  talking  at  once, 
and  oaths  and  laughter  were  horribly 
mingled. 

The  uproar  of  the  dogs  had  brought  a 
servant  to  the  door,  a  tall  hard-fisted 


country  clown,  with  a  livery-coat  put 
over  the  under  garments  of  a  ploughman. 
I  requested  to  see  the  master  of  the  house, 
but  was  told  he  was  at  dinner  with  some 
"  gemmen"  of  the  neighbourhood.  1 
made  known  my  business,  and  sent  in  to 
know  if  I  might  talk  with  the  master 
about  his  cattle,  for  1  felt  a  great  desire 
to  have  a  peep  at  him  in  his  orgies. 

Word  was  returned  that  he  was  en 
gaged  with  company,  and  could  not 
attend  to  business,  but  that  if  I  would 
step  in  and  take  a  drink  of  something,  I 
was  heartily  welcome.  I  accordingly 
entered  the  hall,  where  whips  and  hats 
of  all  kinds  and  shapes  were  lying  on 
an  oaken  table ;  two  or  three  clownish 
servants  were  lounging  about ;  every 
thing  had  a  look  of  confusion  and  care 
lessness. 

The  apartments  through  which  I 
passed  had  the  same  air  of  departed 
gentility  and  sluttish  housekeeping.  The 
once  rich  curtains  were  faded  and  dusty, 
the  furniture  greased  and  tarnished.  On 
entering  the  dining-room  I  found  a  num 
ber  of  odd,  vulgar-looking,  rustic  gentle 
men  seated  round  a  table,  on  which  were 
bottles,  decanters,  tankards,  pipes,  and 
tobacco.  Several  dogs  were  lying  about 
the  room,  or  sitting  and  watching  their 
masters,  and  one  was  gnawing  a  bone 
under  a  side-table.  The  master  of  the 
feast  sat  at  the  head  of  the  board.  He 
was  greatly  altered.  He  had  grown 
thickset  and  rather  gummy,  with  a  fiery 
foxy  head  of  hair.  There  was  a  singu 
lar  mixture  of  foolishness,  arrogance, 
and  conceit,  in  his  countenance.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  vulgarly  fine  style, 
with  leather  breeches,  a  red  waistcoat, 
and  green  coat,  and  was  evidently,  like 
his  guests,  a  little  flushed  with  drinking. 
The  whole  company  stared  at  me  with  a 
whimsical  muzzy  look,  like  men  whose 
senses  were  a  little  obfuscated  by  beer 
rather  than  wine. 

My  cousin  (God  forgive  me !  the  ap 
pellation  sticks  in  my  throat),  my  cousin 
invited  me  with  awkward  civility,  or,  as 
he  intended  it,  condescension,  to  sit  to 
the  table  and  drink.  We  talked,  as 
usual,  about  the  weather,  the  crops,  poli 
tics,  and  hard  times.  My  cousin  was  a 
loud  politician,  and  evidently  accustomed 
to  talk  without  contradiction  at  his  own 

9* 


102 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


table.  He  was  amazingly  loyal,  and 
talked  of  standing  by  the  throne  to  the 
last  guinea,  "  as  every  gentleman  of  for 
tune  should  do."  The  village  excise 
man,  who  was  half  asleep,  could  just 
ejaculate  "  very  true"  to  every  thing  he 
said.  The  conversation  turned  upon 
cattle  ;  he  boasted  of  his  breed,  his  mode 
of  crossing  it,  and  of  the  general  manage 
ment  of  his  estate.  This  unluckily  drew 
on  a  history  of  the  place  and  of  the 
family.  He  spoke  of  my  late  uncle  with 
the  greatest  irreverence,  which  I  could 
easily  forgive.  He  mentioned  my  name, 
and  my  blood  began  to  boil.  He  de 
scribed  my  frequent  visits  to  my  uncle, 
when  I  was  a  lad  ;  and  I  found  the  varlet, 
even  at  that  time,  imp  as  he  was,  had 
known  that  he  was  to  inherit  the  estate. 
He  described  the  scene  of  my  uncle's 
death,  and  the  opening  of  the  will,  with 
a  degree  of  coarse  humour  that  I  had 
not  expected  from  him ;  and,  vexed  as  I 
was,  I  could  not  help  joining  in  the 
laugh,  for  I  have  always  relished  a  joke, 
even  though  made  at  my  own  expense. 
He  went  on  to  speak  of  my  various  pur 
suits,  my  strolling  freak,  and  that  some 
what  nettled  me ;  at  length  he  talked  of 
my  parents.  He  ridiculed  my  father  ;  I 
stomached  even  that,  though  with  great 
difficulty.  He  mentioned  my  mother 
with  a  sneer,  and  in  an  instant  he  lay 
sprawling  at  my  feet. 

Here  a  tumult  succeeded :  the  table 
was  nearly  overturned ;  bottles,  glasses, 
and  tankards,  rolled  crashing  and  clat 
tering  about  the  floor.  The  company 
seized  hold  of  both  of  us,  to  keep  us  from 
doing  any  further  mischief.  I  struggled 
to  get  loose,  for  I  was  boiling  with  fury. 
My  cousin  defied  me  to  strip  and  fight 
him  on  the  lawn.  I  agreed,  for  I  felt  the 
strength  of  a  giant  in  me,  and  I  longed 
to  pommel  him  soundly. 

Away  then  we  were  borne.  A  ring 
was  formed.  I  had  a  second  assigned 
me  in  true  boxing  style.  My  cousin,  as 
he  advanced  to  fight,  said  something 
about  his  generosity  in  showing  me  such 
fair  play,  when  I  had  made  such  an  un 
provoked  attack  upon  him  at  his  own 
table.  "  Stop  there,"  cried  I,  in  a  rage. 
"  Unprovoked !  know  that  I  am  John 
Buckthorne,  and  you  have  insulted  the 
memory  of  my  mother." 


The  lout  was  suddenly  struck  by  what 
[  said :  he  drew  back,  and  thought  for  a 
moment. 

"  Nay,  damn  it,"  said  he,  "  that's  too 
much — that's  clean  another  thing — I've 
a  mother  myself — and  no  one  shall  speak 
ill  of  her,  bad  as  she  is." 

He  paused  again ;  nature  seemed  to 
have  a  rough  struggle  in  his  rude  bosom. 

"  Damn  it,  cousin,"  cried  he,  "  I'm 
sorry  for  what  I  said.  Thou'st  served 
me  right  in  knocking  me  down,  and  I 
like  thee  the  better  for  it.  Here's  my 
hand  :  come  and  live  with  me,  and  damn 
me  but  the  best  room  in  the  house,  and 
the  best  horse  in  the  stable,  shall  be  at 
thy  service." 

I  declare  to  you  I  was  strongly  moved 
at  this  instance  of  nature  breaking  her 
way  through  such  a  lump  of  flesh.  I 
forgave  the  fellow  in  a  moment  his  two 
heinous  crimes,  of  having  been  born  in 
wedlock,  and  inheriting  my  estate.  I 
shook  the  hand  he  offered  me,  to  con 
vince  him  that  I  bore  him  no  ill  will ; 
and  then  making  my  way  through  the 
gaping  crowd  of  toad-eaters,  bade  adieu 
to  my  uncle's  domains  for  ever.  This 
is  the  last  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  my 
cousin,  or  of  the  domestic  concerns  of 
Doubting  Castle. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

As  I  was  walking  one  morning  with 
Buckthorne  near  one  of  the  principal 
theatres,  he  directed  my  attention  to  a 
group  of  those  equivocal  beings  that  may 
often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage- 
doors  of  theatres.  They  were  marvel 
lously  ill-favoured  in  their  attire,  their 
coats  buttoned  up  to  their  chins ;  yet 
they  wore  their  hats  smartly  on  one 
side,  and  had  a  certain  knowing,  dirty- 
gentlemanlike  air,  which  is  common  to 
the  subalterns  of  the  drama.  Buck 
thorne  knew  them  well  by  early  experi 
ence. 

"  These,"  said  he,  "  are  the  ghosts  of 
departed  kings  and  heroes ;  fellows  who 
sway  sceptres  and  truncheons ;  com 
mand  kingdoms  and  armies ;  and  after 
giving  away  realms  and  treasures  over 
night,  have  scarce  a  shilling  to  pay  for 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


103 


a  breakfast  in  the  morning.  Yet  they 
have  the  true  vagabond  abhorrence  of  all 
useful  and  industrious  employment ;  and 
they  have  their  pleasures  too;  one  of 
which  is  to  lounge  in  this  way  in  the 
sunshine,  at  the  stage-door,  during  re 
hearsals,  and  make  hackneyed  theatrical 
jokes  on  all  passers-by.  Nothing  is 
more  traditional  and  legitimate  than  the 
stage.  Old  scenery,  old  clothes,  old 
sentiments,  old  ranting,  and  old  jokes, 
are  handed  down  from  generation  to  ge 
neration  ;  and  will  probably  continue  to 
be  so  until  time  shall  be  no  more. 
Every  hanger-on  of  a  theatre  becomes  a 
wag  by  inheritance,  and  flourishes  about 
at  tap-rooms  and  sixpenny  clubs  with 
the  property  jokes  of  the  green-room." 

While  amusing  ourselves  with  recon 
noitring  this  group,  we  noticed  one  in 
particular  who  appeared  to  be  the  oracle. 
He  was  a  weatherbeaten  veteran,  a  little 
bronzed  by  time  and  beer,  who  had  no 
doubt  grown  gray  in  the  parts  of  rob 
bers,  cardinals,  Roman  senators,  and 
walking  noblemen. 

"  There  is  something  in  the  set  of  that 
hat,  and  the  turn  of  that  physiognomy, 
that  is  extremely  familiar  to  me,"  said 
Buckthorne.  He  looked  a  little  closer. 
"  I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  added  he,  "  that 
must  be  my  old  brother  of  the  truncheon, 
Flimsey,  the  tragic  hero  of  the  Strolling 
Company." 

It  was  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow 
showed  evident  signs  that  times  went 
hard  with  him,  he  was  so  finely  and 
shabbily  dressed.  His  coat  was  some 
what  threadbare,  and  of  the  Lord  Town- 
ley  cut ;  single-breasted,  and  scarcely 
capable  of  meeting  in  front  of  his  body, 
which,  from  long  intimacy,  had  acquired 
the  symmetry  and  robustness  of  a  beer 
barrel.  He  wore  a  pair  of  dingy-white 
stockinet  pantaloons,  which  had  much 
ado  to  reach  his  waistcoat;  a  great 
quantity  of  dirty  cravat ;  and  a  pair  of 
old  russet-coloured  tragedy  boots. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed, 
Buckthorne  drew  him  aside,  and  made 
himself  known  to  him.  The  tragic 
veteran  could  scarcely  recognise  him,  or 
believe  that  he  was  really  his  quondam 
associate,  "  little  gentleman  Jack." 
Buckthorne  invited  him  to  a  neighbour 
ing  coffee-house  to  talk  over  old  times ; 


and  in  the  course  of  a  little  while  we 
were  put  in  possession  of  his  history  in 
brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in 
the  strolling  company  for  some  time  after 
Buckthorne  had  left  it,  or  rather  had 
been  driven  from  it  so  abruptly.  At 
length  the  manager  died,  and  the  troop 
was  thrown  into  confusion.  Every  one 
aspired  to  the  crown,  every  one  was  for 
taking  the  lead ;  and  the  manager's 
widow,  although  a  tragedy  queen,  and  a 
brimstone  to  boot,  pronounced  it  utterly 
impossible  for  a  woman  to  keep  any  con 
trol  over  such  a  set  of  tempestuous  ras- 
callions. 

"  Upon  this  hint,  I  spake,"  said  Flim 
sey.  I  stepped  forward,  and  offered  my 
services  in  the  most  effectual  way. 
They  were  accepted.  In  a  week's  time 
I  married  the  widow,  and  succeeded  to 
the  throne.  "  The  funeral  baked  meats 
did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage 
table,"  as  Hamlet  says.  But  the  ghost 
of  my  predecessor  never  haunted  me ; 
and  I  inherited  crowns,  sceptres,  bowls, 
daggers,  and  all  the  stage-trappings  and 
trumpery,  not  omitting  the  widow,  with 
out  the  least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it ;  for 
our  company  was  pretty  strong  and  at 
tractive,  and  as  my  wife  and  I  took  the 
heavy  parts  of  tragedy,  it  was  a  great 
saving  to  the  treasury.  We  carried  off 
the  palm  from  all  the  rival  shows  at 
country  fairs  ;  and  I  assure  you  we  have 
even  drawn  full  houses,  and  been  ap 
plauded  by  the  critics  at  Bartlemy  Fair 
itself,  though  we  had  Astley's  troop,  the 
Irish  giant,  and  "  the  death  of  Nelson" 
in  wax- work,  to  contend  against. 

I  soon  began  to  experience,  however, 
the  cares  of  command.  I  discovered  that 
there  were  cabals  breaking  out  in  the 
company,  headed  by  the  clown,  who 
you  may  recollect  was  a  terribly  peevish, 
fractious  fellow,  and  always  in  ill-hu 
mour.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  turn  him 
off  at  once,  but  I  could  not  do  without 
him,  for  there  was  not  a  droller  scoun 
drel  on  the  stage.  His  very  shape  was 
comic,  for  he  had  but  to  turn  his  back 
upon  the  audience,  and  all  the  ladies 
were  ready  to  die  with  laughing.  He 
felt  his  importance,  and  took  advantage 
of  it.  He  would  keep  the  audience  in  a 


104 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


continual  roar,  and  then  come  behind 
the  scenes,  and  fret  and  fume,  and  play 
the  very  devil.  I  excused  a  great  deal 
in  him,  however,  knowing  that  comic 
actors  are  a  little  prone  to  this  infirmity 
of  temper. 

I  had  another  trouble  of  a  nearer  and 
dearer  nature  to  struggle  with,  which 
was  the  affection  of  my  wife.  As  ill- 
luck  would  have  it,  she  took  it  into  her 
head  to  be  very  fond  of  me,  and  became 
intolerably  jealous.  I  could  not  keep  a 
pretty  girl  in  the  company,  and  hardly 
dared  embrace  an  ugly  one,  even  when 
my  part  required  it.  I  have  known  her 
reduce  a  fine  lady  to  tatters,  "  to  very 
rags,"  as  Hamlet  says,  in  an  instant, 
and  destroy  one  of  the  very  best  dresses 
in  the  wardrobe,  merely  because  she  saw 
me  kiss  her  at  the  side  scenes ;  though  I 
give  you  my  honour  it  was  done  merely 
by  way  of  rehearsal. 

This  was  doubly  annoying,  because  I 
have  a  natural  liking  to  pretty  faces,  and 
wish  to  have  them  about  me ;  and  be 
cause  they  are  indispensable  to  the  suc 
cess  of  a  company  at  a  fair,  where  one 
has  to  vie  with  so  many  rival  theatres. 
But  when  once  a  jealous  wife  gets  a  freak 
in  her  head,  there's  no  use  in  talking  of 
interest  or  any  thing  else.  Egad,  sir, 
I  have  more  than  once  trembled  when, 
during  a  fit  of  her  tantrums,  she  was 
playing  high  tragedy,  and  flourishing 
her  tin  dagger  on  the  stage,  lest  she 
should  give  way  to  her  humour,  and  stab 
some  fancied  rival  in  good  earnest. 

I  went  on  better,  however,  than  could 
be  expected,  considering  the  weakness  of 
my  flesh,  and  the  violence  of  my  rib.  I 
had  not  a  much  worse  time  of  it  than  old 
Jupiter,  whose  spouse  was  continually 
ferreting  out  some  new  intrigue,  and 
making  the  heavens  almost  too  hot  to 
hold  him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we 
were  performing  at  a  country  fair,  when 
I  understood  the  theatre  of  a  neighbour 
ing  town  to  be  vacant.  I  had  always 
been  desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a  settled 
company,  and  the  height  of  my  desire 
was  to  get  on  a  par  with  a  brother-in- 
law,  who  was  manager  of  a  regular 
theatre,  and  who  had  looked  down  upon 
me.  Here  was  an  opportunity  not  to 
be  neglected.  I  concluded  an  agreement 


with  the  proprietors,  and  in  a  few  days 
opened  the  theatre  with  great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my 
ambition,  "  the  high  top-gallant  of  my 
joy,"  as  Rorneo  says.  No  longer  a 
chieftain  of  a  wandering  tribe,  but  a 
monarch  of  a  legitimate  throne,  and  en 
titled  to  call  even  the  great  potentates  of 
Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane  cousins. 
You,  no  doubt,  think  my  happiness  com 
plete.  Alas,  sir !  I  was  one  of  the  most 
uncomfortable  dogs  living.  No  one 
knows,  who  has  not  tried,  the  miseries 
of  a  manager ;  but  above  all  of  a  country 
manager.  No  one  can  conceive  the  con 
tentions  and  quarrels  within  doors,  the 
oppressions  and  vexations  from  without. 
I  was  pestered  with  the  bloods  and 
loungers  of  a  country  town,  who  infested 
my  green-room,  and  played  the  mischief 
among  my  actresses.  But  there  was  no 
shaking  them  off.  It  would  have  been 
ruin  to  affront  them  ;  for  though  trouble 
some  friends,  they  would  have  been  dan 
gerous  enemies.  Then  there  were  the 
village  critics  and  village  amateurs,  who 
were  continually  tormenting  me  with  ad 
vice,  and  getting  into  a  passion  if  I 
would  not  take  it ;  especially  the  village 
doctor  and  the  village  attorney,  who  had 
both  been  to  London  occasionally,  and 
knew  what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew 
of  scapegraces  as  ever  were  collected  to 
gether  within  the  walls  of  a  theatre.  I 
had  been  obliged  to  combine  my  original 
troop  with  some  of  the  former  troop  of 
the  theatre,  who  were  favourites  of  the 
public.  Here  was  a  mixture  that  pro 
duced  perpetual  ferment.  They  were  all 
the  time  either  fighting  or  frolicking  with 
each  other,  and  I  scarcely  know  which 
mood  was  least  troublesome.  If  they 
quarrelled,  every  thing  went  wrong ;  and 
if  they  were  friends,  they  were  continu 
ally  playing  off  some  prank  upon  each 
other,  or  upon  me ;  for  I  had  unhappily 
acquired  among  them  the  character  of 
an  easy  good-natured  fellow — the  worst 
character  that  a  manager  can  possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me 
almost  crazy ;  for  there  is  nothing  so 
vexatious  as  the  hackneyed  tricks  and 
hoaxes  and  pleasantries  of  a  veteran 
band  of  theatrical  vagabonds.  I  relish 
ed  them  well  enough,  it  is  true,  while 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


105 


I  was  merely  one  of  the  company,  but 
as  manager  I  found  them  detestable. 
They  were  incessantly  bringing  some 
disgrace  upon  the  theatre  by  their  ta 
vern  frolics,  and  their  pranks  about  the 
country  town.  All  my  lectures  about 
the  importance  of  keeping  up  the  dignity 
of  the  profession  and  the  respectability 
of  the  company  were  in  vain.  The  vil 
lains  could  not  sympathize  with  the  deli 
cate  feelings  of  a  man  in  station.  They 
even  trifled  with  the  seriousness  of  stage 
business.  I  have  had  the  whole  piece 
interrupted,  and  a  crowded  audience  of 
at  least  twenty- five  pounds  kept  waiting, 
because  the  actors  had  hid  away  the 
breeches  of  Rosalind ;  and  have  known 
Hamlet  to  stalk  solemnly  on  to  deliver 
his  soliloquy,  with  a  dishclout  pinned  to 
his  skirts.  Such  are  the  baleful  conse 
quences  of  a  manager's  getting  a  charac 
ter  for  good-nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoyed,  too,  by  the 
great  actors  who  came  down  starring,  as 
it  is  called,  from  London.  Of  all  bane 
ful  influences,  keep  me  from  that  of  a 
London  star.  A  first-rate  actress  going 
the  rounds  of  the  country  theatres  is  as 
bad  as  a  blazing  comet  whisking  about 
the  heavens,  and  shaking  fire  and  plagues 
and  discords  from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "  heavenly 
bodies"  appeared  in  my  horizon,  I  was 
sure  to  be  in  hot  water.  My  theatre 
was  overrun  by  provincial  dandies,  cop 
per-washed  counterfeits  of  Bond  Street 
loungers,  who  are  always  proud  to  be  in 
the  train  of  an  actress  from  town,  and 
anxious  to  be  thought  on  exceeding  good 
terms  with  her.  It  was  really  a  relief 
to  me  when  some  random  young  noble 
man  would  come  in  pursuit  of  the  bait, 
and  awe  all  this  small  fry  at  a  distance. 
I  have  always  felt  myself  more  at  ease 
with  a  nobleman  than  with  the  dandy  of 
a  country  town. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my 
personal  dignity  and  my  managerial 
authority  from  the  visits  of  these  great 
London  actors  !  'Sblood,  sir,  I  was  no 
longer  master  of  myself  on  my  throne. 
I  was  hectored  and  lectured  in  my  own 
green-room,  and  made  an  absolute  nin 
compoop  on  my  own  stage.  There  is 
no  tyrant  so  absolute  and  capricious  as 
a  London  star  at  a  country  theatre.  I 


dreaded  the  sight  of  all  of  them,  and  yet 
if  I  did  not  engage  them,  I  was  sure  of 
having  the  public  clamorous  against  me. 
They  drew  full  houses,  and  appeared  to 
be  making  my  fortune ;  but  they  swal 
lowed  up  all  the  profits  by  their  insatia 
ble  demands.  They  were  absolute  tape 
worms  to  my  little  theatre ;  the  more  it 
took  in  the  poorer  it  grew.  They  were 
sure  to  leave  me  with  an  exhausted 
public,  empty  benches,  and  a  score  or 
two  of  affronts  to  settle  among  the 
town's  folk,  in  consequence  of  misunder 
standings  about  the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worse  thing  I  had  to  undergo 
in  my  managerial  career  was  patronage. 
Oh,  sir !  of  all  things  deliver  me  from 
the  patronage  of  the  great  people  of  a 
country  town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You 
must  know  that  this  town,  though  small, 
was  filled  with  feuds,  and  parties,  and 
great  folks ;  being  a  busy  little  trading 
and  manufacturing  town.  The  mischief 
was  that  their  greatness  was  of  a  kind 
not  to  be  settled  by  reference  to  the  court 
calendar,  or  college  of  heraldry ;  it  was 
therefore  the  most  quarrelsome  kind  of 
greatness  in  existence.  You  smile,  sir, 
but  let  me  tell  you  there  are  no  feuds 
more  furious  than  the  frontier  feuds  which 
take  place  in  these  "  debatable  lands"  of 
gentility.  The  most  violent  dispute  that 
I  ever  knew  in  high  life  was  one  which 
occurred  at  a  country  town,  on  a  ques 
tion  of  precedence  between  the  ladies  of 
a  manufacturer  of  pins  and  a  manufac 
turer  of  needles. 

At  the  town  where  I  was  situated  there 
were  perpetual  altercations  of  the  kind. 
The  head  manufacturer's  lady,  for  in 
stance,  was  at  daggers-drawings  with  the 
head  shopkeeper's,  and  both  were  too 
rich  and  had  too  many  friends  to  be 
treated  lightly.  The  doctor's  and  law 
yer's  ladies  held  their  heads  still  higher ; 
but  they  in  their  turn  were  kept  in  check 
by  the  wife  of  a  country  banker,  who 
kept  her  own  carriage:  while  a  mascu 
line  widow  of  cracked  character  and 
secondhand  fashion,  who  lived  in  a  large 
house,  and  claimed  to  be  in  some  way 
related  to  nobility,  looked  down  upon 
them  all.  To  be  sure,  her  manners  were 
not  over  elegant,  nor  her  fortune  over 
large ;  but  then,  sir,  her  blood — oh,  her 
blood  carried  it  all  hollow :  there  was  no 


r 


106 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


withstanding  a  woman  with  such  blood 
in  her  veins. 

After  all,  her  claims  to  high  connexion 
were  questioned,  and  she  had  frequent 
battles  for  precedence  at  balls  and  assem 
blies  with  some  of  the  sturdy  dames  of 
the  neighbourhood,  who  stood  upon  their 
wealth  and  their  virtue ;  but  then  she 
had  two  dashing  daughters,  who  dressed 
as  fine  as  dragons,  had  as  high  blood  as 
their  mother,  and  seconded  her  in  every 
thing:  so  they  carried  their  point  with 
high  heads,  and  every  body  hated,  abused, 
and  stood  in  awe  of  the  Fantadlins. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable 
world  in  this  self-important  little  town. 
Unluckily,  I  was  not  as  well  acquainted 
with  its  politics  as  I  should  have  been.  I 
had  found  myself  a  stranger  and  in  great 
perplexities  during  my  first  season  ;  I 
determined,  therefore,  to  put  myself  un 
der  the  patronage  of  some  powerful  name, 
and  thus  to  take  the  field  with  the  preju 
dices  of  the  public  in  my  favour.  I  cast 
round  my  thoughts  for  the  purpose,  and 
in  an  evil  hour  they  fell  upon  Mrs.  Fan- 
tadlin.  No  one  seemed  to  me  to  have 
a  more  absolute  sway  in  the  world  of 
fashion.  I  had  always  noticed  that  her 
party  slammed  the  box-door  the  loudest 
at  the  theatre ;  that  her  daughters  entered 
like  a  tempest  with  a  flutter  of  red  shawls 
and  feathers ;  had  most  beaus  attending 
on  them  ;  talked  and  laughed  during  the 
performance,  and  used  quizzing-glasses 
incessantly.  The  first  evening  of  my 
theatre's  re-opening,  therefore,  was  an 
nounced  in  staring  capitals  on  the  play 
bills,  as  under  the  patronage  of  "  The 
Honourable  Mrs.  Fantadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  community  flew  to 
arms !  Presume  to  patronise  the  thea 
tre  !  Insufferable  !  And  then  for  me  to 
dare  to  term  her  "  The  Honourable !" 
What  claim  had  she  to  the  title,  forsooth ! 
The  fashionable  world  had  long  groaned 

|  under  the  tyranny  of  the  Fantadlins,  and 
were  glad  to  make  a  common  cause 

|  against  this  new  instance  of  assumption. 
All  minor  feuds  were  forgotten.  The 
doctor's  lady  and  the  lawyer's  lady  met 
together,  and  the  manufacturer's  lady 
and  the  shopkeeper's  lady  kissed  each 
other :  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's 
lady,  voted  the  theatre  a  bore,  and  de 
termined  to  encourage  nothing  but  the 


Indian  Jugglers  and  Mr.  Walker's  Eidou- 
ranion. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I 
never  got  over  the  patronage  of  the  Fan 
tadlin  family.  My  house  was  deserted  ; 
my  actors  grew  discontented  because 
they  were  ill  paid ;  my  door  became  a 
hammering  place  for  every  bailiff  in  the 
country ;  and  my  wife  became  more  and 
more  shrewish  and  tormenting  the  more 
I  wanted  comfort. 

I  tried  for  a  time  the  usual  consolation 
of  a  harassed  and  henpecked  man :  I  took 
to  the  bottle,  and  tried  to  tipple  away  my 
cares,  but  in  vain.  I  don't  mean  to  decry 
the  bottle ;  it  is  no  doubt  an  excellent 
remedy  in  many  cases,  but  it  did  not 
answer  in  mine.  It  cracked  my  voice, 
coppered  my  nose,  but  neither  improved 
my  wife  nor  my  affairs.  My  establish 
ment  became  a  scene  of  confusion  and 
peculation.  I  was  considered  a  ruined 
man,  and  of  course  fair  game  for  every 
one  to  pluck  at,  as  every  one  plunders  a 
sinking  ship.  Day  after  day  some  of  the 
troop  deserted,  and,  like  deserting  sol 
diers,  carried  off  their  arms  and  accou 
trements  with  them.  In  this  manner  my 
wardrobe  took  legs  and  walked  away, 
my  finery  strolled  all  over  the  country, 
my  swords  and  daggers  glittered  in  every 
barn,  until,  at  last,  my  tailor  made  "one 
fell  swoop,"  and  carried  off  three  dress 
coats,  half  a  dozen  doublets,  and  nine 
teen  pair  of  flesh-coloured  pantaloons. 
This  was  the  "  be  all  and  the  end  all"  of 
my  fortune.  I  no  longer  hesitated  what 
to  do.  Egad,  thought  I,  since  stealing  is 
the  order  of  the  day,  I'll  steal  too  :  so  I 
secretly  gathered  together  the  jewels  of 
my  wardrobe,  packed  up  a  hero's  dress 
in  a  handkerchief,  slung  it  on  the  end  of 
a  tragedy  sword,  and  quietly  stole  off  at 
dead  of  night,  "  the  bell  then  beating 
one,"  leaving  my  queen  and  kingdom  to 
the  mercy  of  my  rebellious  subjects,  and 
my  merciless  foes  the  bumbailiffs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "end  of  all  my 
greatness."  I  was  heartily  cured  of  all 
passion  for  governing,  and  returned  once 
more  into  the  ranks.  I  had  for  some  time 
the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life :  I  played 
in  various  country  theatres,  at  fairs,  and 
in  barns ;  sometimes  hard  pushed,  some 
times  flush,  until,  on  one  occasion,  I 
came  within  an  ace  of  making  my  for- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


10? 


tune,  and  becoming  one  of  the  wonders 
of  the  age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the 
Third  in  a  country  barn,  and  in  my  best 
style ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little 
in  liquor,  and  the  critics  of  the  company 
always  observed  that  I  played  with  most 
effect  when  I  had  a  glass  too  much. 
There  was  a  thunder  of  applause  when  I 
came  to  that  part  where  Richard  cries 
for  "  a  horse  !  a  horse !"  My  cracked 
voice  had  always  a  wonderful  effect  here; 
it  was  like  two  voices  run  into  one  ;  you 
would  have  thought  two  men  had  been 
calling  for  a  horse,  or  that  Richard  had 
called  for  two  horses.  And  when  I  flung 
the  taunt  at  Richmond,  "  Richard  is 
hoarse  with  calling  thee  to  arms,"  I 
thought  the  barn  would  have  come  down 
about  my  ears  with  the  raptures  of  the 
audience. 

The  very  next  morning  a  person  waited 
upon  me  at  my  lodgings.  I*  saw  at  once 
he  was  a  gentleman  by  his  dress ;  for  he 
had  a  large  brooch  in  his  bosom,  thick 
rings  on  his  fingers,  and  used  a  quizzing- 
glass.  And  a  gentleman  he  proved  to 
be ;  for  I  soon  ascertained  that  he  was  a 
kept  author,  or  kind  of  literary  tailor  to 
one  of  the  great  London  theatres ;  one 
who  worked  under  the  manager's  direc 
tions,  and  cut  up  and  cut  down  plays, 
and  patched  and  pieced,  and  new-faced, 
and  turned  them  inside  out :  in  short,  he 
was  one  of  the  readiest  and  greatest 
writers  of  the  day. 

He  was  now  on  a  foraging  excursion 
in  quest  of  something  that  might  be  got 
up  for  a  prodigy.  The  theatre,  it  seems, 
was  in  desperate  condition — nothing  but 
a  miracle  could  save  it.  He  had  seen 
me  act  Richard  the  night  before,  and  had 
pitched  upon  me  for  that  miracle.  I  had 
a  remarkable  bluster  in  my  style  and 
swagger  in  my  gait.  I  certainly  differed 
from  all  other  heroes  of  the  barn:  so  the 
thought  struck  the  agent  to  bring  me  out 
as  a  theatrical  wonder,  as  the  restorer  of 
natural  and  legitimate  acting,  as  the  only 
one  who  could  understand  and  act  Shak- 
speare  rightly. 

When  he  opened  his  plan  I  shrunk 
from  it  with  becoming  modesty,  for,  well 
as  I  thought  of  myself,  I  doubted  my 
competency  to  such  an  undertaking. 

I  hinted  at  my  imperfect  knowledge  of 


Shakspeare,  having  played  his  charac 
ters  only  after  mutilated  copies,  interlard 
ed  with  a  great  deal  of  my  own  talk  by 
way  of  helping  memory  or  heightening 
the  effect. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  cried  the  gen 
tleman  with  rings  on  his  fingers ;  "  so 
much  the  better.  New  readings,  sir  ! — 
new  readings  !  Don't  study  a  line — let 
us  have  Shakspeare  after  your  own 
fashion." 

"  But  then  my  voice  was  cracked  ;  it 
could  not  fill  a  London  theatre." 

"  So  much  the  better !  so  much  the 
better  !  The  public  is  tired  of  intonation 
the  ore  rotundo  has  had  its  day.  No,  sir, 
your  cracked  voice  is  the  very  thing — 
spit  and  splutter,  and  snap  and  snarl, 
and  *  play  the  very  dog'  about  the  stage, 
and  you'll  be  the  making  of  us." 

«'  But  then," — I  could  not  help  blush 
ing  to  the  end  of  my  very  nose  as  I  said 
it,  but  I  was  determined  to  be  candid  ; — 
"  but  then,"  added  I,  "  there  is  one  awk 
ward  circumstance ;  I  have  an  unlucky 
habit — my  misfortunes,  and  the  exposures 
to  which  one  is  subjected  in  country 
barns,  have  obliged  me  now  and  then  to — 
to — take  a  drop  of  something  comforta 
ble — and  so — and  so " 

"  What !  you  drink  ?"  cried  the  agent 
eagerly. 

I  bowed  my  head  in  blushing  acknow 
ledgment. 

"  So  much  the  better !  so  much  the 
better !  The  irregularities  of  genius  !  A 
sober  fellow  is  commonplace.  The  pub 
lic  like  an  actor  that  drinks.  Give  me 
your  hand,  sir.  You're  the  very  man 
to  make  a  dash  with." 

I  still  hung  back  with  lingering  diffi 
dence,  declaring  myself  unworthy  of  such 
praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man,"  cried  he,  "  no  praise 
at  all.  You  don't  imagine  I  think  you  a 
wonder ;  I  only  want  the  public  to  think 
so.  Nothing  is  so  easy  as  to  gull  the 
public,  if  you  only  set  up  a  prodigy. 
Common  talent  any  body  can  measure 
by  common  rule  ;  but  a  prodigy  sets  all 
rule  and  measurement  at  defiance." 

These  words  opened  my  eyes  in  an 
instant ;  we  now  came  to  a  proper  under 
standing  ;  less  flattering,  it  is  true,  to  my 
vanity,  but  much  more  satisfactory  to 
my  judgment. 


108 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


It  was  agreed  that  I  should  make  my 
appearance  before  a  London  audience,  as 
a  dramatic  sun  just  bursting  from  behind 
the  clouds :  one  that  was  to  banish  all 
the  lesser  lights  and  false  fires  of  the 
stage.  Every  precaution  was  to  be  taken 
to  possess  the  public  mind  at  every  ave 
nue.  The  pit  was  to  be  packed  with 
sturdy  clappers ;  the  newspapers  secured 
by  vehement  puffers  ;  every  theatrical 
resort  to  be  haunted  by  hireling  talkers. 
In  a  word,  every  engine  of  theatrical 
humbug  was  to  be  put  in  action.  Wher 
ever  I  differed  from  former  actors,  it  was 
to  be  maintained  that  I  was  right  and 
they  were  wrong.  If  I  ranted,  it  was  to 
be  pure  passion  ;  if  I  were  vulgar,  it  was 
to  be  pronounced  a  familiar  touch  of  na 
ture  ;  if  I  made  any  queer  blunder,  it 
was  to  be  a  new  reading.  If  my  voice 
cracked,  or  I  got  out  in  my  part,  I  was 
only  to  bounce,  and  grin,  and  snarl  at 
the  audience,  and  make  any  horrible 
grimace  that  came  into  my  head,  and 
my  admirers  were  to  call  it  "a  great 
point,"  and  to  fall  back  and  shout  and 
yell  with  rapture. 

"In  short,"  said  the  gentleman  with 
the  quizzing-glass,  "  strike  out  boldly 
and  bravely :  no  matter  how  or  what 
you  do,  so  that  it  be  but  odd  and  strange. 
If  you  do  but  escape  pelting  the  first 
night,  your  fortune  and  the  fortune  of 
the  theatre  is  made." 

I  set  off*  for  London,  therefore,  in  com 
pany  with  the  kept  author,  full  of  new 
plans  and  new  hopes.  I  was  to  be  the 
restorer  of  Shakspeare  and  Nature,  and 
the  legitimate  drama  ;  my  very  swagger 
was  to  be  heroic,  and  my  cracked  voice 
the  standard  of  elocution.  Alas,  sir,  my 
usual  luck  attended  me  :  before  I  arrived 
at  the  metropolis  a  rival  wonder  had  ap 
peared  ;  a  woman  who  could  dance  the 
slack-rope,  and  run  up  a  cord  from  the 
stage  to  the  gallery  with  fireworks  all 
round  her.  She  was  seized  on  by  the 
manager  with  avidity.  She  was  the  sav 
ing  of  the  great  national  theatre  for  the 
season.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but  Ma 
dame  Saqui's  fireworks  and  flesh-colour 
ed  pantaloons  ;  and  Nature,  Shakspeare, 
the  legitimate  drama,  and  poor  Pilgarlick 
were  completely  left  in  the  lurch. 

When  Madame  Saqui's  performance 
grew  stale,  other  wonders  succeeded : 


horses,  and  harlequinades,  and  mum 
mery  of  all  kinds  ;  until  another  drama 
tic  prodigy  was  brought  forward  to  play 
the  very  game  for  which  I  had  been 
intended.  I  called  upon  the  kept  author 
for  an  explanation,  but  he  was  deeply 
engaged  in  writing  a  melo-drama  or  a 
pantomime,  and  was  extremely  testy  on 
being  interrupted  in  his  studies.  How 
ever,  as  the  theatre  was  in  some  measure 
pledged  to  provide  for  me,  the  manager 
acted,  according  to  the  usual  phrase, 
"  like  a  man  of  honour,"  and  I  received 
an  appointment  in  the  corps.  It  had 
been  a  turn  of  a  die  whether  I  should 
be  Alexander  the  Great  or  Alexander 
the  coppersmith — the  latter  carried  it. 
I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head  of  the 
drama,  so  I  was  put  at  the  tail  of  it.  In 
other  words,  I  was  enrolled  among  the 
number  of  what  are  called  useful  men  ; 
those  who  enact  soldiers,  senators,  and 
Banquo's  shadowy  line.  I  was  perfectly 
satisfied  with  my  lot ;  for  I  have  always 
been  a  bit  of  a  philosopher.  If  my  situa 
tion  was  not  splendid,  it  at  least  was 
secure ;  and  in  fact  I  have  seen  half  a 
dozen  prodigies  appear,  dazzle,  burst 
like  bubbles  and  pass  away,  and  yet 
here  I  am,  snug,  unenvied  and  unmo 
lested,  at  the  foot  of  the  profession. 

No,  no,  you  may  smile ;  but  let  me 
tell  you,  we  useful  men  are  the  only 
comfortable  actors  on  the  stage.  We 
are  safe  from  hisses,  and  below  the  hope 
of  applause.  We  fear  not  the  success 
of  rivals,  nor  dread  the  critic's  pen.  So 
long  as  we  get  the  words  of  our  parts, 
and  they  are  not  often  many,  it  is  all  we 
care  for.  We  have  our  own  merriment, 
our  own  friends,  and  our  own  admirers 
— for  every  actor  has  his  own  friends 
and  admirers,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest.  The  first-rate  actor  dines  with 
the  noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a 
fashionable  table  with  scraps  and  songs, 
and  theatrical  slipslop.  The  second- 
rate  actors  have  their  second-rate  friends 
and  admirers,  with  whom  they  likewise 
spout  tragedy  and  talk  slipslop — and  so 
down  even  to  us  ;  who  have  our  friends 
and  admirers  among  spruce  clerks  and 
aspiring  apprentices — who  treat  us  to  a 
dinner  now  and  then,  and  enjoy  at  tenth 
hand  the  same  scraps  and  songs  and 
slipslop  that  have  been  served  up  by  our 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


109 


more  fortunate  brethren  at  the  tables  of 
the  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  thea 
trical  life,  experience  what  true  pleasure 
is.  I  have  known  enough  of  notoriety 
to  pity  the  poor  devils  who  are  called 
favourites  of  the  public.  I  would  rather 
be  a  kitten  in  the  arms  of  a  spoiled  child, 
to  be  one  moment  patted  and  pampered, 
and  the  next  moment  thumped  over  the 
head  with  the  spoon.  I  smile  to  see  our 
leading  actors  fretting  themselves  with 
envy  and  jealousy  about  a  trumpery  re 
nown,  questionable  in  its  quality,  and 
uncertain  in  its  duration.  I  laugh,  too, 
though  of  course  in  my  sleeve,  at  the 
bustle  and  importance,  and  trouble  and 
perplexities  of  our  manager,  who  is  ha 
rassing  himself  to  death  in  the  hopeless 
effort  to  please  every  body. 

I  have  found  among  my  fellow-subal 
terns  two  or  three  quondam  managers, 
who  like  myself  have  wielded  the  scep 
tres  of  country  theatres,  and  we  have 
many  a  sly  joke  together  at  the  expense 
of  the  manager  and  the  public.  Some 
times  too,  we  meet,  like  deposed  and  ex 
iled  kings,  talk  over  the  events  of  our 
respective  reigns,  moralize  over  a  tank 
ard  of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the  humbug  of 
the  great  and  little  world  ;  which,  I  take 
it,  is  the  essence  of  practical  philosophy. 


Thus  end  the  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne 
and  his  friends.  It  grieves  me  much  that 
I  could  not  procure  from  him  further  par 
ticulars  of  his  history,  and  especially  of 
that  part  of  it  which  passed  in  town. 
He  had  evidently  seen  much  of  literary 
life ;  and,  as  he  had  never  risen  to  emi 
nence  in  letters,  and  yet  was  free  from 
the  gall  of  disappointment,  I  had  hoped 
to  gain  some  candid  intelligence  con 
cerning  his  contemporaries.  The  tes 
timony  of  such  an  honest  chronicler 
would  have  been  particularly  valuable 
at  the  present  time ;  when,  owing  to  the 
extreme  fecundity  of  the  press,  and  the 
thousand  anecdotes,  criticisms,  and  bio 
graphical  sketches  that  are  daily  poured 
forth  concerning  public  characters,  it  is 
extremely  difficult  to  get  at  any  truth 
concerning  them. 

He  was  always,  however,  excessively 
reserved  and  fastidious  on  this  point,  at 

VOL.  II.  10 


which  I  very  much  wondered,  authors 
in  general  appearing  to  think  each  other 
fair  game,  and  being  ready  to  serve  each 
other  up  for  the  amusement  of  the  public. 

A  few  mornings  after  our  hearing  the 
history  of  the  ex-manager,  I  was  sur 
prised  by  a  visit  from  Buckthorne  before 
I  was  out  of  bed.  He  was  dressed  for 
travelling. 

"  Give  me  joy !  give  me  joy !"  said 
he,  rubbing  his  hands  with  the  utmost 
glee,  «« my  great  expectations  are  real 
ized  !" 

I  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  wonder 
and  inquiry. 

"  My  booby  cousin  is  dead  !"  cried  he ; 
"  may  he  rest  in  peace !  he  nearly  broke 
his  neck  in  a  fall  from  his  horse  in  a 
fox-chase.  By  good  luck,  he  lived  long 
enough  to  make  his  will.  He  has  made 
me  his  heir,  partly  out  of  an  odd  feeling 
of  retributive  justice,  and  partly  because, 
as  he  says,  none  of  his  own  family  or 
friends  know  how  to  enjoy  such  an  es 
tate.  I'm  off  to  the  country  to  take  pos 
session.  I've  done  with  authorship.  That 
for  the  critics !"  said  he,  snapping  his 
fingers.  "  Come  down  to  Doubting  Cas 
tle,  when  I  get  settled,  and,  egad,  I'll  give 
you  a  rouse."  So  saying,  he  shook  me 
heartily  by  the  hand,  and  bounded  off  in 
high  spirits. 

A  long  time  elapsed  before  I  heard 
from  him  again.  Indeed,  it  was  but 
lately  that  I  received  a  letter,  written  in 
the  happiest  of  moods.  He  was  getting 
the  estate  into  fine  order;  every  thing 
went  to  his  wishes,  and,  what  was  more, 
he  was  married  to  Sacharissa,  who  it 
seems  had  always  entertained  an  ardent 
though  secret  attachment  for  him,  which 
he  had  fortunately  discovered  just  after 
coming  to  his  estate. 

"  I  find,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  little 
given  to  the  sin  of  authorship,  which  I 
renounce  :  if  the  anecdotes  I  have  given 
you  of  my  story  are  of  any  interest, 
you  may  make  use  of  them ;  but  come 
down  to  Doubting  Castle,  and  see  how 
we  live,  and  I'll  give  you  my  whole 
London  life  over  a  social  glass ;  and  a 
rattling  history  it  shall  be  about  authors 
and  reviewers." 

If  ever  I  visit  Doubting  Castle  and  get 
the  history  he  promises,  the  public  shall 
be  sure  to  hear  of  it. 


110 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


PART  III. 
THE    ITALIAN    BANDITTI. 

THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA. 

CRACK  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  ! 

"  Here  comes  the  estafette  from  Na 
ples,"  said  mine  host  of  the  inn  at  Ter- 
racina  ;  "  bring  out  the  relay." 

The  estafette  came  galloping  up  the 
road  according  to  custom,  brandishing 
over  his  head  a  short-handled  whip, 
with  a  long,  knotted  lash,  every  smack 
of  which  made  a  report  like  a  pistol. 
He  was  a  tight,  square-set  young  fellow, 
in  the  usual  uniform :  a  smart  blue  coat, 
ornamented  with  facings  and  gold  lace, 
but  so  short  behind  as  to  reach  scarcely 
below  his  waistband,  and  cocked  up  not 
unlike  the  tail  of  a  wren ;  a  cocked  hat, 
edged  with  gold  lace ;  a  pair  of  stiff 
riding  boots  ;  but,  instead  of  the  usual 
leathern  breeches,  he  had  a  fragment  of 
a  pair  of  drawers,  that  scarcely  furnished 
an  apology  for  Modesty  to  hide  behind. 

The  estafette  galloped  up  to  the  door, 
and  jumped  from  his  horse. 

"  A  glass  of  rosolio,  a  fresh  horse,  and 
a  pair  of  breeches,  and  quickly,  per 
ramor  di  Dio.  I  am  behind  my  time, 
and  must  be  off!" 

"  San  Gennaro !"  replied  the  host ; 
"  why,  where  hast  thou  left  thy  gar 
ment?" 

"  Among  the  robbers  between  this  and 
Fondi." 

"  What,  rob  an  estafette !  I  never 
heard  of  such  folly.  What  could  they 
hope  to  get  from  thee  ?" 

"  My  leather  breeches  !"  replied  the 
estafette.  "  They  were  bran  new,  and 
shone  like  gold,  and  hit  the  fancy  of  the 
captain." 

"  Well,  these  fellows  grow  worse  and 
worse.  To  meddle  with  an  estafette  ! 
and  that  merely  for  the  sake  of  a  pair 
of  leather  breeches  !" 

The  robbing  of  a  government  messen 
ger  seemed  to  strike  the  host  with  more 
astonishment  than  any  other  enormity 
that  had  taken  place  on  the  road  ;  and, 


indeed,  it  was  the  first  time  so  wanton 
an  outrage  had  been  committed ;  the 
robbers  generally  taking  care  not  to 
meddle  with  any  thing  belonging  to  go 
vernment. 

The  estafette  was  by  this  time  equip 
ped,  for  he  had  not  lost  an  instant  in 
making  his  preparations  while  talking. 
The  relay  was  ready  ;  the  rosolio  tossed 
off;  he  grasped  the  reins  and  the  stirrup. 

"  Were  there  many  robbers  in  the 
band?"  said  a  handsome,  dark  young 
man,  stepping  forward  from  the  door  of 
the  inn. 

"  As  formidable  a  band  as  ever  I 
saw,"  said  the  estafette,  springing  into 
the  saddle. 

"  Are  they  cruel  to  travellers  ?"  said 
a  beautiful  young  Venitian  lady,  who 
had  been  hanging  on  the  gentleman's 
arm. 

"  Cruel,  signora  !"  echoed  the  estafette, 
giving  a  glance  at  the  lady  as  he  put  spurs 
to  his  horse.  "  Corpo  di  Bacco  !  They 
stiletto  all  the  men ;  and,  as  to  the  wo 
men — "  Crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  ! 
crack ! — The  last  words  were  drowned 
in  the  smacking  of  the  whip,  and  away 
galloped  the  estafette  along  the  road  to 
the  Pontine  marshes. 

"  Holy  Virgin !"  ejaculated  the  fair 
Venitian  ;  "  what  will  become  of  us  !" 

The  inn  of  which  we  are  speaking 
stands  just  outside  of  the  walls  of  Ter- 
racina,  under  a  vast  precipitous  height 
of  rocks,  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  the 
castle  of  Theodoric  the  Goth.  The 
situation  of  Terracina  is  remarkable. 
It  is  a  little,  ancient,  lazy  Italian  town, 
on  the  frontiers  of  the  Roman  territory. 
There  seems  to  be  an  idle  pause  in  every 
thing  about  the  place.  The  Mediterra 
nean  spreads  before  it — that  sea  without 
flux  or  reflux.  The  port  is  without  a 
sail,  excepting  that  once  in  a  while  a 
solitary  felucca  may  be  seen  disgorging 
its  holy  cargo  of  baccala,  the  meagre 
provision  for  the  quaresima  or  Lent. 
The  inhabitants  are  apparently  a  list 
less,  heedless  race,  as  people  of  soft 
sunny  climates  are  apt  to  be  ;  but  under 
this  passive,  indolent  exterior,  are  said 
to  lurk  dangerous  qualities.  They  are 
supposed  by  many  to  be  little  better 
than  the  banditti  of  the  neighbouring 
mountains,  and  indeed  to  hold  a  secret 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Ill 


correspondence  with  them.  The  soli 
tary  watch-towers,  erected  here  and 
there  along  the  coast,  speak  of  pirates 
and  corsairs  that  hover  about  these 
shores  ;  while  the  low  huts,  as  stations 
for  soldiers,  which  dot  the  distant  road, 
as  it  winds  up  through  an  olive  grove, 
intimate  that  in  the  ascent  there  is  dan 
ger  for  the  traveller,  and  facility  for  the 
bandit.  Indeed,  it  is  between  this  town 
and  Fondi  that  the  road  to  Naples  is 
most  infested  by  banditti.  It  has  several 
winding  and  solitary  places,  where  the 
robbers  are  enabled  to  see  the  traveller 
from  a  distance,  from  the  brows  of  hills 
or  impending  precipices,  and  to  lie  in 
wait  for  him  at  lonely  and  difficult  passes. 
The  Italian  robbers  are  a  desperate 
class  of  men  that  have  almost  formed 
themselves  into  an  order  of  society. 
j  They  wear  a  kind  of  uniform,  or  rather 
costume,  which  openly  designates  their 
profession.  This  is  probably  done  to 
diminish  its  skulking,  lawless  character, 
and  to  give  it  something  of  a  military 
air  in  the  eyes  of  the  common  people; 
or,  perhaps,  to  catch  by  outward  show 
and  finery  the  fancies  of  the  young  men 
of  the  villages,  and  thus  to  gain  recruits. 
Their  dresses  are  often  very  rich  and 
picturesque.  They  wear  jackets  and 
breeches  of  bright  colours,  sometimes 
gaily  embroidered ;  their  breasts  are 
covered  with  medals  and  relics ;  their 
hats  are  broad-brimmed,  with  conical 
crowns,  decorated  with  feathers,  or  va 
riously-coloured  ribands ;  their  hair  is 
sometimes  gathered  in  silk  nets ;  they 
wear  a  kind  of  sandal  of  cloth  or 
leather,  bound  round  the  legs  with 
thongs,  and  extremely  flexible,  to  en 
able  them  to  scramble  with  ease  and 
celerity  among  the  mountain  precipices  ; 
a  broad  belt  of  cloth,  or  a  sash  of  silk 
net,  is  stuck  full  of  pistols  and  stilettos ; 
a  carbine  is  slung  at  the  back  ;  while 
about  them  is  generally  thrown,  in  a 
negligent  manner,  a  great  dingy  mantle, 
which  serves  as  a  protection  in  storms, 
or  a  bed  in  their  bivouacs  among  the 
mountains. 

They  range  over  a  great  extent  of 
wild  country,  along  the  chain  of  Apen 
nines,  bordering  on  different  states  ;  they 
know  all  the  difficult  passes,  the  short 
cuts  for  retreat,  and  the  impracticable 


forests  of  the  mountain  summits,  where 
no  force  dare  follow  them.  They  are 
secure  of  the  good-will  of  the  inhabitants 
of  those  regions,  a  poor  and  semi-barba 
rous  race,  whom  they  never  disturb  and 
often  enrich.  Indeed  they  are  considered 
as  a  sort  of  illegitimate  heroes  among  the 
mountain  villages,  and  in  certain  frontier 
towns,  where  they  dispose  of  their  plun 
der.  Thus  countenanced,  and  sheltered, 
and  secure  in  the  fastnesses  of  their 
mountains,  the  robbers  have  set  the  weak 
police  of  the  Italian  states  at  defiance.  It 
is  in  vain  that  their  names  and  descrip 
tions  are  posted  on  the  doors  of  country 
churches,  and  rewards  offered  for  them 
alive  or  dead ;  the  villagers  are  either 
too  much  awed  by  the  terrible  instances 
of  vengeance  inflicted  by  the  brigands, 
or  have  too  good  an  understanding  with 
them  to  be  their  betrayers.  It  is  true 
they  are  now  and  then  hunted  and  shot 
down  like  beasts  of  prey  by  the  gens- 
cFarmes,  their  heads  put  in  iron  cages, 
and  stuck  upon  posts  by  the  roadside,  or 
their  limbs  hung  up  to  blacken  in  the 
trees  near  the  places  where  they  have 
committed  their  atrocities ;  but  these 
ghastly  spectacles  only  serve  to  make 
some  dreary  pass  of  the  road  still  more 
dreary,  and  to  dismay  the  traveller, 
without  deterring  the  bandit. 

At  the  time  that  the  estafette  made  his 
sudden  appearance,  almost  in  cuerpo,  as 
has  been  mentioned,  the  audacity  of  the 
robbers  had  risen  to  an  unparalleled 
height.  They  had  laid  villas  under  con 
tribution,  they  had  sent  messages  into 
country  towns,  to  tradesmen  and  rich 
burghers,  demanding  supplies  of  money, 
of  clothing,  or  even  of  luxuries,  with 
menaces  of  vengeance  in  case  of  refusal. 
They  had  their  spies  and  emissaries  in 
every  town,  village,  and  inn,  along  the 
principal  roads,  to  give  them  notice  of 
the  movements  and  quality  of  travellers. 
They  had  plundered  carriages,  carried 
people  of  rank  and  fortune  into  the 
mountains,  and  obliged  them  to  write 
for  heavy  ransoms,  and  had  committed 
outrages  on  females  who  had  fallen  into 
their  hands. 

Such  was  briefly  the  state  of  the  rob 
bers,  or  rather  such  was  the  amount  of 
the  rumours  prevalent  concerning  them, 
when  the  scene  took  place  at  the  inn  at 


112 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Terracina.  The  dark  handsome  young 
man,  and  the  Venitian  lady,  incidentally 
mentioned,  had  arrived  early  that  after 
noon  in  a  private  carriage  drawn  by 
mules,  and  attended  by  a  single  servant. 
They  had  been  recently  married,  were 
spending  the  honeymoon  in  travelling 
through  these  delicious  countries,  and 
were  on  their  way  to  visit  a  rich  aunt  of 
the  bride  at  Naples. 

The  lady  was  young,  and  tender,  and 
timid.  The  stories  she  had  heard  along 
the  road  had  filled  her  with  apprehen 
sion,  not  more  for  herself  than  for  her 
husband  ;  for  though  she  had  been  mar 
ried  almost  a  month,  she  still  loved  him 
almost  to  idolatry.  When  she  reached 
Terracina,  the  rumours  of  the  road  had 
increased  to  an  alarming  magnitude ;  and 
the  sight  of  two  robbers'  sculls,  grinning 
in  iron  cages,  on  each  side  of  the  old 
gateway  of  the  town,  brought  her  to 
a  pause.  Her  husband  had  tried  in  vain 
to  reassure  her,  they  had  lingered  all  the 
afternoon  at  the  inn,  until  it  was  too  late 
to  think  of  starting  that  evening,  and  the 
parting  words  of  the  estafette  completed 
her  affright. 

"  Let  us  return  to  Rome,"  said  she, 
putting  her  arm  within  her  husband's, 
and  drawing  towards  him  as  if  for  pro 
tection, — "  Let  us  return  to  Rome,  and 
give  up  this  visit  to  Naples." 

"  And  give  up  the  visit  to  your  aunt, 
too  ?"  said  the  husband. 

"  Nay, — what  is  my  aunt  in  compari 
son  with  your  safety  ?"  said  she,  looking 
up  tenderly  in  his  face. 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  and 
manner  that  showed  she  really  was  think 
ing  more  of  her  husband's  safety  at  that 
moment^,  than  of  her  own ;  and  being  so 
recently  married,  and  a  match  of  pure 
affection  too,  it  is  very  possible  that  she 
was  :  at  least  her  husband  thought  so. 
Indeed,  any  one  who  has  heard  the  sweet 
musical  tone  of  a  Venitian  voice,  and  the 
melting  tenderness  of  a  Venitian  phrase, 
and  felt  the  soft  witchery  of  a  Venitian 
eye,  would  not  wonder  at  the  husband's 
believing  whatever  they  professed.  He 
clasped  the  white  hand  that  had  been 
laid  within  his,  put  his  arm  around  her 
slender  waist,  and  drawing  her  fondly  to 
his  bosom,  "  This  night,  at  least,"  said 
he,  "  we  will  pass  at  Terracina." 


Crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack !  crack ! 
Another  apparition  of  the  road  attracted 
the  attention  of  mine  host  and  his  guests. 
From  the  direction  of  the  Pontine  marshes 
a  carriage,  drawn  by  half  a  dozen  horses, 
came  driving  at  a  furious  rate ;  the  pos 
tilions  smacking  their  whips  like  mad, 
as  is  the  case  when  conscious  of  the 
greatness  or  of  the  munificence  of  their 
fare.  It  was  a  landaulet,  with  a  servant 
mounted  on  the  dickey.  The  compact, 
highly-finished,  yet  proudly  simple  con 
struction  of  the  carriage  ;  the  quantity 
of  neat,  well-arranged  trunks  and  conve 
niences  ;  the  loads  of  box-coats  on  the 
dickey ;  the  fresh,  burly,  bluff-looking 
face  of  the  master  at  the  window ;  and 
the  ruddy,  round-headed  servant,  in  close- 
cropped  hair,  short  coat,  drab  breeches, 
and  long  gaiters,  all  proclaimed  at  once 
that  this  was  the  equipage  of  an  Eng 
lishman. 

"  Horses  to  Fondi,"  said  the  English 
man,  as  the  landlord  came  bowing  to  the 
carriage-door. 

"  Would  not  his  Eccellenza  alight  and 
take  some  refreshment?" 

"  No — he  did  not  mean  to  eat  until  he 
got  to  Fondi." 

"  But  the  horses  will  be  some  time  in 
getting  ready." 

"  Ah  !  that's  always  the  way  ;  nothing 
but  delay  in  this  cursed  country." 

"  If  his  Excellenza  would  only  walk 
into  the  house " 

"  No,  no,  no  ! — I  tell  you  no  ! — I  want 
nothing  but  horses,  and  as  quick  as  pos 
sible.  John,  see  that  the  horses  are  got 
ready,  and  don't  let  us  be  kept  here  an 
hour  or  two.  Tell  him  if  we're  delayed 
over  the  time,  I'll  lodge  a  complaint  with 
the  postmaster." 

John  touched  his  hat,  and  set  off  to 
obey  his  master's  orders  with  the  taciturn 
obedience  of  an  English  servant. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Englishman  got 
out  of  the  carriage,  and  walked  up  and 
down  before  the  inn  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  taking  no  notice  of  the  crowd 
of  idlers  who  were  gazing  at  him  and  his 
equipage.  He  was  tall,  stout,  and  well 
made ;  dressed  with  neatness  and  preci 
sion  ;  wore  a  travelling  cap  of  the  colour 
of  gingerbread ;  and  had  rather  an  un 
happy  expression  about  the  corners  of 
his  mouth ;  partly  from  not  having  yet 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


113 


made  his  dinner,  and  partly  from  not 
having  been  able  to  get  on  at  a  greater 
rate  than  seven  miles  an  hour.  Not  that 
he  had  any  other  cause  for  haste  than  an 
Englishman's  usual  hurry  to  get  to  the 
end  of  a  journey ;  or,  to  use  the  regular 
phrase,  "to  get  on."  Perhaps  too  he 
was  a  little  sore  from  having  been  fleeced 
at  every  stage. 

After  some  time,  the  servant  returned 
from  the  stable  with  a  look  of  some 
perplexity. 

"  Are  the  horses  ready,  John  ?" 

"  No,  sir — I  never  saw  such  a  place. 
There's  no  getting  any  thing  done.  I 
think  your  honour  had  better  step  into 
the  house  and  get  something  to  eat ;  it 
will  be  a  long  while  before  we  get  to 
Fundy." 

"  D — n  the  house — it's  a  mere  trick — 
I'll  not  eat  any  thing,  just  to  spite  them," 
said  the  Englishman,  still  more  crusty  at 
the  prospect  of  being  so  long  without  his 
dinner. 

"They  say  your  honour's  very  wrong," 
said  John,  "  to  set  off  at  this  late  hour. 
The  road's  full  of  highwaymen." 

"  Mere  tales  to  get  custom." 

"The  estafette  which  passed  us  was 
stopped  by  a  whole  gang,"  said  John, 
|  increasing  his  emphasis  with  each  addi 
tional  piece  of  information. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  They  robbed  him  of  his  breeches," 
said  John,  giving,  at  the  same  time,  a 
hitch  to  his  own  waistband. 

"  All  humbug !" 

Here  the  dark  handsome  young  man 
stepped  forward,  and  addressing  the  Eng 
lishman  very  politely,  in  broken  English, 
invited  him  to  partake  of  a  repast  he  was 
about  to  make. 

"  Thank'ee,"  said  the  Englishman, 
thrusting  his  hands  deeper  into  his 
pockets,  and  casting  a  slight  side  glance 
of  suspicion  at  the  young  man,  as  if  he 
thought,  from  his  civility,  he  must  have 
a  design  upon  his  purse. 

"  We  shall  be  most  happy,  if  you  will 
do  us  that  favour,"  said  the  lady  in  her 
soft  Venitian  dialect.  There  was  a 
sweetness  in  her  accents  that  was  most 
persuasive.  The  Englishman  cast  a  look 
upon  her  countenance ;  her  beauty  was 
still  more  eloquent.  His  features  in 
stantly  relaxed.  He  made  a  polite  bow. 


1- 


"  With  great  pleasure,  Signora,"  said 
he. 

In  short,  the  eagerness  to  "get  on" 
was  suddenly  slackened  ;  the  determina 
tion  to  famish  himself  as  far  as  Fondi,  by 
way  of  punishing  the  landlord,  was  aban 
doned  ;  John  chose  an  apartment  in  the 
inn  for  his  master's  reception ;  and  pre 
parations  were  made  to  remain  there 
until  morning. 

The  carriage  was  unpacked  of  such  of 
its  contents  as  were  indispensable  for  the 
night.  There  was  the  usual  parade  of 
trunks  and  writing-desks,  and  portfolios, 
and  dressing-boxes,  and  those  other  op 
pressive  conveniences  which  burthen  a 
comfortable  man.  The  observant  loiter 
ers  about  the  inn-door,  wrapped  up  in 
great  dirt-coloured  cloaks,  with  only  a 
hawk's  eye  uncovered,  made  many  re 
marks  to  each  other  on  this  quantity  of 
luggage,  that  seemed  enough  for  an 
army.  The  domestics  of  the  inn  talked 
with  wonder  of  the  splendid  dressing- 
case,  with  its  gold  and  silver  furniture, 
that  was  spread  out  on  the  toilet-table, 
and  the  bag  of  gold  that  chinked  as  it 
was  taken  out  of  the  trunk.  The  strange 
milords  wealth,  and  the  treasures  he  car 
ried  about  him,  were  the  talk,  that  even 
ing,  over  all  Terracina. 

The  Englishman  took  some  time  to 
make  his  ablutions  and  arrange  his  dress 
for  table ;  and,  after  considerable  labour 
and  effort  in  putting  himself  at  his  ease, 
made  his  appearance,  with  stiff  white 
cravat,  his  clothes  free  from  the  least 
speck  of  dust,  and  adjusted  with  preci 
sion.  He  made  a  civil  bow  on  entering, 
in  the  unprofessing  English  way,  which 
the  fair  Venitian,  accustomed  to  the 
complimentary  salutations  of  the  conti 
nent,  considered  extremely  cold. 

The  supper,  as  it  was  termed  by  the 
Italian,  or  dinner,  as  the  Englishman 
called  it,  was  now  served  :  heaven  and 
earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth,  had 
been  moved  to  furnish  it ;  for  there  were 
birds  of  the  air,  and  beasts  of  the  field, 
and  fish  of  the  sea.  The  Englishman's 
servant,  too,  had  turned  the  kitchen 
topsy-turvy  in  his  zeal  to  cook  his  mas 
ter  a  beefsteak ;  and  made  his  appear 
ance,  loaded  with  ketchup,  and  soy,  and 
Cayenne  pepper,  and  Harvey  sauce,  and 
a  bottle  of  port  wine,  from  that  ware- 
10* 


ffifc 


114 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


house  the  carriage,  in  which  his  master 
seemed  desirous  of  carrying  England 
about  the  world  with  him.  Indeed  the 
repast  was  one  of  those  Italian  farragoes 
which  require  a  little  qualifying.  The 
tureen  of  soup  was  a  black  sea,  with 
livers,  and  limbs,  and  fragments  of  all 
kinds  of  birds  and  beasts  floating  like 
wrecks  about  it.  A  meagre  winged  ani 
mal,  which  my  host  called  a  delicate 
chicken,  had  evidently  died  of  a  con 
sumption.  The  macaroni  was  smoked. 
The  beefsteak  was  tough  buffalo's  flesh. 
There  was  what  appeared  to  be  a  dish  of 
stewed  eels,  of  which  the  Englishman 
ate  with  great  relish;  but  had  nearly 
refunded  them  when  told  that  they  were 
vipers,  caught  among  the  rocks  of  Terra- 
cina,  and  esteemed  a  great  delicacy. 

There  is  nothing,  however,  that  con 
quers  a  traveller's  spleen  sooner  than 
eating,  whatever  may  be  the  cookery ; 
and  nothings  brings  him  into  good  hu 
mour  with  his  company  sooner  than  eat 
ing  together ;  the  Englishman,  therefore, 
had  not  half  finished  his  repast  and  his 
bottle,  before  he  began  to  think  the 
Venitian  a  very  tolerable  fellow  for  a 
foreigner,  and  his  wife  almost  handsome 
enough  to  be  an  Englishwoman. 

In  the  course  of  the  repast,  the  usual 
topics  of  travellers  were  discussed,  and 
among  others,  the  reports  of  robbers, 
which  harassed  the  mind  of  the  fair 
Venitian.  The  landlord  and  waiter 
dipped  into  the  conversation  with  that 
familiarity  permitted  on  the  continent, 
and  served  up  so  many  bloody  tales 
as  they  served  up  the  dishes  that  they 
almost  frightened  away  the  poor  lady's 
appetite. 

The  Englishman,  who  had  a  national 
antipathy  to  every  thing  that  is  techni 
cally  called  "  humbug,"  listened  to  them 
all  with  a  certain  screw  of  the  mouth, 
expressive  of  incredulity.  There  was 
the  well-known  story  of  the  school  of 
Terracina,  captured  by  the  robbers  ;  and 
one  of  the  students  coolly  massacred,  in 
order  to  bring  the  parents  to  terms  for 
the  ransom  of  the  rest.  And  another, 
of  a  gentleman  of  Rome,  who  received 
his  son's  ear  in  a  letter,  with  information, 
that  his  son  would  be  remitted  to  him  in 
this  way,  by  instalments,  until  he  paid 
the  required  ransom. 


The  fair  Venitian  shuddered  as  she 
heard  these  tales ;  and  the  landlord,  like 
a  true  narrator  of  the  terrible,  doubled 
the  dose  when  he  saw  how  it  operated. 
He  was  just  proceeding  to  relate  the  mis 
fortunes  of  a  great  English  lord  and  his 
family,  when  the  Englishman,  tired  of 
his  volubility,  interrupted  him,  and  pro 
nounced  these  accounts  to  be  mere  tra 
vellers'  tales,  or  the  exaggerations  of 
ignorant  peasants  and  designing  inn 
keepers.  The  landlord  was  indignant 
at  the  doubt  levelled  at  his  stories,  and 
the  inuendo  levelled  at  his  cloth ;  he 
cited,  in  corroboration,  half  a  dozen  tales 
still  more  terrible. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  them,"  said 
the  Englishman. 

"  But  the  robbers  have  been  tried  and 
executed." 

«  All  a  farce !" 

"  But  their  heads  are  stuck  up  along 
the  road !" 

"  Old  sculls,  accumulated  during  a 
century." 

The  landlord  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
went  out  at  the  door,  "  San  Gennaro ! 
quanto  sono  singolari  questi  Inglesi !" 

A  fresh  hubbub  outside  of  the  inn  an 
nounced  the  arrival  of  more  travellers ; 
and,  from  the  variety  of  voices,  or  rather 
of  clamours,  the  clattering  of  hoofs,  the 
rattling  of  wheels,  and  the  general  uproar 
both  within  and  without,  the  arrival 
seemed  to  be  numerous. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  procaccio  and  its 
convoy ;  a  kind  of  caravan  which  sets 
out  on  certain  days  for  the  transportation 
of  merchandise,  with  an  escort  of  sol 
diery  to  protect  it  from  the  robbers. 
Travellers  avail  themselves  of  its  protec 
tion,  and  a  long  file  of  carriages  generally 
accompany  it. 

A  considerable  time  elapsed  before 
either  landlord  or  waiter  returned  ;  being 
hurried  hither  or  thither  by  that  tempest 
of  noise  and  bustle,  which  takes  place 
in  an  Italian  inn  on  the  arrival  of  any 
considerable  accession  of  custom.  When 
mine  host  re-appeared,  there  was  a  smile 
of  triumph  on  his  countenance. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  as  he  cleared  the 
table,  "  perhaps  the  signor  has  not  heard 
of  what  has  happened  ?" 

"  What  ?"  said  the  Englishman,  drily. 

"  Why,   the   procaccio   has   brought 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


115 


accounts   of  fresh   exploits  of  the  rob 
bers." 

«  Pish !" 

"  There's  more  news  of  the  English 
Milor  and  his  family,"  said  the  host,  ex- 
ultingly.  '_ 

"  An  English  lord  ?  what  English 
lord  ?" 

"  Milor  Popkin." 

"  Lord   Popkins  ? 
such  a  title !" 

"  O  sicuro !  a  great  nobleman,  who 
passed  through  here  lately  with  mi  ladi 
and  her  daughters.  A  magnifico,  one 
of  the  grand  counsellors  of  London,  an 
almanno !" 

"  Almanno almanno? tut — he 

means  alderman." 

"  Sicuro — Aldermanno    Popkin,    and 


I  never  heard   of 


the  Principessa  Popkin,  and  the  Signo- 

i    Pnnlfin  I"    sniH  minfi    host,   triumnh- 

antly 


rine  Popkin  !"  said  mine  host,  triumph- 


He  now  put  himself  into  an  attitude, 
and  would  have  launched  into'  a  full 
detail,  had  he  not  been  thwarted  by  the 
Englishman,  who  seemed  determined 
neither  to  credit  nor  indulge  him  in  his 
stories,  but  drily  motioned  for  him  to 
clear  away  the  table. 

An  Italian  tongue,  however,  is  not 
easily  checked :  that  of  mine  host  con 
tinued  to  wag  with  increasing  volubility, 
as  he  conveyed  the  relics  of  the  repast 
out  of  the  room  ;  and  the  last  that  could 
be  distinguished  of  his  voice,  as  it  died 
away  along  the  corridor,  was  the  itera 
tion  of  the  favourite  word,  Popkin — 
Popkin — Popkin — pop — pop — pop. 

The  arrival  of  the  procaccio  had,  in 
deed,  filled  the  house  with  stories,  as  it 
had  with  guests.  The  Englishman  and 
his  companions  walked  after  supper  up 
and  down  the  large  hall,  or  common 
room  of  the  inn,  which  ran  through  the 
centre  of  the  building.  It  was  spacious 
and  somewhat  dirty,  with  tables  placed 
in  various  parts,  at  which  groups  of  tra 
vellers  were  seated ;  while  others  strolled 
|  about,  waiting,  in  famished  impatience, 
for  their  evening's  meal. 

It  was  a  heterogeneous  assemblage  of 
people  of  all  ranks  and  countries,  who 
had  arrived  in  all  kind  of  vehicles. 
Though  distinct  knots  of  travellers,  yet 
the  travelling  together,  under  one  com 
mon  escort,  had  jumbled  them  into  a 


certain  degree  of  companionship  on  the 
road  :  besides,  on  the  continent  travellers 
are  always  familiar,  and  nothing  is  more 
motley  than  the  groups  which  gather 
casually  together  in  sociable  conversa 
tion  in  the  public  rooms  of  inns. 

The  formidable  number,  and  formida 
ble  guard  of  the  procaccio,  had  prevented 
any  molestation  from  banditti ;  but  every 
party  of  travellers  had  its  tale  of  wonder, 
and  one  carriage  vied  with  another  in 
its  budget  of  assertions  and  surmises. 
Fierce,  whiskered  faces  had  been  seen 
peering  over  the  rocks ;  carbines  and 
stilettos  gleaming  from  among  the 
bushes ;  suspicious-looking  fellows,  with 
flapped  hats  and  scowling  eyes,  had 
occasionally  reconnoitred  a  straggling 
carriage,  but  had  disappeared  on  seeing 
the  guard. 

The  fair  Venitian  listened  to  all  these 
stories  with  that  avidity  with  which  we 
always  pamper  any  feeling  of  alarm ; 
even  the  Englishman  began  to  feel  in 
terested  in  the  common  topic,  and  desi 
rous  of  getting  more  correct  information 
than  mere  flying  reports.  Conquering, 
therefore,  that  shyness  which  is  prone  to 
keep  an  Englishman  solitary  in  crowds, 
he  approached  one  of  the  talking  groups, 
the  oracle  of  which  was  a  tall,  thin 
Italian,  with  long  aquiline  nose,  a  high 
forehead,  and  lively  prominent  eye, 
beaming  from  under  a  green  velvet 
travelling-cap,  with  gold  tassel.  He 
was  of  Rome,  a  surgeon  by  profession, 
a  poet  by  choice,  and  something  of  an 
improvisatore. 

In  the  present  instance,  however,  he 
was  talking  in  plain  prose,  but  holding 
forth  with  the  fluency  of  one  who  talks 
well,  and  likes  to  exert  his  talent.  A 
question  or  two  from  the  Englishman 
drew  copious  replies ;  for  an  Englishman 
sociable  among  strangers  is  regarded  as 
a  phenomenon  on  me  continent,  and 
always  treated  with  attention  for  the 
rarity's  sake.  The  improvisatore  gave 
much  the  same  account  of  the  banditti 
that  I  have  already  furnished. 

"But  why  does  not  the  police  exert 
itself,  and  root  them  out  ?"  demanded  the 
Englishman. 

"  Because  the  police  is  too  weak,  and 
the  banditti  are  too  strong,"  replied  the 
other.  "  To  root  them  out  would  be  a 


116 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


more  difficult  task  than  you  imagine. 
They  are  connected  and  mostly  identified 
with  the  mountain  peasantry  and  the 
people  of  the  villages.  The  numerous 
bands  have  an  understanding  with  each 
other,  and  with  the  country  round.  A 
gendarme  cannot  stir  without  their  being 
aware  of  it.  They  have  their  scouts 
every  where,  who  lurk  about  towns, 
villages,  and  inns,  mingle  in  every 
crowd,  and  pervade  every  place  of 
resort.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
some  one  should  be  supervising  us  at 
this  moment." 

The  fair  Venitian  looked  round 

fearfully,  and  turned  pale. 

Here  the  improvisatore  was  inter 
rupted  by  a  lively  Neapolitan  lawyer. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "I  recollect 
a  little  adventure  of  a  learned  doctor,  a 
friend  of  mine,  which  happened  in  this 
very  neighbourhood ;  not  far  from  the 
ruins  of  Theodoric's  Castle,  which  are 
on  the  top  of  those  great  rocky  heights 
above  the  town." 

A  wish  was,  of  course,  expressed  to 
hear  the  adventure  of  the  doctor  by  all 
excepting  the  improvisatore,  who,  being 
fond  of  talking  and  of  hearing  himself 
talk,  and  accustomed,  moreover,  to  ha 
rangue  without  interruption,  looked  ra 
ther  annoyed  at  being  checked  when  in 
full  career.  The  Neapolitan,  however, 
took  no  notice  of  his  chagrin,  but  related 
the  following  anecdote. 


THE  ADVENTURE 

OF 

THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY. 

MY  friend,  the  doctor,  was  a  thorough 
antiquary ;  a  little  rusty,  musty  old 
fellow,  always  groping  among  ruins. 
He  relished  a  building  as  you  Eng 
lishmen  relish  a  cheese, — the  more 
mouldy  and  crumbling  it  was,  the  more 
it  suited  his  taste.  A  shell  of  an  old 
nameless  temple,  or  the  cracked  walls  of 
a  broken-down  amphitheatre,  would  throw 
him  into  raptures ;  and  he  took  more  de 
light  in  these  crusts  and  cheese-parings 
of  antiquity,  than  in  the  best-conditioned 
modern  palaces. 


He  was  a  curious  collector  of  coins 
also,  and  had  just  gained  an  accession  of 
wealth  that  almost  turned  his  brain. 
He  had  picked  up,  for  instance,  several 
Roman  Consulars,  half  a  Roman  As, 
two  punics,  which  had  doubtless  be 
longed  to  the  soldiers  of  Hannibal, 
having  been  found  on  the  very  spot 
where  they  had  encamped  among  the 
Apennines.  He  had,  moreover,  one 
Samnite,  struck  after  the  Social  War, 
and  a  Philistis,  a  queen  that  never 
existed ;  but  above  all,  he  valued  himself 
upon  a  coin,  indescribable  to  any  but  the 
initiated  in  these  matters,  bearing  a  cross 
on  one  side,  and  a  Pegasus  on  the  other, 
and  which,  by  some  antiquarian  logic, 
the  little  man  adduced  as  an  historical 
document,  illustrating  the  progress  of 
Christianity. 

All  these  precious  coins  he  carried 
about  him  in  a  leathern  purse,  buried 
deep  in  a  pocket  of  his  little  black 
breeches. 

The  last  maggot  he  had  taken  into  his 
brain,  was  to  hunt  after  the  ancient  cities 
of  the  Pelasgi,  which  are  said  to  exist  to 
this  day  among  the  mountains  of  the 
Abruzzi ;  but  about  which  a  singular  de 
gree  of  obscurity  prevails.*  He  had  made 

*  Among  the  many  fond  speculations  of  antiqua 
ries  is  that  of  the  existence  of  traces  of  the  ancient 
Pelasgian  cities  in  the  Apennines;  and  many  a 
wistful  eye  is  cast  by  the  traveller,  versed  in  anti 
quarian  lore,  at  the  richly-wooded  monntains  of 
the  Abruzzi,  as  a  forbidden  fairy  land  of  research. 
These  spots,  so  beautiful  yet  BO  inaccessible,  from 
the  rudeness  of  their  inhabitants  and  the  hordes  of 
banditti  which  infest  them,  are  a  region  of  fable  to 
the  learned.  Sometimes  a  wealthy  virtuoso,  whose 
purse  and  whose  consequence  could  command  a 
military  escort,  has  penetrated  to  some  individual 
point  among  the  mountains;  and  sometimes  a  wan 
dering  artist  or  student,  under  protection  of  poverty 
or  insignificance,  has  brought  away  some  vague 
account,  only  calculated  to  give  a  keener  edge  to 
curiosity  and  conjecture. 

By  those  who  maintain  the  existence  of  the  Pelas 
gian  cities,  it  is  affirmed,  that  the  formation  of  the 
different  kingdoms  in  the  Peloponnesus  gradually 
caused  the  expulsion  of  the  Pelasgi  from  thence : 
but  that  their  great  migration  may  be  dated  from 
the  finishing  the  wall  round  Acropolis,  and  that  at 
this  period  they  came  into  Italy.  To  these,  in  the 
spirit  of  theory,  they  would  ascribe  the  introduc 
tion  of  the  elegant  arts  into  the  country.  It  is  evi 
dent,  however,  that,  as  barbarians  flying  before  the 
first  dawn  of  civilization,  they  could  bring  little 
with  them  superior  to  the  inventions  of  the  abo 
rigines,  and  nothing  that  would  have  survived  to 
the  antiquarian  through  such  a  lapse  of  ages.  It 
would  appear  more  probable,  that  these  cities,  im 
properly  termed  Pelasgian,  were  coeval  with  many 
that  have  been  discovered, — the  romantic  Aricia, 
built  by  Hippolytus  before  the  siege  of  Troy,  and 


K- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


117 


many  discoveries  concerning  them,  and 
had  recorded  a  great  many  valuable 
notes  and  memorandums  on  the  subject, 
in  a  voluminous  book,  which  he  always 
carried  about  with  him ;  either  for  the 
purpose  of  frequent  reference,  or  through 
fear  lest  the  precious  document  should 
fall  into  the  hands  of  brother  antiquaries. 
He  had,  therefore,  a  large  pocket  in  the 
skirt  of  his  coat,  where  he  bore  about 
this  inestimable  tome,  banging  against 
his  rear  as  he  walked. 

Thus  heavily  laden  with  the  spoils  of 
antiquity,  the  good  little  man,  during  a 
sojourn  at  Terracina,  mounted  one  day 
the  rocky  cliffs  which  overhang  the  town, 
to  visit  the  castle  of  Theodoric.  He  was 
groping  about  the  ruins  towards  the  hour 
of  sunset,  buried  in  his  reflections,  his 
wits  no  doubt  wool-gathering  among  the 
Goths  and  Romans,  when  he  heard  foot 
steps  behind  him. 

He  turned,  and  beheld  five  or  six  young 
fellows,  of  rough,  saucy  demeanour,  clad 
in  a  singular  manner,  half  peasant,  half 
huntsman,  with  carbines  in  their  hands. 
Their  whole  appearance  and  carriage 
left  him  no  doubt  into  what  company  he 
had  fallen. 

The  doctor  was  a  feeble  little  man, 
poor  in  look,  and  poorer  in  purse,  he  had 
but  little  gold  or  silver  to  be  robbed  of; 
but  then  he  had  his  curious  ancient  coin 
in  his  breeches-pocket.  He  had,  more 
over,  certain  other  valuables,  such  as  an 
old  silver  watch,  thick  as  a  turnip,  with 
figures  on  it  large  enough  for  a  clock  ; 
and  a  set  of  seals  at  the  end  of  a  steel 
chain,  that  dangled  half  way  down  to  his 
knees.  All  these  were  of  precious  esteem, 
being  family  relics.  He  had  also  a  seal- 
ring,  a  veritable  antique  intaglio,  that 
covered  half  his  knuckles.  It  was  a 
Venus,  which  the  old  man  almost  wor 
shipped  with  the  zeal  of  a  voluptuary. 
But  what  he  most  valued  was  his  inesti- 

the  poetic  Tibur,  ^Esculate  and  Procnes,  built  by 
Telcgonus  after  the  dispersion  of  the  Greeks. 
These,  lying  contiguous  to  inhabited  and  cultivated 
spots,  have  been  discovered.  There  are  others, 
too,  on  the  ruins  of  which  the  later  and  more 
civilized  Grecian  colonists  have  engrafted  them 
selves,  and  which  have  become  known  by  their 
merits  or  their  medals.  But  that  there  are  many 
still  undiscovered,  imbedded  in  the  Abruzzi,  it  is 
the  delight  of  the  antiquarians  to  fancy.  Strange 
that  such  a  virgin  soil  lor  research,  such  an  un 
known  realm  of  knowledge,  should  at  this  day 
remain  in  the  very  centre  of  hackneyed  Italy ! 


mable  collection  of  hints  relative  to  the 
Pelasgian  cities,  which  he  would  gladly 
have  given  all  the  money  in  his  pocket 
to  have  had  safe  at  the  bottom  of  his 
trunk  in  Terracina. 

However,  he  plucked  up  a  stout  heart, 
at  least  as  stout  a  heart  as  he  could,  see 
ing  that  he  was  but  a  puny  little  man  at 
the  best  of  times.  So  he  wished  the 
hunters  a  "  buon  giorno."  They  re 
turned  his  salutation,  giving  the  old  gen 
tleman  a  sociable  slap  on  the  back  that 
made  his  heart  leap  into  his  throat. 

They  fell  into  conversation,  and  walked 
for  some  time  together  among  the  heights, 
the  doctor  wishing  them  all  the  while  at 
the  bottom  of  the  crater  of  Vesuvius. 
At  length  they  came  to  a  small  osteria 
on  the  mountain,  where  they  proposed  to 
enter  and  have  a  cup  of  wine  together : 
the  doctor  consented,  though  he  would 
as  soon  have  been  invited  to  drink  hem 
lock. 

One  of  the  gang  remained  sentinel  at 
the  door ;  the  others  swaggered  into  the 
house,  stood  their  guns  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  and  each  drawing  a  pistol  or 
stiletto  out  of  his  belt,  laid  it  upon  the 
table.  They  now  drew  benches  round 
the  board,  called  lustily  for  wine,  and, 
hailing  the  doctor  as  though  he  had 
been  a  boon  companion  of  long  standing, 
insisted  upon  his  sitting  down  and  making 
merry. 

The  worthy  man  complied  with  forced 
grimace,  but  with  fear  and  trembling ; 
sitting  uneasily  on  the  edge  of  his  chair ; 
eyeing  ruefully  the  black-muzzled  pistols, 
and  cold,  naked  stilettos ;  and  supping 
down  heartburn  with  every  drop  of  liquor. 
His  new  comrades,  however,  pushed  the 
bottle  bravely,  and  plied  him  vigorously. 
They  sang,  they  laughed ;  told  excellent 
stories  of  their  robberies  and  combats, 
mingled  with  many  ruffian  jokes ;  and  the 
little  doctor  was  fain  to  laugh  at  their 
cut-throat  pleasantries,  though  his  heart 
was  dying  away  at  the  very  bottom  of 
his  bosom. 

By  their  own  account,  they  were  young 
men  from  the  villages,  who  had  recently 
taken  up  this  line  of  life  out  of  the  wild 
caprice  of  youth.  They  talked  of  their 
murderous  exploits  as  a  sportsman  talks 
of  his  amusements :  to  shoot  down  a  tra 
veller  seemed  of  little  more  consequence 


118 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


to  them  than  to  shoot  a  hare.  They 
spoke  with  rapture  of  the  glorious  roving 
life  they  led,  free  as  birds  ;  here  to-day, 
gone  to-morrow ;  ranging  the  forests, 
climbing  the  rocks,  scouring  the  valleys  ; 
the  world  their  own  wherever  they  could 
lay  hold  of  it ;  full  purses — merry  com 
panions — pretty  women.  The  little  an 
tiquary  got  fuddled  with  their  talk  and 
their  wine,  for  they  did  not  spare  bumpers. 
He  half  forgot  his  fears,  his  seal-ring, 
and  his  family-watch ;  even  the  treatise 
on  the  Pelasgian  cities,  which  was  warm 
ing  under  him,  for  a  time  faded  from  his 
memory  in  the  glowing  picture  that  they 
drew.  He  declares  that  he  no  longer 
wonders  at  the  prevalence  of  this  robber 
mania  among  the  mountains;  for  he  felt 
at  the  time,  that,  had  he  been  a  young 
man,  and  a  strong  man,  and  had  there 


been  no  danger  of  the  galleys  in  the  back- 
should  have  been  half  tempted 
himself  to  turn  bandit. 


ground,  he  si 


At  length  the  hour  of  separating  ar 
rived.  The  doctor  was  suddenly  called 
to  himself  and  his  fears  by  seeing  the 
robbers  resume  their  weapons.  He  now 
quaked  for  his  valuables,  and,  above  all, 
for  his  antiquarian  treatise.  He  endea 
voured,  however,  to  look  cool  and  uncon 
cerned  ;  and  drew  from  out  his  deep 
pocket  a  long,  lank,  leathern  purse,  far 
gone  in  consumption,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  a  few  coin  chinked  with  the  trem 
bling  of  his  hand. 

The  chief  of  the  party  observed  his 
movement,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
antiquary's  shoulder,  "  Harkee !  Signer 
Dottore !"  said  he,  "  we  have  drunk  to 
gether  as  friends  and  comrades  ;  let  us 
part  as  such.  We  understand  you.  We 
know  who  and  what  you  are,  for  we 
know  who  every  body  is  that  sleeps  at 
Terracina,  or  that  puts  foot  upon  the 
road.  You  are  a  rich  man,  but  you 
carry  all  your  wealth  in  your  head  :  we 
cannot  get  at  it,  and  we  should  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it  if  we  could.  I  see  you 
are  uneasy  about  your  ring ;  but  don't  | 
worry  yourself,  it  is  not  worth  taking;  ! 
you  think  it  an  antique,  but  it's  a  coun-  ' 
terfeit — a  mere  sham." 

Here  the  ire  of  the  antiquary  arose :  ; 
the  doctor  forgot  himself  in  his  zeal  for  j 
the  character  of  his  ring.  Heaven  and  I 
earth !  his  Venus  a  sham !  Had  they  I 


pronounced  the  wife  of  his  bosom  "  no 
better  than  she  should  be,"  he  could  not 
have  been  more  indignant.  He  fired  up 
in  vindication  of  his  intaglio. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  continued  the  robber, 
"  we  have  no  time  to  dispute  about  it ; 
value  it  as  you  please.  Come,  you're  a 
brave  little  old  signor — one  more  cup  of 
wine  and  we'll  pay  the  reckoning.  No 
compliments — You  shall  not  pay  a  grain 
— You  are  our  guest — I  insist  upon  it. 
So — now  make  the  best  of  your  way 
back  to  Terracina ;  it's  growing  late. 
Buon  viaggio !  And  harkee !  take  care 
how  you  wander  among  these  mountains, 
— you  may  not  always  fall  into  such  good 
company." 

They  shouldered  their  guns  ;  sprang 
gaily  up  the  rocks ;  and  the  little  doctor 
hobbled  back  to  Terracina,  rejoicing 
that  the  robbers  had  left  his  watch,  his 
coins,  and  his  treatise,  unmolested ;  but 
still  indignant  that  they  should  have  pro 
nounced  his  Venus  an  impostor. 

The  improvisatore  had  shown  many 
symptoms  of  impatience  during  this  re 
cital.  He  saw  his  theme  in  danger  of 
being  taken  out  of  his  hands,  which,  to 
an  able  talker,  is  always  a  grievance,  but 
to  an  improvisatore  is  an  absolute  ca 
lamity  :  and  then  for  it  to  be  taken  away 
by  a  Neapolitan,  was  still  more  vexatious; 
the  inhabitants  of  the  different  Italian 
states  having  an  implacable  jealousy  of 
each  other  in  all  things,  great  and  small. 
He  took  advantage  of  the  first  pause  of 
the  Neapolitan  to  catch  hold  again  of  the 
thread  of  the  conversation. 

"  As  I  observed  before,"  said  he,  "  the 
prowlings  of  the  banditti  are  so  extensive, 
they  are  so  much  in  league  with  one 
another,  and  so  interwoven  with  various 
ranks  of  society — " 

"For  that  matter,"  said  the  Neapolitan, 
"  I  have  heard  that  your  government  has 
had  some  understanding  with  those  gen 
try  ;  or,  at  least,  has  winked  at  their  mis 
deeds." 

"  My  government !"  said  the  Roman, 
impatiently. 

"  Ay,  they  say  that  Cardinal  Gon- 
salvi— " 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  Roman,  holding  up 
his  finger,  and  rolling  his  large  eyes 
about  the  room. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


119 


"  Nay  I  only  repeat  what  I  heard 
commonly  rumoured  in  Rome,"  replied 
the  Neapolitan,  sturdily.  "  It  was  openly 
said,  that  the  cardinal  had  been  up  to  the 
mountains,  and  had  an  interview  with 
some  of  the  chiefs.  And  I  have  been 
told,  moreover,  that  while  honest  people 
have  been  kicking  their  heels  in  the 
cardinal's  antechamber,  waiting  by  the 
hour  for  admittance,  one  of  these  stiletto- 
looking  fellows  has  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  entered  without 
ceremony  into  the  cardinal's  presence." 

"  I  know,"  observed  the  improvisatore, 
"  that  there  have  been  such  reports,  and 
k  is  not  impossible  that  government  may 
have  made  use  of  these  men  at  particular 
periods  ;  such  as  at  the  time  of  your  late 
abortive  revolution,  when  your  carbonari 
were  so  busy  with  their  machinations  all 
over  the  country.  The  information  which 
such  men  could  collect  who  were  fami 
liar,  not  merely  with  the  recesses  and 
secret  places  of  the  mountains,  but  also 
with  the  dark  and  dangerous  recesses 
of  society;  who  knew  every  suspicious 
character,  and  all  his  movements  and  all 
his  lurkings  ;  in  a  word,  who  knew  all 
that  was  plotting  in  the  world  of  mischief; 
— the  utility  of  such  men  as  instruments 
in  the  hands  of  government  was  too  ob 
vious  to  be  overlooked ;  and  Cardinal 
Gonsalvi,  as  a  politic  statesman,  may, 
perhaps,  have  made  use  of  them.  Be 
sides,  he  knew  that,  with  all  their  atroci 
ties,  the  robbers  were  always  respectful 
towards  the  church,  and  devout  in  their 
religion." 

"  Religion !  religion  !"  echoed  the  Eng 
lishman. 

"  Yes,  religion,"  repeated  the  Roman. 
"  They  have  each  their  patron  saint. 
They  will  cross  themselves  and  say  their 
prayers,  whenever,  in  their  mountain 
haunts,  they  hear  the  matin  or  the  ave- 
maria  bells  sounding  from  the  valleys  : 
and  will  often  descend  from  their  retreats, 
and  run  imminent  risks  to  visit  some  fa 
vourite  shrine.  I  recollect  an  instance 
in  point. 

"  I  was  one  evening  in  the  village  of 
Frascati,  which  stands  on  the  beautiful 
brow  of  a  hill  rising  from  the  Campagna, 
just  below  the  Abruzzi  mountains.  The 
people,  as  is  usual  in  fine  evenings  in  our 
Italian  towns  and  villages,  were  recreating 


t 


themselves  in  the  open  air,  and  chatting 
in  groups  in  the  public  square.  While  I 
was  conversing  with  a  knot  of  friends,  I 
noticed  a  tall  fellow,  wrapped  in  a  great 
mantle,  passing  across  the  square,  but 
skulking  along  in  the  dusk,  as  if  anxious 
to  avoid  observation.  The  people  drew 
back  as  he  passed.  It  was  whispered  to 
me  that  he  was  a  notorious  bandit." 

"  But  why  was  he  not  immediately 
seized  ?"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  Because  it  was  nobody's  business ; 
because  nobody  wished  to  incur  the  ven 
geance  of  his  comrades  ;  because  there 
were  not  sufficient  gendarmes  near  to  in 
sure  security  against  the  number  of  des 
peradoes  he  might  have  at  hand  ;  because 
the  gendarmes  might  not  have  received 
particular  instructions  with  respect  to 
him,  and  might  not  feel  disposed  to  en 
gage  in  a  hazardous  conflict  without 
compulsion.  In  short,  I  might  give  you 
a  thousand  reasons  rising  out  of  the  state 
of  our  government  and  manners,  not  one 
of  which  after  all  might  appear  satisfac 
tory." 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  with  an  air  of  contempt. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  added  the  Roman, 
rather  quickly,  "  that  even  in  your  me 
tropolis  of  London,  notorious  thieves, 
well  known  to  the  police  as  such,  walk 
the  streets  at  noonday  in  search  of  their 
prey,  and  are  not  molested,  unless  caught 
in  the  very  act  of  robbery." 

The  Englishman  gave  another  shrug, 
but  with  a  different  expression. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  fixed  my  eye  on  this 
daring  wolf,  thus  prowling  through  the 
fold,  and  saw  him  enter  a  church.  I 
was  curious  to  witness  his  devotion.  You 
know  our  spacious  magnificent  churches. 
The  one  in  which  he  entered  was  vast, 
and  shrouded  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 
At  the  extremity  of  the  long  aisles  a 
couple  of  tapers  feebly  glimmered  on  the 
grand  altar.  In  one  of  the  side  chapels 
was  a  votive  candle  placed  before  the 
image  of  a  saint.  Before  this  image  the 
robber  had  prostrated  himself.  His  man 
tle  partly  falling  off  from  his  shoulders 
as  he  knelt,  revealed  a  form  of  Hercu 
lean  strength  ;  a  stiletto  and  pistol  glit 
tered  in  his  belt ;  and  the  light  falling 
on  his  countenance,  showed  features  not 
unhandsome,  but  strongly  and  fiercely 


120 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


characterized.  As  he  prayed,  he  became 
vehemently  agitated  ;  his  lips  quivered  ; 
sighs  and  murmurs,  almost  groans,  burst 
from  him ;  he  beat  his  breast  with  vio 
lence  ;  then  clasped  his  hands  and  wrung 
them  convulsively,  as  he  extended  them 
towards  the  image.  Never  had  I  seen 
such  a  terrific  picture  of  remorse.  I  felt 
fearful  of  being  discovered  watching  him, 
and  withdrew.  Shortly  afterwards  I  saw 
him  issue  from  the  church  wrapped  in 
his  mantle.  He  re-crossed  the  square, 
and  no  doubt  returned  to  the  mountains 
with  a  disburdened  conscience,  ready  to 
incur  a  fresh  arrear  of  crime." 

Here  the  Neapolitan  was  about  to  get 
hold  of  the  conversation,  and  had  just 
preluded  with  the  ominous  remark, 
"  That  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  circum 
stance,"  when  the  improvisatore,  too 
adroit  to  suffer  himself  to  be  again  super 
seded,  went  on,  pretending  not  to  hear 
the  interruption. 

"  Among  the  many  circumstances  con 
nected  with  the  banditti,  which  serve  to 
render  the  traveller  uneasy  and  insecure, 
is  the  understanding  which  they  some 
times  have  with  innkeepers.  Many  an 
isolated  inn  among  the  lonely  parts  of 
the  Roman  territories,  and  especially 
about  the  mountains,  are  of  a  dangerous 
and  perfidious  character.  They  are  places 
where  the  banditti  gather  information, 
and  where  the  unwary  traveller,  remote 
from  hearing  or  assistance,  is  betrayed 
to  the  midnight  dagger.  The  robberies 
committed  at  such  inns  are  often  ac 
companied  by  the  most  atrocious  mur 
ders  ;  for  it  is  only  by  the  complete 
extermination  of  their  victims  that  the 
assassins  can  escape  detection.  I  recol 
lect  an  adventure,"  added  he,  "  which 
occurred  at  one  of  these  solitary  moun 
tain  inns,  which,  as  you  all  seem  in  a 
mood  for  robber  anecdotes,  may  not  be 
uninteresting." 

Having  secured  the  attention  and  awa 
kened  the  curiosity  of  the  bystanders, 
he  paused  for  a  moment,  rolled  up  his 
large  eyes  as  improvisatori  are  apt  to  do 
when  they  would  recollect  an  impromptu, 
and  then  related  with  great  dramatic 
effect  the  following  story,  which  had, 
doubtless,  been  well  prepared  and  digest 
ed  beforehand. 


THE  BELATED  TRAVELLERS. 

IT  was  late  one  evening  that  a  car 
riage,  drawn  by  mules,  slowly  toiled  its 
way  up  one  of  the  passes  of  the  Apen 
nines.  It  was  through  one  of  the  wildest 
defiles,  where  a  hamlet  occurred  only  at 
distant  intervals,  perched  on  the  summit 
of  some  rocky  height,  or  the  white  towers 
of  a  convent  peeped  out  from  among  the 
thick  mountain  foliage.  The  carriage 
was  of  ancient  and  ponderous  construc 
tion.  Its  faded  embellishments  spoke  of 
former  splendour,  but  its  crazy  springs 
and  axletrees  creaked  out  the  tale  of 
present  decline.  Within  was  seated  a 
tall,  thin  old  gentleman,  in  a  kind  of 
military  travelling  dress,  and  a  foraging 
cap  trimmed  with  fur,  though  the  gray 
locks  which  stole  from  under  it  hinted 
that  his  fighting  days  were  over.  Beside 
him  was  a  pale  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen, 
dressed  in  something  of  a  northern  or 
Polish  costume.  One  servant  was  seated 
in  front,  a  rusty,  crusty-looking  fellow, 
with  a  scar  across  his  face,  an  orange- 
tawny  schnur-bart,  or  pair  of  mustachios, 
bristling  from  under  his  nose,  and  alto 
gether  the  air  of  an  old  soldier. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  equipage  of  a  Po 
lish  nobleman ;  a  wreck  of  one  of  those 
princely  families  which  had  lived  with 
almost  oriental  magnificence,  but  had 
been  broken  down  and  impoverished  by 
the  disasters  of  Poland.  The  count,  like 
many  other  generous  spirits,  had  been 
found  guilty  of  the  crime  of  patriotism, 
and  was,  in  a  manner,  an  exile  from  his 
country.  He  had  resided  for  some  time 
in  the  first  cities  of  Italy,  for  the  educa 
tion  of  his  daughter,  in  whom  all  his 
cares  and  pleasures  were  now  centred. 
He  had  taken  her  into  society,  where 
her  beauty  and  her  accomplishments  had 
gained  her  many  admirers ;  and  had  she 
not  been  the  daughter  of  a  poor  broken- 
down  Polish  nobleman,  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  many  would  have  con 
tended  for  her  hand.  Suddenly,  how 
ever,  her  health  had  become  delicate  arid 
drooping ;  her  gayety  fled  with  the  roses 
of  her  cheek,  and  she  sunk  into  silence 
and  debility.  The  old  count  saw  the 
change  with  the  solicitude  of  a  parent. 
"  We  must  try  a  change  of  air  and 
scene,"  said  he;  and  in  a  few  days  the 


•13 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


121 


old  family  carriage  was  rumbling  among 
the  Apennines. 

Their  only  attendant  was  the  veteran 
Caspar,  who  had  been  born  in  the  family, 
and  grown  rusty  in  its  service.  He  had 
followed  his  master  in  all  his  fortunes ; 
had  fought  by  his  side ;  had  stood  over 
him  when  fallen  in  battle;  and  had 
received,  in  his  defence,  the  sabre-cut 
which  had  added  such  grimness  to  his 
countenance.  He  was  now  his  valet, 
his  steward,  his  butler,  his  factotum. 
The  only  being  that  rivalled  his  master 
in  his  affections  was  his  youthful  mis 
tress.  She  had  grown  up  under  his  eye, 
he  had  led  her  by  the  hand  when  she 
was  a  child,  and  he  now  looked  upon  her 
with  the  fondness  of  a  parent.  Nay,  he 
even  took  the  freedom  of  a  parent  in 
giving  his  blunt  opinion  on  all  matters 
which  he  thought  were  for  her  good ; 
and  felt  a  parent's  vanity  in  seeing  her 
gazed  at  and  admired. 

The  evening  was  thickening ;  they  had 
been  for  some  time  passing  through  nar 
row  gorges  of  the  mountains,  along  the 
edge  of  a  tumbling  stream.  The  scenery 
was  lonely  and  savage.  The  rocks  often 
beetled  over  the  road,  with  flocks  of  white 
goats  browsing  on  their  brinks,  and 
gazing  down  upon  the  travellers.  They 
had  between  two  and  three  leagues  yet 
to  go  before  they  could  reach  any  vil- 
j  lage ;  yet  the  muleteer,  Pietro,  a  tippling 
I  old  fellow,  who  had  refreshed  himself  at 
the  last  halting-place  with  a  more  than 
|  ordinary  quantity  of  wine,  sat  singing 
and  talking  alternately  to  his  mules,  and 
suffering  them  to  lag  on  at  a  snail's  pace, 
in  spite  of  the  frequent  entreaties  of  the 
count,  and  maledictions  of  Caspar. 

The  clouds  began  to  roll  in  heavy 
masses  among  the  mountains,  shrouding 
their  summits  from  the  view.  The  air 
of  these  heights,  too,  was  damp  and 
chilly.  The  count's  solicitude  on  his 
daughter's  account  overcame  his  usual 
patience.  He  leaned  from  the  carriage, 
and  called  to  old  Pietro  in  an  angry 
tone. 

"  Forward !"  said  he.  "  It  will  be 
midnight  before  we  arrive  at  our  inn." 

"  Yonder  it  is,  signore,"  said  the  mule 
teer. 

"  Where  ?"  demanded  the  count. 

"  Yonder,"  said  Pietro,  pointing  to  a 
VOL.  ii.  11 


desolate  pile  of  building  about  a  quarter 
of  a  league  distant. 

"  That  the  place  ? — why,  it  looks  more 
like  a  ruin  than  an  inn.  I  thought  we 
were  to  put  up  for  the  night  at  a  com 
fortable  village." 

Here  Pietro  uttered  a  string  of  piteous 
exclamations  and  ejaculations,  such  as 
are  ever  at  the  tip  of  the  tongue  of  a  de 
linquent  muleteer.  "  Such  roads  !  and 
such  mountains !  and  then  his  poor  ani 
mals  were  wayworn,  and  leg-weary ; 
they  would  fall  lame  ;  they  would  never 
be  able  to  reach  the  village.  And  then 
what  could  his  Eccellenza  wish  for  better 
than  the  inn ;  a  perfect  castello — a  pa- 
lazza — and  such  people ! — and  such  a 
larder  ! — and  such  beds  ! — His  Eccellen 
za  might  fare  as  sumptuously,  and  sleep 
as  soundly  there  as  a  prince !" 

The  count  was  easily  persuaded,  for 
he  was  anxious  to  get  his  daughter  out 
of  the  night  air ;  so  in  a  little  while  the 
old  carnage  rattled  and  jingled  into  the 
great  gateway  of  the  inn. 

The  building  did  certainly  in  some 
measure  answer  to  the  muleteer's  de 
scription.  It  was  large  enough  for  either 
castle  or  palace ;  built  in  a  strong,  but 
simple  and  almost  rude  style;  with  a 
great  quantity  of  waste  room.  It  had,  in 
fact,  been,  in  former  times,  a  hunting- 
seat  of  one  of  the  Italian  princes.  There 
was  space  enough  within  its  walls  and 
in  its  out-buildings  to  have  accommo 
dated  a  little  army.  A  scanty  house 
hold  seemed  now  to  people  this  dreary 
mansion.  The  faces  that  presented  them 
selves  on  the  arrival  of  the  travellers 
were  begrimed  with  dirt,  and  scowling 
in  their  expression.  They  all  knew  old 
Pietro,  however,  and  gave  him  a  wel 
come  as  he  entered,  singing  and  talking, 
and  almost  whooping,  into  the  gate 
way. 

The  hostess  of  the  inn  waited  herself 
on  the  count  and  his  daughter,  to  show 
them  the  apartments.  They  were  con 
ducted  through  a  long  gloomy  corridor, 
and  then  through  a  suite  of  chambers 
opening  into  each  other,  with  lofty  ceil 
ings,  and  great  beams  extending  across 
them.  Every  thing,  however,  had  a 
wretched  squalid  look.  The  walls  were 
damp  and  bare,  excepting  that  here  and 
there  hung  some  great  painting,  large 


122 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


enough  for  a  chapel,  and  blackened  out 
of  all  distinctness. 

They  chose  two  bed-rooms,  one  within 
another  ;  the  inner  one  for  the  daughter. 
The  bedsteads  were  massive  and  mis 
shapen  ;  but  on  examining  the  beds  so 
vaunted  by  old  Pietro,  they  found  them 
stuffed  with  fibres  of  hemp  knotted  in 
great  lumps.  The  count  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  but  there  was  no  choice  left. 

The  chilliness  of  the  apartments  crept 
to  their  bones ;  and  they  were  glad  to 
return  to  a  common  chamber  or  kind  of 
hall,  where  there  was  a  fire  burning  in  a 
huge  cavern,  miscalled  a  chimney.  A 
quantity  of  green  wood  had  just  been 
thrown  on,  which  puffed  out  volumes  of 
smoke.  The  room  corresponded  to  the 
rest  of  the  mansion.  The  floor  was 
paved  and  dirty.  A  great  oaken  table 
stood  in  the  centre,  immovable  from  its 
size  and  weight. 

The  only  thing  that  contradicted  this 
prevalent  air  of  indigence  was  the  dress 
of  the  hostess.  She  was  a  slattern  of 
course ;  yet  her  garments,  though  dirty 
and  negligent,  were  of  costly  materials. 
She  wore  several  rings  of  great  value  on 
her  fingers,  and  jewels  in  her  ears,  and 
round  her  neck  was  a  string  of  large 
pearls,  to  which  was  attached  a  sparkling 
crucifix.  She  had  the  remains  of  beauty; 
yet  there  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  her  countenance  that  inspired  the 
young  lady  with  singular  aversion.  She 
was  officious  and  obsequious  in  her  atten 
tions  ;  and  both  the  count  and  his  daugh 
ter  felt  relieved,  when  she  consigned  them 
to  the  care  of  a  dark,  sullen-looking  ser 
vant-maid,  and  went  off  to  superintend 
the  supper. 

Caspar  was  indignant  at  the  muleteer 
for  having  either  through  negligence  or 
design,  subjected  his  master  and  mistress 
to  such  quarters  ;  and  vowed  by  his  mus- 
tachios  to  have  revenge  on  the  old  varlet 
the  moment  they  were  safe  out  from 
among  the  mountains.  He  kept  up  a 
continual  quarrel  with  the  sulky  servant- 
maid,  which  only  served  to  increase  the 
sinister  expression  with  which  she  re 
garded  the  travellers,  from  under  her 
strong  dark  eyebrows. 

As  to  the  count,  he  was  a  good-hu 
moured  passive  traveller.  Perhaps  real 
misfortune  had  subdued  his  spirit,  and 


rendered  him  tolerant  of  many  of  those 
petty  evils  which  make  prosperous  men 
miserable.  He  drew  a  large,  broken  arm 
chair  to  the  fireside  for  his  daughter,  and 
another  for  himself,  and  seizing  an  enor 
mous  pair  of  tongs,  endeavoured  to  re 
arrange  the  wood  so  as  to  produce  a 
blaze.  His  efforts,  however,  were  only 
repaid  by  thicker  puffs  of  smoke,  which 
almost  overcame  the  good  gentleman's 
patience.  He  would  draw  back,  cast  a 
look  upon  his  delicate  daughter,  then 
upon  the  cheerless,  squalid  apartment, 
and  shrugging  his  shoulders,  would  give 
a  fresh  stir  to  the  fire. 

Of  all  the  miseries  of  a  comfortless 
inn,  however,  there  is  none  greater  than 
sulky  attendance :  the  good  count  for 
some  time  bore  the  smoke  in  silence, 
rather  than  address  himself  to  the  scowl 
ing  servant-maid.  At  length  he  was 
compelled  to  beg  for  drier  firewood.  The 
woman  retired  muttering.  On  re-enter 
ing  the  room  hastily,  with  an  armful  of 
fagots,  her  foot  slipped ;  she  fell,  and 
striking  her  head  against  the  corner  of  a 
chair,  cut  her  temple  severely.  The  blow 
stunned  her  for  a  time,  and  the  wound 
bled  profusely.  When  she  recovered, 
she  found  the  count's  daughter  adminis 
tering  to  her  wound,  and  binding  it  up 
with  her  own  handkerchief.  It  was  such 
an  attention  as  any  woman  of  ordinary 
feeling  would  have  yielded  ;  but  perhaps 
there  was  something  in  the  appearance 
of  the  lovely  being  who  bent  over  her,  or 
in  the  tones  of  her  voice,  that  touched 
the  heart  of  the  woman,  unused  to  be 
ministered  to  by  such  hands.  Certain  it 
is,  she  was  strongly  affected.  She  caught 
the  delicate  hand  of  the  Polonaise,  and 

;  pressed  it  fervently  to  her  lips : 

"  May  San  Francesco  watch  over  you, 

!  signora  !"  exclaimed  she. 

A  new  arrival  broke  the  stillness  of 

;  the  inn.     It  was  a  Spanish  princess  with 

j  a  numerous  retinue.  The  court-yard  was 
in  an  uproar;  the  house  in  a  bustle.  The 

I  landlady  hurried  to  attend  such  distin 
guished  guests ;  and  the  poor  count  and 

I  his  daughter,  and  their  supper,  were  for 
the  moment  forgotten.  The  veteran  Cas 
par  muttered  Polish  maledictions  enough 
to  agonize  an  Italian  ear ;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  convince  the  hostess  of 

;  the  superiority  of   his   old  master    and 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


123 


young  mistress  to  the  whole  nobility  of 
Spain. 

The  noise  of  the  arrival  had  attracted 
the  daughter  to  the  window  just  as  the 
new-comers  had  alighted.  A  young  ca 
valier  sprang  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
handed  out  the  princess.  The  latter  was 
a  little  shrivelled  old  lady,  with  a  face  of 
parchment,  and  a  sparkling  black  eye  ; 
she  was  richly  and  gaily  dressed,  and 
walked  with  the  assistance  of  a  gold- 
headed  cane  as  high  as  herself.  The 
young  man  was  tall  and  elegantly  form 
ed.  The  count's  daughter  shrunk  back 
at  sight  of  him,  though  the  deep  frame  of 
the  window  screened  her  from  observa 
tion.  She  gave  a  heavy  sigh  as  she 
closed  the  casement.  What  that  sigh 
meant  I  cannot  say.  Perhaps  it  was  at 
the  contrast  between  the  splendid  equip 
age  of  the  princess,  and  the  crazy,  rheu 
matic-looking  old  vehicle  of  her  father, 
which  stood  hard  by.  Whatever  might 
be  the  reason,  the  young  lady  closed  the 
casement  with  a  sigh.  She  returned  to 
her  chair, — a  slight  shivering  passed 
over  her  delicate  frame :  she  leaned  her 
elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  rested  her 
pale  cheek  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and 
looked  mournfully  into  the  fire. 

The  count  thought  she  appeared  paler 
than  usual. 

"  Does  any  thing  ail  thee,  my  child?" 
said  he. 

"  Nothing,  dear  father !"  replied  she, 
laying  her  hand  within  his,  and  looking 
up  smiling  in  his  face ;  but  as  she  said 
so,  a  treacherous  tear  rose  suddenly  to 
her  eye,  and  she  turned  away  her  head. 

"  The  air  of  the  window  has  chilled 
thee,"  said  the  count,  fondly, "  but  a  good 
night's  rest  will  make  all  well  again." 

The  supper-table  was  at  length  laid, 
and  the  supper  about  to  be  served,  when 
the  hostess  appeared,  with  her  usual 
obsequiousness,  apologizing  for  showing 
in  the  new-comers  ;  but  the  night  air  was 
cold,  and  there  was  no  other  chamber  in 
the  inn  with  a  fire  in  it.  She  had  scarcely 
made  the  apology  when  the  princess  en 
tered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  elegant 
young  man. 

The  count  immediately  recognised  her 
for  a  lady  whom  he  had  met  frequently 
in  society  both  at  Rome  and  Naples  ;  and 
at  whose  conversaziones,  in  fact,  he  had 


constantly  been  invited.  The  cavalier, 
too,  was  her  nephew  and  heir,  who  had 
been  greatly  admired  in  the  gay  circle 
both  for  his  merits  and  prospects,  and 
who  had  once  been  on  a  visit  at  the  same 
time  with  his  daughter  and  himself  at  the 
villa  of  a  nobleman  near  Naples.  Report 
had  recently  affianced  him  to  a  rich 
Spanish  heiress. 

The  meeting  was  agreeable  to  both  the 
count  and  the  princess.  The  former  was 
a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  courteous 
in  the  extreme ;  the  princess  had  been 
a  belle  in  her  youth,  and  a  woman  of 
fashion  all  her  life,  and  liked  to  be 
attended  to. 

The  young  man  approached  the  daugh 
ter,  and  began  something  of  a  compli 
mentary  observation ;  but  his  manner 
was  embarrassed,  and  his  compliment 
ended  in  an  indistinct  murmur  ;  while 
the  daughter  bowed  without  looking  up, 
moved  her  lips  without  articulating  a 
word,  and  sunk  again  into  her  chair, 
where  she  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  with 
a  thousand  varying  expressions  passing 
over  her  countenance. 

This  singular  greeting  of  the  young 
people  was  not  perceived  by  the  old 
ones,  who  were  occupied  at  the  time  with 
their  own  courteous  salutations.  It  was 
arranged  that  they  should  sup  together  ; 
and  as  the  princess  travelled  with  her 
own  cook,  a  very  tolerable  supper  soon 
smoked  upon  the  board.  This,  too,  was 
assisted  by  choice  wines,  and  liqueurs, 
and  delicate  confitures  brought  from  one 
of  her  carriages  ;  for  she  was  a  veteran 
epicure,  and  curious  in  her  relish  for  the 
good  things  of  this  world.  She  was,  in 
fact,  a  vivacious  little  old  lady,  who  min 
gled  the  woman  of  dissipation  with  the 
devotee.  She  was  actually  on  her  way 
to  Loretto  to  expiate  a  long  life  of  gal 
lantries  and  peccadilloes  by  a  rich  offer 
ing  at  the  holy  shrine.  She  was,  to  be 
sure,  rather  a  luxuriant  penitent,  and  a 
contrast  to  the  primitive  pilgrims,  with 
scrip  and  staff,  and  cockle-shell ;  but  then 
it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  such 
self-denial  from  people  of  fashion  ;  and 
there  was  not  a  doubt  of  the  ample  effi 
cacy  of  the  rich  crucifixes,  and  golden 
vessels,  and  jewelled  ornaments,  which 
she  was  bearing  to  the  treasury  of  the 
blessed  Virgin. 


124 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


The  princess  and  the  count  chatted 
much  during  supper  about  the  scenes 
and  society  in  which  they  had  mingled, 
and  did  not  notice  that  they  had  all  the 
conversation  to  themselves  :  the  young 
people  were  silent  and  constrained.  The 
daughter  ate  nothing  in  spite  of  the  po 
liteness  of  the  princess,  who  continually 
pressed  her  to  taste  of  one  or  other  of  the 
delicacies.  The  count  shook  his  head. 

"  She  is  not  well  this  evening,"  said 
he.  "  I  thought  she  would  have  fainted 
just  now  as  she  was  looking  out  of  the 
window  at  your  carriage  on  its  arrival." 

A  crimson  glow  flushed  to  the  very 
temples  of  the  daughter,  but  she  leaned 
over  her  plate,  and  her  tresses  cast  a 
shade  over  her  countenance. 

When  supper  was  over,  they  drew 
their  chairs  about  the  great  fireplace. 
The  flame  and  smoke  had  subsided,  and 
a  heap  of  glowing  embers  diffused  a 
grateful  warmth.  A  guitar,  which  had 
been  brought  from  the  count's  carriage, 
leaned  against  the  wall ;  the  princess 
perceived  it :  "  Can  we  not  have  a  little 
music  before  parting  for  the  night  T' 
demanded  she. 

The  count  was  proud  of  his  daughter's 
accomplishment,  and  joined  in  the  re 
quest.  The  young  man  made  an  effort 
of  politeness,  and  taking  up  the  guitar, 
presented  it,  though  in  an  embarrassed 
manner,  to  the  fair  musician.  She  would 
have  declined  it,  but  was  too  much  con 
fused  to  do  so ;  indeed  she  was  so  ner 
vous  and  agitated,  that  she  dared  not 
trust  her  voice  to  make  an  excuse.  She 
touched  the  instrument  with  a  faltering 
hand,  and,  after  preluding  a  little,  accom 
panied  herself  in  several  Polish  airs.  Her 
father's  eyes  glistened  as  he  sat  gazing  on 
her.  Even  the  crusty  Caspar  lingered  in 
the  room,  partly  through  a  fondness  for 
the  music  of  his  native  country,  but 
chiefly  through  his  pride  in  the  musician. 
Indeed,  the  melody  of  the  voice,  and  the 
delicacy  of  the  touch,  were  enough  to 
have  charmed  more  fastidious  ears.  The 
little  princess  nodded  her  head  and  tapped 
her  hand  to  the  music,  though  exceed- 
I  ingly  out  of  time ;  while  the  nephew  sat 
buried  in  profound  contemplation  of  a 
black  picture  on  the  opposite  wall. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  count,  patting 
her  cheek  fondly,  "one  more  favour. 


Let  the  princess  hear  that  little  Spanish 
air  you  were  so  fond  of.  You  can't 
think,"  added  he,  "  what  a  proficiency 
she  has  made  in  your  language ;  though 
she  has  been  a  sad  girl,  and  neglected  it 
of  late." 

The  colour  flushed  the  pale  cheek  of 
the  daughter.  She  hesitated,  murmured 
something ;  but  with  a  sudden  effort  col 
lected  herself,  struck  the  guitar  boldly, 
and  began.  It  was  a  Spanish  romance, 
with  something  of  love  and  melancholy 
in  it.  She  gave  the  first  stanza  with 
great  expression,  for  the  tremulous,  melt 
ing  tones  of  her  voice  went  to  the  heart ; 
but  her  articulation  failed,  her  lip  qui 
vered,  the  song  died  away,  and  she  burst 
into  tears. 

The  count  folded  her  tenderly  in  his 
arms.  "  Thou  art  not  well,  my  child," 
said  he,  "  and  I  am  tasking  thee  cruelly. 
Retire  to  thy  chamber,  and  God  bless 
thee  !"  She  bowed  to  the  company  with 
out  raising  her  eyes,  and  glided  out  of 
the  room. 

The  count  shook  his  head  as  the  door 
closed.  "  Something  is  the  matter  with 
that  child,"  said  he,  "  which  I  cannot 
divine.  She  has  lost  all  health  and 
spirits  lately.  She  was  always  a  tender 
flower,  and  I  had  much  pains  to  rear 
her.  Excuse  a  father's  foolishness,"  con 
tinued  he,  "  but  I  have  seen  much  trou 
ble  in  my  family ;  and  this  poor  girl  is 
all  that  is  now  left  to  me  ;  and  she  used 
to  be  so  lively — " 

"  Maybe  she's  in  love !"  said  the  little 
princess,  with  a  shrewd  nod  of  the  head. 

"  Impossible  !"  replied  the  good  count 
artlessly.  "  She  has  never  mentioned  a 
word  of  such  a  thing  to  me." 

How  little  did  the  worthy  gentleman 
dream  of  the  thousand  cares,  and  griefs, 
and  mighty  love  concerns  which  agitate 
a  virgin  heart,  and  which  a  timid  girl 
scarcely  breathes  unto  herself! 

The  nephew  of  the  princess  rose  ab 
ruptly  and  walked  about  the  room. 

When  she  found  herself  alone  in  her 
chamber,  the  feelings  of  the  young  lady, 
so  long  restrained,  broke  forth  with  vio 
lence.  She  opened  the  casement,  that 
the  cool  air  might  blow  upon  her  throb 
bing  temples.  Perhaps  there  was  some 
little  pride  or  pique  mingled  with  her 
emotions ;  though  her  gentle  nature  did 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


125 


not  seem  calculated  to  harbour  any  such 
angry  inmate. 

"  He  saw  me  weep  !"  said  she,  with  a 
sudden  mantling  of  the  cheek,  and  a 
swelling  of  the  throat, — "  but  no  matter  ! 
— no  matter !" 

And  so  saying,  she  threw  her  white 
arms  across  the  window-frame,  buried 
her  face  in  them,  and  abandoned  herself 
to  an  agony  of  tears.  She  remained  lost 
in  a  revery,  until  the  sound  of  her 
father's  and  Caspar's  voices  in  the  ad 
joining  room  gave  token  that  the  party 
had  retired  for  the  night.  The  lights 
gleaming  from  window  to  window, 
showed  that  they  were  conducting  the 
princess  to  her  apartments,  which  were 
in  the  opposite  wing  of  the  inn ;  and  she 
distinctly  saw  the  figure  of  the  nephew 
as  he  passed  one  of  the  casements. 

She  heaved  a  deep  heart-drawn  sigh, 
and  was  about  to  close  the  lattice,  when 
her  attention  was  caught  by  words  spoken 
below  her  window  by  two  persons  who 
had  just  turned  an  angle  of  the  building. 

"  But  what  will  become  of  the  poor 
young  lady  ?"  said  a  voice  which  she  re 
cognised  for  that  of  the  servant-woman. 

"  Pooh !  she  must  take  her  chance," 
was  the  reply  from  old  Pietro. 

"  But  cannot  she  be  spared  ?"  asked 
the  other  entreatingly ;  "  she's  so  kind- 
hearted  !" 

"  Cospetto  !  what  has  got  into  thee  ?" 
replied  the  other  petulantly :  "  would 
you  mar  the  whole  business  for  the  sake 
of  a  silly  girl  ?"  By  this  time  they  had 
got  so  far  from  the  window  that  the  Po 
lonaise  could  hear  nothing  further. 

There  was  something  in  this  fragment 
of  conversation  that  was  calculated  to 
alarm.  Did  it  relate  to  herself  ? — and  if 
so,  what  was  this  impending  danger  from 
which  it  was  entreated  that  she  might  be 
spared?  She  was  several  times  on  the 
point  of  tapping  at  her  father's  door,  to 
tell  him  what  she  had  heard ;  but  she 
might  have  been  mistaken;  she  might 
have  heard  indistinctly ;  the  conversa 
tion  might  have  alluded  to  some  one 
else ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  too  indefinite  to 
lead  to  any  conclusion.  While  in  this 
state  of  irresolution,  she  was  startled  by 
a  low  knocking  against  the  wainscot  in 
a  remote  part  of  her  gloomy  chamber. 
On  holding  up  the  light,  she  beheld  a 


small  door  there,  which  she  had  not  be 
fore  remarked.  It  was  bolted  on  the  in 
side.  She  advanced,  and  demanded  who 
knocked,  and  was  answered  in  the  voice 
of  the  female  domestic.  On  opening  the 
door,  the  woman  stood  before  it  pale  and 
agitated.  She  entered  softly,  laying  her 
finger  on  her  lips  in  sign  of  caution  and 
secrecy. 

"Fly!"  said  she:  "leave  this  house 
instantly,  or  you  are  lost !" 

The  young  lady,  trembling  with 
alarm,  demanded  an  explanation. 

"  I  have  no  time,"  replied  the  woman, 
"  I  dare  not — I  shall  be  missed  if  I 
linger  here — but  fly  instantly,  or  you 
are  lost." 

"  And  leave  my  father  ?" 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  In  the  adjoining  chamber." 

"  Call  him,  then,  but  lose  no  time." 

The  young  lady  knocked  at  her 
father's  door.  He  was  not  yet  retired 
to  bed.  She  hurried  into  his  room,  and 
told  him  of  the  fearful  warning  she  had 
received.  The  count  returned  with  her 
into  her  chamber,  followed  by  Caspar. 
His  questions  soon  drew  the  truth  out  of 
the  embarrassed  answers  of  the  woman. 
The  inn  was  beset  by  robbers.  They 
were  to  be  introduced  after  midnight, 
when  the  attendants  of  the  princess  and 
the  rest  of  the  travellers  were  sleeping, 
and  would  be  an  easy  prey. 

"But  we  can  barricade  the  inn,  we 
can  defend  ourselves,"  said  the  count. 

"  What !  when  the  people  of  the  inn 
are  in  league  with  the  banditti  ?" 

"  How  then  are  we  to  escape  ?  Can 
we  not  order  out  the  carriage  and  de* 
part?" 

"  San  Francesco  !  for  what  ?  To  give 
the  alarm  that  the  plot  is  discovered  1 
That  would  make  the  robbers  desperate, 
and  bring  them  on  you  at  once.  They 
have  had  notice  of  the  rich  booty  in  the 
inn,  and  will  not  easily  let  it  escape 
them." 

"  But  how  else  are  we  to  get  off?" 

"  There  is  a  horse  behind  the  inn," 
said  the  woman,  "  from  which  the  man 
has  just  dismounted  who  has  been  to 
summon  the  aid  of  part  of  the  band  who 
were  at  a  distance." 

"  One  horse ;  and  there  are  three  of 
us  !"  said  the  count. 
11* 


126 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  And  the  Spanish  princess !"  cried 
the  daughter  anxiously — "  How  can  she 
be  extricated  from  the  danger  ?" 

"  Diavolo !  what  is  she  to  me  ?"  said 
the  woman  in  sudden  passion.  "  It  is 
you  I  come  to  save,  and  you  will  betray 
me,  and  we  shall  all  be  lost !  Hark !" 
continued  she,  "  I  am  called — I  shall  be 
discovered — one  word  more.  This  door 
leads  by  a  staircase  to  the  court-yard. 
Under  the  shed  in  the  rear  of  the  yard, 
is  a  small  door  leading  out  to  the  fields. 
You  will  find  a  horse  there ;  mount  it ; 
make  a  circuit  under  the  shadow  of  a 
ridge  of  rocks  that  you  will  see ;  proceed 
cautiously  and  quietly  until  you  cross  a 
brook,  and  find  yourself  on  the  road  just 
where  there  are  three  white  crosses 
nailed  against  a  tree ;  then  put  your 
horse  to  his  speed,  and  make  the  best  of 
your  way  to  the  village — but  recollect, 
my  life  is  in  your  hands — say  nothing  of 
what  you  have  heard  or  seen,  whatever 
may  happen  at  this  inn." 

The  woman  hurried  away.  A  short 
and  agitated  consultation  took  place  be 
tween  the  count,  his  daughter,  and  the 
veteran  Caspar.  The  young  lady 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  apprehension  for 
herself  in  her  solicitude  for  the  safety  of 
the  princess.  "  To  fly  in  selfish  silence, 
and  leave  her  to  be  massacred !" — A 
shuddering  seized  her  at  the  very 
thought.  The  gallantry  of  the  count, 
!  too,  revolted  at  the  idea.  He  could  not 
consent  to  turn  his  back  upon  a  party  of 
helpless  travellers,  and  leave  them  in 
ignorance  of  the  danger  which  hung 
over  them. 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  the  young 
lady,"  said  Caspar,  "  if  the  alarm  is 

fiven,  and  the  inn  thrown  in  a  tumult  ? 
V7hat  may  happen  to  her  in  a  chance- 
medley  affray  ?" 

Here  the  feelings  of  the  father  were 
roused :  he  looked  upon  his  lovely,  help 
less  child,  and  trembled  at  the  chance  of 
her  falling  into  the  hands  of  ruffians. 

The  daughter,  however,  thought  no 
thing  of  herself.  "  The  princess  !  the 
princess ! — only  let  the  princess  know 
her  danger."  She  was  willing  to  share 
it  with  her. 

At  length  Caspar  interfered  with  the 
zeal  of  a  faithful  old  servant.  No  time 
was  to  be  lost — the  first  thing  was  to 


get  the  young  lady  out  of  danger. 
"  Mount  the  horse,"  said  he  to  the  count, 
"  take  her  behind  you,  and  fly  !  Make 
for  the  village,  rouse  the  inhabitants,  and 
send  assistance.  Leave  me  here  to  give 
the  alarm  to  the  princess  and  her  people. 
I  am  an  old  soldier,  and  I  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  stand  siege  until  you  send  us 
aid." 

The  daughter  would  again  have  in 
sisted  on  staying  with  the  princess — 

"  For  what  ?"  said  old  Caspar  bluntly, 
"  You  could  do  no  good — You  would  be 
in  the  way — We  should  have  to  take 
care  of  you  instead  of  ourselves." 

There  was  no  answering  these  objec 
tions  :  the  count  seized  his  pistols,  and 
taking  his  daughter  under  his  arm, 
moved  towards  the  staircase.  The 
young  lady  paused,  stepped  back,  and 
said,  faltering  with  agitation — "  There  is 
a  young  cavalier  with  the  princess — her 
nephew — perhaps  he  may — " 

"  I  understand  you,  Mademoiselle," 
replied  old  Caspar  with  a  significant 
nod  ;  "  not  a  hair  of  his  head  shall  suffer 
harm  if  I  can  help  it !" 

The  young  lady  blushed  deeper  than 
ever :  she  had  not  anticipated  being  so 
thoroughly  understood  by  the  blunt  old 
servant. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  said  she, 
hesitating.  She  would  have  added  some 
thing,  or  made  some  explanation ;  but 
the  moments  were  precious,  and  her 
father  hurried  her  away. 

They  found  their  way  through  the 
court-yard  to  the  small  postern-gate, 
where  the  horse  stood,  fastened  to  a  ring 
in  the  wall.  The  count  mounted,  took 
his  daughter  behind  him,  and  they  pro 
ceeded  as  quietly  as  possible  in  the  di 
rection  which  the  woman  had  pointed 
out.  Many  a  fearful  and  anxious  look 
did  the  daughter  cast  back  upon  the 
gloomy  pile  of  building :  the  lights  which 
had  feebly  twinkled  through  the  dusty 
casements  were  one  by  one  disappearing, 
a  sign  that  the  house  was  gradually 
sinking  to  repose ;  and  she  trembled 
with  impatience,  lest  succour  should  not 
arrive  until  that  repose  had  been  fatally 
interrupted. 

They  passed  silently  and  safely  along 
the  skirts  of  the  rocks,  protected  from 
observation  by  their  overhanging  sha- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


127 


dows.  They  crossed  the  brook,  and 
reached  the  place  where  three  white 
crosses  nailed  against  a  tree  told  of  some 
murder  that  had  been  committed  there. 
Just  as  they  had  reached  this  ill-omened 
spot  they  beheld  several  men  in  ^  the 
gloom  coming  down  a  craggy  defile 
among  the  rocks. 

"  Who  goes  there  !"  exclaimed  a 
voice. 

The  count  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  but 
one  of  the  men  sprang  forward  and 
seized  the  bridle.  The  horse  became 
restive,  started  back,  and  reared,  and 
had  not  the  young  lady  clung  to  her 
father,  she  would  have  been  thrown  off. 
The  count  leaned  forward,  put  a  pistol 
to  the  very  head  of  the  ruffian,  and  fired. 
The  latter  fell  dead.  The  horse  sprang 
forward.  Two  or  three  shots  were  fired 
which  whistled  by  the  fugitives,  but  only 
served  to  augment  their  speed.  They 
reached  the  village  in  safety. 

The  whole  place  was  soon  aroused ; 
but  such  was  the  awe  in  which  the  ban 
ditti  were  held,  that  the  inhabitants 
shrunk  at  the  idea  of  encountering  them. 
A  desperate  band  had  for  some  time  in 
fested  that  pass  through  the  mountains, 
and  the  inn  had  long  been  suspected  of 
being  one  of  those  horrible  places  where 
the  unsuspicious  wayfarer  is  entrapped 
and  silently  disposed  of.  The  rich  orna 
ments  worn  by  the  slattern  hostess  of 
the  inn  had  excited  heavy  suspicions. 
Several  instances  had  occurred  of  small 
parties  of  travellers  disappearing  myste 
riously  on  that  road,  who,  it  was  sup 
posed  at  first,  had  been  carried  off  by 
the  robbers  for  the  sake  of  ransom,  but 
who  had  never  been  heard  of  more. 
Such  were  the  tales  buzzed  in  the  ears 
of  the  count  by  the  villagers  as  he  en 
deavoured  to  rouse  them  to  the  rescue  of 
the  princess  and  her  train  from  their 
perilous  situation.  The  daughter  se 
conded  the  exertions  of  her  father  with 
all  the  eloquence  of  prayers,  and  tears, 
I  and  beauty.  Every  moment  that  elapsed 
increased  her  anxiety  until  it  became 
agonizing.  Fortunately,  there  was  a 
body  of  gendarmes  resting  at  the  village. 
A  number  of  the  young  villagers  volun 
teered  to  accompany  them,  and  the  little 
army  was  put  in  motion.  The  count 
having  deposited  his  daughter  in  a  place 


of  safety,  was  too  much  of  the  old  sol 
dier  not  to  hasten  to  the  scene  of  danger. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  paint  the  anxious 
agitation  of  the  young  lady  while  await 
ing  the  result. 

The  party  arrived  at  the  inn  just  in 
time.  The  robbers,  finding  their  plans 
'discovered,  and  the  travellers  prepared 
for  their  reception,  had  become  open  and 
furious  in  their  attack.  The  princess's 
party  had  barricadoed  themselves  in  one 
suite  of  apartments,  and  repulsed  the 
robbers  from  the  doors  and  windows. 
Caspar  had  shown  the  generalship  of  a 
veteran,  and  the  nephew  of  the  princess 
the  dashing  valour  of  a  young  soldier. 
Their  ammunition,  however,  was  nearly 
exhausted,  and  they  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  hold  out  much  longer,  when  a 
discharge  from  the  musketry  of  the 
gendarmes  gave  them  the  joyful  tidings 
of  succour. 

A  fierce  fight  ensued,  for  part  of  the 
robbers  were  surprised  in  the  inn,  and 
had  to  stand  siege  in  their  turn;  while 
their  comrades  made  desperate  attempts 
to  relieve  them  from  under  cover  of  the 
neighbouring  rocks  and  thickets. 

I  cannot  pretend  to  give  a  minute 
account  of  the  fight,  as  I  have  heard  it 
related  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  the  robbers  were  defeated  ;  several 
of  them  killed,  and  several  taken  pri 
soners  ;  which  last,  together  with  the 
people  of  the  inn,  were  either  executed 
or  sent  to  the  galleys. 

I  picked  up  these  particulars  in  the 
course  of  a  journey  which  I  made  some 
time  after  the  event  had  taken  place. 
I  passed  by  the  very  inn.  It  was  then 
dismantled,  excepting  one  wing,  in  which 
a  body  of  gendarmes  was  stationed. 
They  pointed  out  to  rne  the  shot-holes 
in  the  window-frames,  the  walls,  and  the 
panels  of  the  doors.  There  were  a 
number  of  withered  limbs  dangling  from 
the  branches  of  a  neighbouring  tree, 
and  blackening  in  the  air,  which  I  was 
told  were  the  limbs  of  the  robbers  who 
had  been  slain,  and  the  culprits  who  had 
been  executed.  The  whole  place  had  a 
dismal,  wild,  forlorn  look. 

"Were  any  of  the  princess's  party 
killed?"  inquired  the  Englishman. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  recollect,  there  were 
two  or  three." 


H- 


128 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  Not  the  nephew,  I  trust  ?"  said  the 
fair  Venitian. 

"  Oh  no  ;  he  hastened  with  the  count 
to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  the  daughter 
by  the  assurances  of  victory.  The 
young  lady  had  been  sustained  through 
out  the  interval  of  suspense  by  the  very% 
intensity  of  her  feelings.  The  moment 
she  saw  her  father  returning  in  safety, 
accompanied  by  the  nephew  of  the  prin 
cess,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  rapture  and 
fainted.  Happily,  however,  she  soon 
recovered,  and  what  is  more,  was  mar 
ried  shortly  after  to  the  young  cavalier ; 
and  the  whole  party  accompanied  the 
old  princess  in  her  pilgrimage  to  Lo- 
retto,  where  her  votive  offerings  may 
still  be  seen  in  the  treasury  of  the  Santa 
Casa." 


It  would  be  tedious  to  follow  the  devi 
ous  course  of  the  conversation  as  it 
wound  through  a  maze  of  stories  of  the 
kind,  until  it  was  taken  up  by  two  other 
travellers  who  had  come  under  convoy 
of  the  procaccio — Mr.  Hobbs  and  Mr. 
Dobbs,  a  linen-draper  and  a  green 
grocer,  just  returning  from  a  hasty  tour 
in  Greece  and  the  Holy  Land.  They 
were  full  of  the  story  of  Alderman 
Popkins.  They  were  astonished  that 
the  robbers  should  dare  to  molest  a 
man  of  his  importance  on  'Change,  he 
being  an  eminent  dry-salter  of  Throg- 
morton  Street,  and  a  magistrate  to  boot. 

In  fact,  the  story  of  the  Popkins 
family  was  but  too  true.  It  was  attested 
by  too  many  present  to  be  for  a  moment 
doubted ;  and  from  the  contradictory 
and  concordant  testimony  of  half  a 
score,  all  eager  to  relate  it,  and  all 
talking  at  the  same  time,  the  English 
man  was  enabled  to  gather  the  following 
particulars. 


THE  ADVENTURE 

OF 

THE  POPKINS  FAMILY. 

IT  was  but  a  few  days  before,  that  the 
carriage  of  Alderman  Popkins  had  driven 
up  to  the  inn  of  Terracina.  Those  who 


have  seen  an  English  family  carriage  on 
the  continent  must  have  remarked  the 
sensation  it  produces.  It  is  an  epitome 
of  England ;  a  little  morsel  of  the  old 
island  rolling  about  the  world.  -  Every 
thing  about  it  compact,  snug,  finished, 
and  fitting.  The  wheels  turning  on 
patent  axles  without  rattling ;  the  body, 
hanging  so  well  on  its  springs,  yielding 
to  every  motion,  yet  protecting  from 
every  shock ;  the  ruddy  faces  gaping 
from  the  windows — sometimes  of  a  portly 
old  citizen,  sometimes  of  a  voluminous 
dowager,  and  sometimes  of  a  fine  fresh 
hoyden  just  from  boarding-school.  And 
then  the  dickeys  loaded  with  well-dressed 
servants,  beef- fed  and  bluff;  looking 
down  from  their  heights  with  contempt 
on  all  the  world  around ;  profoundly 
ignorant  of  the  country  and  the  people, 
and  devoutly  certain  that  every  thing 
not  English  must  be  wrong. 

Such  was  the  carriage  of  Alderman 
Popkins  as  it  made  its  appearance  at 
Terracina.  The  courier  who  had  pre 
ceded  it  to  order  horses,  and  who  was 
a  Neapolitan,  had  given  a  magnificent 
account  of  the  riches  and  greatness  of 
his  master  ;  blundering  with  an  Italian's 
splendour  of  imagination  about  the  alder 
man's  titles  and  dignities.  The  host 
had  added  his  usual  share  of  exaggera 
tion  ;  so  that  by  the  time  the  alderman 
drove  up  to  the  door,  he  was  a  milor — 
magnifico — principe — the  Lord  knows 
what ! 

The  alderman  was  advised  to  take  an 
escort  to  Fondi  and  Itri,  but  he  refused. 
It  was  as  much  as  a  man's  life  was 
worth,  he  said,  to  stop  him  on  the  king's 
highway :  he  would  complain  of  it  to  the 
ambassador  at  Naples  ;  he  would  make 
a  national  affair  of  it.  The  Principessa 
Popkins,  a  fresh,  motherly  dame,  seemed 
perfectly  secure  in  the  protection  of  her 
husband,  so  omnipotent  a  man  in  the 
city.  The  Signorine  Popkins,  two  fine 
bouncing  girls,  looked  to  their  brother 
Tom,  who  had  taken  lessons  in  boxing ; 
and  as  to  the  dandy  himself,  he  swore 
no  scaramouch  of  an  Italian  robber 
would  dare  to  meddle  with  an  English 
man.  The  landlord  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  and  turned  out  the  palms  of  his 
hands  with  a  true  Italian  grimace,  and 
the  carriage  of  Milor  Popkins  rolled  on. 


-H 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


129 


They  passed  through  several  very  sus 
picious  places  without  any  molestation. 
The  Miss  Popkins,  who  were  very  ro 
mantic,  and  had  learnt  to  draw  in  water- 
colours,  were  enchanted  with  the  savage 
scenery  around ;  it  was  so  like  wjiat 
they  had  read  in  Mrs.  RadclifFe's  ro 
mances  ;  they  should  like  of  all  things 
to  make  sketches.  At  length  the  car 
riage  arrived  at  a  place  where  the  road 
wound  up  a  long  hill.  Mrs.  Popkins 
had  sunk  into  a  sleep ;  the  young  ladies 

I  were  lost  in  the  "  Loves  of  the  Angels ;" 
and  the  dandy  was  hectoring  the  posti 
lions  from  the  coach-box.  The  alder- 

|  man  got  out,  as  he  said,  to  stretch  his 
legs  up  the  hill.  It  was  a  long,  winding 
ascent,  and  obliged  him  every  now  and 
then  to  stop  and  blow  and  wipe  his  fore 
head,  with  many  a  pish !  and  phew ! 
being  rather  pursy  and  short  of  wind. 
As  the  carriage,  however,  was  far  be 
hind  him,  and  moved  slowly  under  the 
weight  of  so  many  well-stuffed  trunks 
and  well-stuffed  travellers,  he  had  plenty 
of  time  to  walk  at  leisure. 

On  a  jutting  point  of  rock  that  over 
hung  the  road,  nearly  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  just  where  the  route  began 
again  to  descend,  he  saw  a  solitary  man 
seated,  who  appeared  to  be  tending 
goats.  Alderman  Popkins  was  one  of 
your  shrewd  travellers  who  always  like 
to  be  picking  up  small  information  along 
the  road  ;  so  he  thought  he'd  just  scram 
ble  up  to  the  honest  man,  and  have  a 
little  talk  with  him  by  way  of  learning 
the  news,  and  getting  a  lesson  in  Italian. 
As  he  drew  near  to  the  peasant,  he  did 
not  half  like  his  looks.  He  was  partly 
reclining  on  the  rocks,  wrapped  in  the 
usual  long  mantle,  which,  with  his 
slouched  hat,  only  left  a  part  of  a 
swarthy  visage,  with  a  keen  black  eye, 
a  beetle  brow,  and  a  fierce  moustache 
to  be  seen.  He  had  whistled  several 
times  to  his  dog,  which  was  roving  about 
the  side  of  the  hill.  As  the  alderman 
approached,  he  rose  and  greeted  him. 
When  standing  erect,  he  seemed  almost 
gigantic,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  Alderman 
Popkins,  who,  however,  being  a  short 
man,  might  be  deceived. 

The  latter  would  gladly  now  have 
been  back  in  the  carriage,  or  even  on 
'Change  in  London ;  for  he  was  by  no 


means  well  pleased  with  his  company. 
However,  he  determined  to  put  the  best 
face  on  matters,  and  was  beginning  a 
conversation  about  the  state  of  the  wea 
ther,  the  baddishness  of  the  crops,  and 
the  price  of  goats  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  when  he  heard  a  violent  scream 
ing.  He  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
and  looking  over,  beheld  his  carriage 
surrounded  by  robbers.  One  held  down 
the  fat  footman,  another  had  the  dandy 
by  his  starched  cravat,  with  a  pistol  to 
his  head ;  one  was  rummaging  a  port 
manteau,  another  rummaging  the  prin- 
cipessa's  pockets ;  while  the  two  Miss 
Popkins  were  screaming  from  each  win 
dow  of  the  carriage,  and  their  waiting- 
maid  squalling  from  the  dickey. 

Alderman  Popkins  felt  all  the  ire  of 
the  parent  and  the  magistrate  roused 
within  him.  He  grasped  his  cane,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  scrambling  down 
the  rocks,  either  to  assault  the  robbers, 
or  to  read  the  riot  act,  when  he  was 
suddenly  seized  by  the  arm.  It  was  by 
his  friend  the  goatherd,  whose  cloak, 
falling  open,  discovered  a  belt  stuck  full 
of  pistols  and  stilettos.  In  short,  he 
found  himself  in  the  clutches  of  the 
captain  of  the  band,  who  had  stationed 
himself  on  the  rock  to  look  out  for  tra 
vellers,  and  to  give  notice  to  his  men. 

A  sad  ransacking  took  place.  Trunks 
were  turned  inside  out,  and  all  the  finery 
and  frippery  of  the  Popkins  family  scat 
tered  about  the  road.  Such  a  chaos  of 
Venice  beads  and  Roman  mosaics,  and 
Paris  bonnets  of  the  young  ladies,  min 
gled  with  the  alderman's  nightcaps  and 
lambs'  wool  stockings,  and  the  dandy's 
hair-brushes,  stays,  and  starched  cravats. 

The  gentlemen  were  eased  of  their 
purses  and  their  watches,  the  ladies  of 
their  jewels ;  and  the  whole  party  were 
on  the  point  of  being  carried  up  into  the 
mountain,  when,  fortunately,  the  appear 
ance  of  soldiery  at  a  distance  obliged 
the  robbers  to.  make  off  with  the  spoils 
they  had  secured,  and  leave  the  Popkins 
family  to  gather  together  the  remnants 
of  their  effects,  and  to  make  the  best  of 
their  way  to  Fondi. 

When  safe  arrived,  the  alderman 
made  a  terrible  blustering  at  the  inn  ; 
threatened  to  complain  to  the  ambas 
sador  at  Naples,  and  was  ready  to  shake 


130 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


his  cane  at  the  whole  country.  The 
dandy  had  many  stories  to  tell  of  his 
scuffles  with  the  brigands,  who  over 
powered  him  merely  by  numbers.  As 
to  the  Miss  Popkins,  they  were  quite 
delighted  with  the  adventure,  and  were 
occupied  the  whole  evening  in  writing  it 
in  their  journals.  They  declared  the 
captain  of  the  band  to  be  a  most  ro 
mantic-looking  man,  they  dared  to  say 
some  unfortunate  lover,  or  exiled  noble 
man;  and  several  of  the  band  to  be 
very  handsome  young  men — "  quite  pic 
turesque  !" 

"  In  verity,"  said  mine  host  of  Terra- 
cina,  "  they  say  the  captain  of  the  band 
is  un  galantuomo" 

"  A  gallant  man !"  said  the  English 
man  indignantly :  "  Pd  have  your  gal 
lant  man  hanged  like  a  dog !" 

"  To  dare  to  meddle  with  English 
men  !"  said  Mr.  Hobbs. 

"  And  such  a  family  as  the  Pop- 
kinses  !"  said  Mr.  Dobbs. 

"  They  ought  to  come  upon  the  county 
for  damages !"  said  Mr.  Hobbs. 

"  Our  ambassador  should  make  a  com 
plaint  to  the  government  of  Naples,"  said 
Mr.  Dobbs. 

"  They  should  be  obliged  to  drive 
these  rascals  out  of  the  country,"  said 
Hobbs. 

"  If  they  did  not,  we  should  declare 
war  against  them,"  said  Dobbs. 

"  Pish  ! — humbug !"  muttered  the  Eng 
lishman  to  himself,  and  walked  away. 

The  Englishman  had  been  a  little 
wearied  by  this  story,  and  by  the  ultra 
zeal  of  his  countrymen,  and  was  glad 
when  a  summons  to  their  supper  relieved 
him  from  the  crowd  of  travellers.  He 
walked  out  with  his  Venitian  friends 
and  a  young  Frenchman  of  an  interest 
ing  demeanour,  who  had  become  socia 
ble  with  them  in  the  course  of  the  con 
versation.  They  directed  their  steps 
toward  the  sea,  which  was  lit  up  by  the 
rising  moon. 

As  they  strolled  along  the  beach,  they 
came  to  where  a  party  of  soldiers  were 
stationed  in  a  circle.  They  were  guard 
ing  a  number  of  galley-slaves,  who  were 
permitted  to  refresh  themselves  in  the 
evening  breeze,  and  sport  and  roll  upon 
the  sand, 


The  Frenchman  paused,  and  pointed 
to  the  group  of  wretches  at  their  sports. 
"  It  is  difficult,"  said  he,  "  to  conceive  a 
more  frightful  mass  of  crime  than  is  here 
collected.  Many  of  these  have  probably 
j  been  robbers,  such  as  you  have  heard 
,  described.  Such  is,  too  often,  the  career 
of  crime  in  this  country.  The  parricide, 
the  fratricide,  the  infanticide,  the  miscre 
ant  of  every  kind,  first  flies  from  justice 
and  turns  mountain  bandit ;  and  then, 
when  wearied  of  a  life  of  danger,  be 
comes  traitor  to  his  brother  desperadoes; 
betrays  them  to  punishment,  and  thus 
buys  a  commutation  of  his  own  sentence 
from  death  to  the  galleys  ;  happy  in  the 
privilege  of  wallowing  on  the  shore  an 
hour  a  day,  in  this  mere  state  of  animal 
enjoyment." 

The  fair  Venitian  shuddered  as  she 
cast  a  look  at  the  horde  of  wretches 
at  their  evening  amusement.  "  They 
seemed,"  she  said,  "  like  so  many  ser 
pents  writhing  together."  And  yet  the 
idea  that  some  of  them  had  been  robbers, 
those  formidable  beings  that  haunted  her 
imagination,  made  her  still  cast  another 
fearful  glance,  as  we  contemplate  some 
terrible  beast  of  prey,  with  a  degree  of 
awe  and  horror,  even  though  caged  and 
chained. 

The  conversation  reverted  to  the  tales 
of  banditti  which  they  had  heard  at  the 
inn.  The  Englishman  condemned  some 
of  them  as  fabrications,  others  as  exag 
gerations.  As  to  the  story  of  the  impro- 
visatore,  he  pronounced  it  a  mere  piece 
of  romance,  originating  in  the  heated 
brain  of  the  narrator. 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  Frenchman, 
"there  is  so  much  romance  about  the 
real  life  of  those  beings,  and  about  the 
singular  country  they  infest,  that  it  is 
hard  to  tell  what  to  reject  on  the  ground 
of  improbability.  I  have  had  an  adven 
ture  happen  to  myself  which  gave  me  an 
opportunity  of  getting  some  insight  into 
their  manners  and  habits,  which  I  found 
altogether  out  of  the  common  run  of 
existence." 

There  was  an  air  of  mingled  frankness 
and  modesty  about  the  Frenchman  which 
had  gained  the  good- will  of  the  whole 
party,  not  even  excepting  the  English 
man.  They  all  eagerly  inquired  after 
the  particulars  of  the  circumstance  he 


H 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


131 


alluded  to,  and  as  they  strolled  slowly 
up  and  down  the  sea-shore,  he  related 
the  following  adventure. 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE. 

I  AM  an  historical  painter  by  profes 
sion,  and  resided  for  some  time  in  the 
family  of  a  foreign  prince  at  his  villa, 
about  fifteen  miles  from  Rome,  among 
some  of  the  most  interesting  scenery  of 
Italy.  It  is  situated  on  the  heights  of 
ancient  Tusculum.  In  its  neighbourhood 
are  the  ruins  of  the  villas  of  Cicero, 
Sylla,  Lucullus,  Rufinus,  and  other  illus 
trious  Romans,  who  sought  refuge  here 
occasionally  from  their  toils,  in  the  bosom 
of  a  soft  and  luxurious  repose.  From 
the  midst  of  delightful  bowers,  refreshed 
by  the  pure  mountain-breeze,  the  eye 
looks  over  a  romantic  landscape  full  of 
poetical  and  historical  associations.  The 
Albanian  mountains ;  Tivoli,  once  the 
favourite  residence  of  Horace  and  Mecse- 
nas ;  the  vast,  deserted,  melancholy  Cam- 
pagna,  with  the  Tiber  winding  through 
it.  and  St.  Peter's  dome  swelling  in  the 
midst,  the  monument,  as  it  were,  over 
the  grave  of  ancient  Rome. 

I  assisted  the  prince  in  researches 
which  he  was  making  among  the  classic 
ruins  of  his  vicinity :  his  exertions  were 
highly  successful.  Many  wrecks  of  ad 
mirable  statues  and  fragments  of  exqui 
site  sculpture  were  dug  up  ;  monuments 
of  the  taste  and  magnificence  that  reigned 
in  the  ancient  Tusculan  abodes.  He  had 
studded  his  villa  and  its  grounds  with 
statues,  relievos,  vases,  and  sarcophagi, 
thus  retrieved  from  the  bosom  of  the 
earth. 

The  mode  of  life  pursued  at  the  villa 
was  delightfully  serene,  diversified  by 
interesting  occupations  and  elegant  lei 
sure.  Every  one  passed  the  day  ac 
cording  to  his  pleasure  or  pursuits ;  and 
we  all  assembled  in  a  cheerful  dinner 
party  at  sunset. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  of  November,  a 
beautiful  serene  day,  that  we  had  assem 
bled  in  the  saloon  at  the  sound  of  the 
first  dinner-bell.  The  family  were  sur 
prised  at  the  absence  of  the  prince's 
confessor.  They  waited  for  him  in  vain, 


and  at  length  placed  themselves  at  table. 
They  at  first  attributed  his  absence  to  his 
having  prolonged  his  customary  walk  ; 
and  the  early  part  of  the  dinner  passed 
without  any  uneasiness.  When  the  des 
sert  was  served,  however,  without  his 
making  his  appearance,  they  began  to 
feel  anxious.  They  feared  he  might 
have  been  taken  ill  in  some  alley  of  the 
woods,  or  that  he  might  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  robbers.  Not  far  from  the 
villa,  with  the  interval  of  a  small  valley, 
rose  the  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi,  the 
stronghold  of  banditti.  Indeed,  the  neigh 
bourhood  had  for  some  time  past  been 
infested  by  them ;  and  Barbone,  a  noto 
rious  bandit  chief,  had  often  been  met 
prowling  about  the  solitudes  of  Tusculum. 
The  daring  enterprises  of  these  ruffians 
were  well  known  :  the  objects  of  their 
cupidity  or  vengeance  were  insecure  even 
in  palaces.  As  yet  they  had  respected 
the  possessions  of  the  prince ;  but  the 
idea  of  such  dangerous  spirits  hovering 
about  the  neighbourhood  was  sufficient 
to  occasion  alarm. 

The  fears  of  the  company  increased 
as  evening  closed  in.  The  prince  ordered 
out  forest  guards  and  domestics  with 
flambeaux  to  search  for  the  confessor. 
They  had  not  departed  long  when  a 
slight  noise  was  heard  in  the  corridor  of 
the  ground-floor.  The  family  were  din 
ing  on  the  first  floor,  and  the  remaining 
domestics  were  occupied  in  attendance. 
There  was  no  one  on  the  ground-floor  at 
this  moment  but  the  housekeeper,  the 
laundress,  and  three  field-labourers  who 
were  resting  themselves,  and  conversing 
with  the  women. 

I  heard  the  noise  from  below,  and 
presuming  it  to  be  occasioned  by  the 
return  of  the  absentee,  I  left  the  table 
and  hastened  down  stairs,  eager  to  gain 
intelligence  that  might  relieve  the  anxiety 
of  the  prince  and  princess.  I  had  scarce 
ly  reached  the  last  step,  when  I  beheld 
before  me  a  man  dressed  as  a  bandit ;  a 
carbine  in  his  hand,  and  a  stiletto  and 
pistols  in  his  belt.  His  countenance  had 
a  mingled  expression  of  ferocity  and  tre 
pidation  :  he  sprang  upon  me,  and  ex 
claimed  exultingly,  "  Ecco  il  principe  !" 

I  saw  at  orice  into  what  hands  I  had 
fallen,  but  endeavoured  to  summon  up 
coolness  and  presence  of  mind.  A  glance 


132 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


towards  the  lower  end  of  the  corridor 
showed  me  several  ruffians,  clothed  and 
armed  in  the  same  manner  with  the  one 
who  had  seized  me.  They  were  guard 
ing  the  two  females,  and  the  field-labour 
ers.  The  robber,  who  held  me  firmly  by 
the  collar,  demanded  repeatedly  whether 
or  not  I  were  the  prince :  his  object 
evidently  was  to  carry  off  the  prince, 
and  extort  an  immense  ransom.  He 
was  enraged  at  receiving  none  but  vague 
replies,  for  I  felt  the  importance  of  mis 
leading  him. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me  how  I 
might  extricate  myself  from  his  clutches. 
I  was  unarmed,  it  is  true,  but  I  was 
vigorous.  His  companions  were  at  a 
distance.  By  a  sudden  exertion  I  might 
wrest  myself  from  him,  and  spring  up 
the  staircase,  whither  he  would  not  dare 
to  follow  me  singly.  The  idea  was  put 
in  practice  as  soon  as  conceived.  The 
ruffian's  throat  was  bare ;  with  my  right 
hand  I  seized  him  by  it,  with  my  left 
hand  I  grasped  the  arm  which  held  the 
carbine.  The  suddenness  of  my  attack 
took  him  completely  unawares,  and  the 
strangling  nature  of  my  grasp  paralysed 
him.  He  choked  and  faltered.  I  felt 
his  hand  relaxing  its  hold,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  jerking  myself  away,  and 
darting  up  the  staircase,  before  he  could 
recover  himself,  when  I  was  suddenly 
seized  by  some  one  from  behind. 

I  had  to  let  go  my  grasp.  The  bandit, 
once  released,  fell  upon  me  with  fury, 
and  gave  me  several  blows  with  the  but- 
end  of  his  carbine,  one  of  which  wounded 
me  severely  in  the  forehead  and  covered 
me  with  blood.  He  took  advantage  of 
my  being  stunned  to  rifle  me  of  my 
watch,  and  whatever  valuables  I  had 
about  my  person. 

When  I  recovered  from  the  effect  of 
the  blow,  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  chief 
of  the  banditti,  who  exclaimed — "  Quello 
e  il  principe ;  siamo  contenti ;  andiamo !" 
(It  is  the  prince ;  enough ;  let  us  be  off.) 
The  band  immediately  closed  round  me 
and  dragged  me  out  of  the  palace,  bear 
ing  off  the  three  labourers  likewise. 

I  had  no  hat  on,  and  the  blood  flowed 
from  my  wound  ;  I  managed  to  stanch  it, 
however,  with  my  pocket-handkerchief, 
which  I  bound  round  my  forehead.  The 
captain  of  the  band  conducted  me  in  tri 


umph,  supposing  me  to  be  the  prince. 
We  had  gone  some  distance  before  he 
learnt  his  mistake  from  one  of  the  la 
bourers.  His  rage  was  terrible.  It  was 
too  late  to  return  to  the  villa  and  endea 
vour  to  retrieve  his  error,  for  by  this 
time  the  alarm  must  have  been  given, 
and  every  one  in  arms.  He  darted  at 
me  a  ferocious  look — swore  I  had  de 
ceived  him,  and  caused  him  to  miss  his 
fortune — and  told  me  to  prepare  for 
death.  The  rest  of  the  robbers  were 
equally  furious.  I  saw  their  hands  upon 
their  poniards,  and  I  knew  that  death 
was  seldom  an  empty  threat  with  these 
ruffians.  The  labourers  saw  the  peril 
into  which  their  information  had  betrayed 
me,  and  eagerly  assured  the  captain  that 
I  was  a  man  for.  whom  the  prince  would 
pay  a  great  ransom.  This  produced  a 
pause.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  say  that 
I  had  been  much  dismayed  by  their 
menaces.  I  mean  not  to  make  any 
boast  of  courage ;  but  I  have  been  so 
schooled  to  hardship  during  the  late  revo 
lutions,  and  have  beheld  death  around 
me  in  so  many  perilous  and  disastrous 
scenes,  that  I  have  become  in  some 
measure  callous  to  its  terrors.  The  fre 
quent  hazard  of  life  makes  a  man  at 
length  as  reckless  of  it  as  a  gambler  of 
his  money.  To  their  threat  of  death, 
I  replied,  "  that  the  sooner  it  was  exe 
cuted  the  better."  This  reply  seemed  to 
astonish  the  captain ;  and  the  prospect  of 
ransom  held  out  by  the  labourers  had, 
no  doubt,  a  still  greater  effect  on  him. 
He  considered  for  a  moment,  assumed  a 
calmer  manner,  and  made  a  sign  to  his 
companions,  who  had  remained  waiting 
for  my  death-warrant,  "  Forward  !"  said 
he,  "  we  will  see  about  this  matter  by 
and  by !" 

We  descended  rapidly  towards  the  road 
of  La  Molara,  which  leads  to  Rocca  Pri 
ori.  In  the  midst  of  this  road  is  a  soli 
tary  inn.  The  captain  ordered  the  troop 
to  halt  at  the  distance  of  a  pistol-shot 
from  it,  and  enjoined  profound  silence. 
He  approached  the  threshold  alone,  with 
noiseless  steps.  He  examined  the  out 
side  of  the  door  very  narrowlyxand  then 
returning  precipitately,  made  a  sign  for 
the  troop  to  continue  its  march  in  silence. 
It  has  since  been  ascertained,  that  this 
was  one  of  those  infamous  inns  which 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


133 


are  the  secret  resorts  of  banditti.  The 
innkeeper  had  an  understanding  with 
the  captain,  as  he  most  probably  had 
with  the  chiefs  of  the  different  bands. 
When  any  of  the  patrols  and  gendarmes 
were  quartered  at  his  house,  the  brigands 
were  warned  of  it  by  a  preconcerted 
signal  on  the  door ;  when  there  was  no 
such  signal,  they  might  enter  with  safety, 
and  be  sure  of  welcome. 

After  pursuing  our  road  a  little  further 
we  struck  off  towards  the  woody  moun 
tains  which  envelope  Rocca  Priori.  Our 
march  was  long  and  painful ;  with  many 
circuits  and  windings:  at  length  we  clam 
bered  a  steep  ascent,  covered  with  a 
thick  forest ;  and  when  we  had  reached 
the  centre,  I  was  told  to  seat  myself  on 
the  ground.  No  sooner  had  I  done  so 
than,  at  a  sign  from  their  chief,  the  rob 
bers  surrounded  me,  and  spreading  their 
great  cloaks  from  one  to  the  other,  form 
ed  a  kind  of  pavilion  of  mantles,  to  which 
their  bodies  might  be  said  to  serve  as 

I  columns.  The  captain  then  struck  a 
light,  and  a  flambeau  was  lit  immediately. 

I  The  mantles  were  extended  to  prevent 
the  light  of  the  flambeau  from  being  seen 

I  through  the  forest.  Anxious  as  was  my 
situation,  I  could  not  look  round  upon 
this  screen  of  dusky  drapery,  relieved  by 
the  bright  colours  of  the  robber's  gar 
ments,  the  gleaming  of  their  weapons, 
arid  the  variety  of  strong-marked  coun 
tenances,  lit  up  by  the  flambeau,  without 
admiring  the  picturesque  effect  of  the 
scene.  It  was  quite  theatrical. 

The  captain  now  held  an  inkhorn,  and 
giving  me  pen  and  paper,  ordered  me  to 
write  what  he  should  dictate.  I  obeyed. 
It  was  a  demand,  couched  in  the  style  of 
robber  eloquence,  "  that  the  prince  should 
send  three  thousand  dollars  for  my  ran 
som ;  or  that  my  death  should  be  the 
consequence  of  a  refusal." 

I  knew  enough  of  the  desperate  cha 
racter  of  these  beings  to  feel  assured  this 
was  not  an  idle  menace.  Their  only 
mode  of  insuring  attention  to  their  de 
mands  is  to  make  the  infliction  of  the 
penalty  inevitable.  I  saw  at  once,  how 
ever,  that  the  demand  was  preposterous, 
and  made  in  improper  language. 

I  told  the  captain  so,  and  assured  him 
that  so  extravagant  a  sum  would  never 
be   granted.     "That   I    was    neither   a 
VOL..  ii.  12 


friend  nor  relative  of  the  prince,  but  a 
mere  artist,  employed  to  execute  certain 
paintings.  That  I  had  nothing  to  offer 
as  a  ransom  but  the  price  of  my  labours  : 
if  this  were  not  sufficient,  my  life  was  at 
their  disposal ;  it  was  a  thing  on  which  I 
set  but  little  value." 

I  was  the  more  hardy  in  my  reply, 
because  I  saw  that  coolness  and  hardi 
hood  had  an  effect  upon  the  robbers.  It 
is  true,  as  I  finished  speaking,  the  cap 
tain  laid  his  hand  upon  his  stiletto  ;  but 
he  restrained  himself,  and  snatching  the 
letter,  folded  it,  and  ordered  me  in  a 
peremptory  tone  to  address  it  to  the 
prince.  He  then  despatched  one  of  the 
labourers  with  it  to  Tusculum,  who  pro 
mised  to  return  with  all  possible  speed. 

The  robbers  now  prepared  themselves 
for  sleep,  and  I  was  told  that  I  might  do 
the  same.  They  spread  their  great 
cloaks  on  the  ground,  and  lay  down 
around  me.  One  was  stationed  at  a 
little  distance  to  keep  watch,  and  was 
relieved  every  two  hours.  The  strange 
ness  and  wildness  of  this  mountain  bi 
vouac  among  the  lawless  beings,  whose 
hands  seemed  ever  ready  to  grasp  the 
stiletto,  and  with  whom  life  was  so  tri 
vial  and  insecure,  was  enough  to  banish 
repose.  The  coldness  of  the  earth  and 
of  the  dew,  however,  had  a  still  greater 
effect  than  mental  causes  in  disturbing 
my  rest.  The  airs  wafted  to  these 
mountains  from  the  distant  Mediterra 
nean,  diffused  a  great  chilliness  as  the 
night  advanced.  An  expedient  suggested 
itself.  I  called  one  of  my  fellow-pri 
soners,  the  labourers,  and  made  him  lie 
down  beside  me.  Whenever  one  of  my 
limbs  became  chilled,  I  approached  it  to 
the  robust  limb  of  my  neighbour,  and 
borrowed  some  of  his  warmth.  In  this 
way  I  was  able  to  obtain  a  little  sleep. 

Day  at  length  dawned,  and  I  was 
roused  from  my  slumber  by  the  voice  of 
the  chieftain.  He  desired  me  to  rise  and 
follow  him.  I  obeyed.  On  considering 
his  physiognomy  attentively,  it  appeared 
a  little  softened.  He  even  assisted  me  in 
scrambling  up  the  steep  forest,  among 
rocks  and  brambles.  Habit  had  made 
him  a  vigorous  mountaineer ;  but  I  found 
it  excessively  toilsome  to  climb  these 
rugged  heights.  We  arrived  at  length 
at  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 


134 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Here  it  was  that  I  felt  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  my  art  suddenly  awakened  ;  and  I 
forgot  in  an  instant  all  my  perils  and 
fatigues  at  this  magnificent  view  of  sun 
rise  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  the 
Abruzzi.  It  was  on  these  heights  that 
Hannibal  first  pitched  his  camp,  and 
pointed  out  Rome  to  his  followers.  The 
eye  embraces  a  vast  extent  of  country. 
The  minor  height  of  Tusculum,  with  its 
villas  and  its  sacred  ruins,  lies  below;  the 
Sabine  hills  and  the  Albanian  mountains 
stretch  on  either  hand ;  and  beyond  Tus 
culum  and  Frascati  spreads  out  the 
immense  Campagna,  with  its  lines  of 
tombs,  and  here  and  there  a  broken 
aqueduct  stretching  across  it,  and  the 
towers  and  domes  of  the  eternal  city  in 
the  midst. 

Fancy  this  scene  lit  up  by  the  glories 
of  a  rising  sun,  and  bursting  upon  my 
sight  as  I  looked  forth  from  among  the 
majestic  forests  of  the  Abruzzi.  Fancy, 
too,  the  savage  foreground,  made  still 
more  savage  by  groups  of  banditti, 
armed  and  dressed  in  their  wild  pic 
turesque  manner,  and  you  will  not 
wonder  that  the  enthusiasm  of  a  painter 
for  a  moment  overpowered  all  his  other 
feelings. 

The  banditti  were  astonished  at  my 
admiration  of  a  scene  which  familiarity 
had  made  so  common  in  their  eyes.  I 
took  advantage  of  their  halting  at  this 
spot,  drew  forth  a  quire  of  drawing- 
paper,  and  began  to  sketch  the  features 
of  the  landscape.  The  height  on  which 
I  was  seated  was  wild  and  solitary, 
separated  from  the"  ridge  of  Tusculum 
by  a  valley  nearly  three  miles  wide, 
though  the  distance  appeared  less  from 
the  purity  of  the  atmosphere.  This 
height  was  one  of  the  favourite  retreats 
of  the  banditti,  commanding  a  look-out 
over  the  country ;  while  at  the  same  time 
it  was  covered  with  forests,  and  distant 
from  the  populous  haunts  of  men. 

While  I  was  sketching,  my  attention 
was  called  off  for  a  moment  by  the  cries 
of  birds,  and  the  bleatings  of  sheep.  I 
looked  round,  but  could  see  nothing  of 
the  animals  which  uttered  them.  They 
were  repeated,  and  appeared  to  come 
from  the  summits  of  the  trees.  On  look 
ing  more  narrowly,  I  perceived  six  of  the 
robbers  perched  in  the  tops  of  oaks, 


which  grew  on  the  breezy  crest  of  the 
mountain,  and  commanded  an  uninter 
rupted  prospect.  From  hence  they  were 
keeping  a  look-out,  like  so  many  vul 
tures  ;  casting  their  eyes  into  the  depths 
of  the  valley  below  us ;  communicating 
with  each  other  by  signs,  or  holding 
discourse  in  sounds  which  might  be 
mistaken  by  the  wayfarer  for  the  cries  of 
hawks  and  crows,  or  the  bleating  of  the 
mountain  flocks.  After  they  had  recon 
noitred  the  neighbourhood,  and  finished 
their  singular  discourse,  they  descended 
from  their  airy  perch,  and  returned  to 
their  prisoners.  The  captain  posted 
three  of  them  at  three  naked  sides  of  the 
mountain,  while  he  remained  to  guard 
us  with  what  appeared  his  most  trusty 
companion. 

I  had  my  book  of  sketches  in  my  hand ; 
he  requested  to  see  it,  and  after  having 
run  his  eye  over  it,  expressed  himself 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  my  assertion 
that  I  was  a  painter.  I  thought  I  saw  a 
gleam  of  good  feeling  dawning  in  him, 
and  determined  to  avail  myself  of  it.  1 
knew  that  the  worst  of  men  have  their 
good  points  and  their  accessible  sides,  if 
one  would  but  study  them  carefully. 
Indeed  there  is  a  singular  mixture  in  the 
character  of  the  Italian  robber.  With 
reckless  ferocity  he  often  mingles  traits 
of  kindness  and  good-humour.  He  is 
not  always  radically  bad  ;  but  driven  to 
his  course  of  life  by  some  unpremedi 
tated  crime,  the  effect  of  those  sudden 
bursts  of  passion  to  which  the  Italian 
temperament  is  prone.  This  has  com 
pelled  him  to  take  to  the  mountains,  or, 
as  it  is  technically  termed  among  them, 
"  andare  in  campagna."  He  has  be 
come  a  robber  by  profession ;  but  like  a 
soldier,  when  not  in  action,  he  can  lay 
aside  his  weapon  and  his  fierceness,  and 
become  like  other  men. 

I  took  occasion,  from  the  observations 
of  the  captain  on  my  sketchings,  to  fall 
into  conversation  with  him.  I  found 
him  sociable  and  communicative.  By 
degrees  I  became  completely  at  my  ease 
with  him.  I  had  fancied  I  perceived 
about  him  a  degree  of  self-love,  which  I 
determined  to  make  use  of.  I  assumed 
an  air  of  careless  frankness,  and  told 
him,  that,  as  an  artist,  I  pretended  to  the 
power  of  judging  of  the  physiognomy  ; 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


135 


that  I  thought  I  perceived  something  in 
his  features  and  demeanour  which  an 
nounced  him  worthy  of  higher  fortunes ; 
that  he  was  not  formed  to  exercise  the 
profession  to  which  he  had  abandoned 
himself;  that  he  had  talents  and  qualities 
fitted  for  a  nobler  sphere  of  action  ;  that 
he  had  but  to  change  his  course  of  life, 
and,  in  a  legitimate  career,  the  same 
courage  and  endowments  which  now 
made  him  an  object  of  terror,  would 
assure  him  the  applause  and  admiration 
of  society. 

I  had  not  mistaken  my  man  :  my  dis 
course  both  touched  and  excited  him. 
He  seized  rny  hand,  pressed  it,  and 
replied  with  strong  emotion — "You  have 
guessed  the  truth :  you  have  judged  of 
me  rightly."  He  remained  for  a  mo 
ment  silent ;  then,  with  a  kind  of  effort, 
he  resumed — "  I  will  tell  you  some  par 
ticulars  of  my  life,  and  you  will  perceive 
that  it  was  the  oppression  of  others, 
rather  than  my  own  crimes,  which  drove 
me  to  the  mountains.  I  sought  to  serve 
my  fellow-men,  and  they  have  persecuted 
me  from  among  them."  We  seated  our 
selves  on  the  grass,  and  the  robber  gave 
me  the  following  anecdotes  of  his  history. 


THE  STORY 

OF 

THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN. 

I  AM  a  native  of  the  village  of  Prossedi. 
My  father  was  easy  enough  in  circum 
stances,  and  we  lived  peaceably  and 
independently,  cultivating  our  fields. 
All  went  on  well  with  us  until  a  new- 
chief  of  the  Sbirri  was  sent  to  our  village 
to  take  command  of  the  police.  He  was 
an  arbitrary  fellow,  prying  into  every 
thing,  and  practising  all  sorts  of  vexa 
tions  and  oppressions  in  the  discharge  of 
his  office.  I  was  at  that  time  eighteen 
years  of  age,  and  had  a  natural  love  of 
justice  and  good  neighbourhood.  I  had 
also  a  little  education,  and  knew  some 
thing  of  history,  so  as  to  be  able  to  judge 
a  little  of  men  and  their  actions.  All 
this  inspired  me  with  hatred  for  this 
paltry  despot.  My  own  family,  also, 
became  the  object  of  his  suspicion  or 


dislike,  and  felt  more  than  once  the 
arbitrary  abuse  of  his  power.  These 
things  worked  together  in  my  mind,  and 
I  gasped  after  vengeance.  My  character 
was  always  ardent  and  energetic,  and, 
acted  upon  by  the  love  of  justice,  de 
termined  me,  by  one  blow,  to  rid  the 
country  of  the  tyrant. 

Full  of  my  project,  I  rose  one  morning 
before  peep  of  day,  and  concealing  a 
stiletto  under  my  waistcoat — here  you 
see  it ! — (and  he  drew  forth  a  long  keen 
poniard)  I  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  village.  I  knew  all  his 
haunts,  and  his  habit  of  making  his 
rounds  and  prowling  about  like  a  wolf  in 
the  gray  of  the  morning.  At  length  I 
met  him,  and  attacked  him  with  fury. 
Fie  was  armed,  but  I  took  him  unawares, 
and  was  full  of  youth  and  vigour.  I 
gave  him  repeated  blows  to  make  sure 
work,  and  laid  him  lifeless  at  my  feet. 

When  I  was  satisfied  that  I  had  done 
for  him,  I  returned  with  all  haste  to  the 
village,  but  had  the  ill  luck  to  meet  two 
of  the  Sbirri  as  I  entered  it.  They 
accosted  me,  and  asked  if  I  had  seen 
their  chief.  I  assumed  an  air  of  tran 
quillity,  and  told  them  I  had  not.  They 
continued  on  their  way,  and  within  a 
few  hours  brought  back  the  dead  body 
to  Prossedi.  Their  suspicions  of  me 
being  already  awakened,  I  was  arrested 
and  thrown  into  prison.  Here  I  lay 
several  weeks,  when  the  Prince,  who 
was  Seigneur  of  Prossedi,  directed  judi 
cial  proceedings  against  me.  I  was 
brought  to  trial,  and  a  witness  was  pro 
duced,  who  pretended  to  have  seen  me 
flying  with  precipitation  not  far  from  the 
bleeding  body;  and  so  I  was  condemned 
to  the  galleys  for  thirty  years. 

"  Curse  on  such  laws !"  vociferated 
the  bandit,  foaming  with  rage  :  "  Curse 
on  such  a  government !  and  ten  thousand 
curses  on  the  Prince  who  caused  me 
to  be  adjudged  so  rigorously,  while  so 
many  other  Roman  princes  harbour  and 
protect  assassins  a  thousand  times  more 
culpable  !  What  had  I  done  but  what 
was  inspired  by  a  love  of  justice  and  my 
country  ?  Why  was  my  act  more  cul 
pable  than  that  of  Brutus,  when  he  sacri 
ficed  Ciesar  to  the  cause  of  liberty  and 


justice?' 

There  was   something   at  once 


both 


136 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


lofty  and  ludicrous  in  the  rhapsody  of 
this  robber  chief,  thus  associating  him 
self  with  one  of  the  great  names  of 
antiquity.  It  showed,  however,  that 
he  had  at  least  the  merit  of  knowing  the 
remarkable  facts  in  the  history  of  his 
country.  He  became  more  calm,  and 
resumed  his  narrative. 

I  was  conducted  to  Civita  Vecchia  in 
fetters.  My  heart  was  burning  with  rage. 
I  had  been  married  scarce  six  months  to 
a  woman  whom  I  passionately  loved,  and 
who  was  pregnant.  My  family  was  in 
despair.  For  a  long  time  I  made  unsuc 
cessful  efforts  to  break  my  chain.  At 
length  I  found  a  morsel  of  iron,  which  I 
hid  carefully,  and  endeavoured,  with  a 
pointed  flint,  to  fashion  it  into  a  kind  of 
file.  I  occupied  myself  in  this  work 
during  the  night-time,  and  when  it  was 
finished,  I  made  out,  after  a  long  time,  to 
sever  one  of  the  rings  of  my  chain.  My 
flight  was  successful. 

I  wandered  for  several  weeks  in  the 
mountains  which  surround  Prossedi,  and 
found  means  to  inform  my  wife  of  the 
place  where  I  was  concealed.  She  came 
often  to  see  me.  I  had  determined  to 
|  put  myself  at  the  head  of  an  armed  band. 
i  She  endeavoured,  for  a  long  time,  to  dis- 
!  suade  me,  but  finding  my  resolution  fixed, 
j  she  at  length  united  in  my  project  of 
vengeance,  and  brought  me,  herself,  my 
poniard.  By  her  means  I  communicated 
with  several  brave  fellows  of  the  neigh 
bouring  villages,  whom  I  knew  to  be 
ready  to  take  to  the  mountains,  and  only 
panting  for  an  opportunity  to  exercise 
their  daring  spirits.  We  soon  formed 
a  combination,  procured  arms,  and  we 
have  had  ample  opportunities  of  reveng 
ing  ourselves  for  the  wrongs  and  injuries 
which  most  of  us  have  suffered.  Every 
thing  has  succeeded  with  us  until  now ; 
and  had  it  not  been  for  our  blunder  in 
mistaking  you  for  the  prince,  our  for 
tunes  would  have  been  made. 

Here  the  robber  concluded  his  story. 
He  had  talked  himself  into  complete  com 
panionship,  and  assured  me  he  no  longer 
bore  me  any  grudge  for  the  error  of 
which  I  had  been  the  innocent  cause. 
He  even  professed  a  kindness  for  me, 
and  wished  me  to  remain  some  time  with 
them.  He  promised  to  give  me  a  sight 


of  certain  grottoes  which  they  occupied 
beyond  Villetri,  and  whither  they  resorted 
during  the  intervals  of  their  expeditions. 
He  assured  me  that  they  led  a  jovial  life 
there ;  had  plenty  of  good  cheer ;  slept 
on  beds  of  moss ;  and  were  waited  upon 
by  young  and  beautiful  females,  whom  I 
might  take  for  models. 

I  confess  I  felt  my  curiosity  roused  by 
his  description  of  the  grottoes  and  their 
inhabitants ;  they  realized  those  scenes 
in  robber  story  which  I  had  always  look 
ed  upon  as  mere  creations  of  the  fancy.  I 
should  gladly  have  accepted  his  invita 
tion,  and  paid  a  visit  to  these  caverns, 
could  I  have  felt  more  secure  in  my 
company. 

I  began  to  find  my  situation  less  pain 
ful.  I  had  evidently  propitiated  the  good 
will  of  the  chieftain,  and  hoped  that  he 
might  release  me  for  a  moderate  ransom. 
A  new  alarm,  however,  awaited  me. 
While  the  captain  was  looking  out  with 
impatience  for  the  return  of  the  messen 
ger  who  had  been  sent  to  the  prince,  the 
sentinel  who  had  been  posted  on  the  side 
of  the  mountain  facing  the  plain  of  La 
Molara  came  running  towards  us  with 
precipitation.  "  We  are  betrayed  !"  ex 
claimed  he.  "  The  police  of  Frascati 
are  after  us.  A  party  of  carabineers 
have  just  stopped  at  the  inn  below  the 
mountain."  Then,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  stiletto,  he  swore,  with  a  terrible 
oath,  that  if  they  made  the  least  move 
ment  towards  the  mountain,  my  life  and 
the  lives  of  my  fellow-prisoners  should 
answer  for  it. 

The  chieftain  resumed  all  his  ferocity 
of  demeanour,  and  approved  of  what  his 
companion  said ;  but  when  the  latter  had 
returned  to  his  post,  he  turned  to  me 
with  a  softened  air :  "I  must  act  as 
chief,"  said  he,  "  and  humour  my  dan 
gerous  subalterns.  It  is  a  law  with  us 
to  kill  our  prisoners,  rather  than  suffer 
them  to  be  rescued ;  but  do  not  be  alarm 
ed.  In  case  we  are  surprised,  keep  by 
me.  Fly  with  us,  and  I  will  consider 
myself  responsible  for  your  life." 

There  was  nothing  very  consolatory 
in  this  arrangement,  which  would  have 
placed  me  between  two  dangers.  I 
scarcely  knew,  in  case  of  flight,  from 
which  I  should  have  most  to  apprehend, 
the  carbines  of  the  pursuers,  or  the  stilet- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


137 


toes  of  the  pursued.  I  remained  silent, 
however,  and  endeavoured  to  maintain  a 
look  of  tranquillity. 

For  an  hour  was  I  kept  in  this  state  of 
peril  and  anxiety.  The  robbers,  crouch 
ing  among  their  leafy  coverts,  kept -an 
eagle  watch  upon  the  carabineers  below, 
as  they  loitered  about  the  inn ;  some 
times  lolling  about  the  portal ;  some 
times  disappearing  for  several  minutes; 
then  sallying  out,  examining  their  wea 
pons,  pointing  in  different  directions,  and 
apparently  asking  questions  about  the 
neighbourhood.  Not  a  movement,  a  ges 
ture,  was  lost  upon  the  keen  eyes  of  the 
brigands.  The  carabineers  having  finish 
ed  their  refreshment,  seized  their  arms, 
continued  along  the  valley  towards  the 
great  road,  and  gradually  left  the  moun 
tain  behind  them.  "  I  felt  almost  cer 
tain,"  said  the  chief,  "  that  they  could 
not  be  sent  after  us.  They  know  too 
\vell  how  prisoners  have  fared  in  our 
hands  on  similar  occasions.  Our  laws 
in  this  respect  are  inflexible,  and  are 
necessary  for  our  safety.  If  we  once 
flinched  from  them,  there  would  no  longer 
be  any  such  thing  as  a  ransom  to  be  pro 
cured." 

There  were  no  signs  yet  of  the  mes 
senger's  return.  I  was  preparing  to  re 
sume  Iny  sketching,  when  the  captain 
drew  a  quire  of  paper  from  his  knapsack. 
"  Come,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  you  are  a 
painter, — take  my  likeness.  The  leaves 
of  your  portfolio  are  small, — draw  it  on 
this."  I  gladly  consented,  for  it  was  a 
study  that  seldom  presents  itself  to  a 
painter.  I  recollected  that  Salvator  Rosa 
in  his  youth  had  voluntarily  sojourned 
for  a  time  among  the  banditti  of  Calabria, 
and  had  filled  his  mind  with  the  savage 
scenery  and  savage  associates  by  which 
he  was  surrounded.  I  seized  my  pencil 
with  enthusiasm  at  the  thought.  I  found 
the  captain  the  most  docile  of  subjects, 
and,  after  various  shiftings  of  position,  I 
placed  him  in  an  attitude  to  my  mind. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  stern  muscular 
figure,  in  fanciful  bandit  costume ;  with 
pistols  and  poniards  in  belt ;  his  brawny 
neck  bare;  a  handkerchief  loose-ly  thrown 
round  it,  and  the  two  ends  in  front  strung 
with  rings  of  all  kinds,  the  spoils  of  tra 
vellers;  relics  and  medals  hanging  on 
his  breast ;  his  hat  decorated  with  vari- 


ous  coloured  ribands  ;  his  vest  and  short 
breeches  of  bright  colours  and  finely 
embroidered ;  his  legs  in  buskins  or  leg 
gings.  Fancy  him  on  a  mountain  height, 
among  wild  rocks  and  rugged  oaks,  lean 
ing  on  his  carbine,  as  if  meditating  some 
exploit ;  while  far  below  are  beheld  vil 
lages  and  villas,  the  scenes  of  his  ma 
raudings,  with  the  wide  Campagna  dimly 
extending  in  the  distance. 

The  robber  was  pleased  with  the 
sketch,  and  seemed  to  admire  himself 
upon  paper.  I  had  scarcely  finished, 
when  the  labourer  arrived  who  had  been 
sent  for  my  ransom.  He  had  reached 
Tusculum  two  hours  after  midnight.  He 
brought  me  a  letter  from  the  prince,  who 
was  in  bed  at  the  time  of  his  arrival.  As 
I  had  predicted,  he  treated  the  demand 
as  extravagant,  but  offered  five  hundred 
dollars  for  my  ransom.  Having  no  mo 
ney  by  him  at  the  moment,  he  had  sent 
a  note  for  the  amount,  payable  to  whom 
soever  should  conduct  me  safe  and  sound 
to  Rome.  I  presented  the  note  of  hand 
to  the  chieftain :  he  received  it  with  a 
shrug.  "  Of  what  use  are  notes  of  hand 
to  us  ?"  said  he.  "  Who  can  we  send 
with  you  to  Rome  to  receive  it  1  We  are 
all  marked  men ;  known  and  described 
at  every  gate  and  military  post,  and  vil 
lage  church-door.  No ;  we  must  have 
gold  and  silver ;  let  the  sum  be  paid 
in  cash,  and  you  shall  be  restored  to 
liberty." 

The  captain  again  placed  a  sheet  of 
paper  before  me,  to  communicate  his 
determination  to  the  prince.  When  I 
had  finished  the  letter,  and  took  the 
sheet  from  the  quire,  I  found  on  the 
opposite  side  of  it  the  portrait  which  I 
had  just  been  tracing.  I  was  about  to 
tear  it  off,  and  give  it  to  the  chief. 

"  Hold !"  said  he,  "  let  it  go  to  Rome  : 
let  them  see  what  kind  of  a  looking  fel 
low  I  am.  Perhaps  the  prince  and  his 
friends  may  form  as  good  an  opinion  of 
me  from  my  face  as  you  have  done." 

This  was  said  sportively,  yet  it  was 
evident  there  was  vanity  lurking  at  the 
bottom.  Even  this  wary,  distrustful  chief 
of  banditti  forgot  for  a  moment  his  usual 
foresight  and  precaution,  in  the  common 
wish  to  be  admired.  He  never  reflected 
what  use  might  be  made  of  this  portrait 
in  his  pursuit  and  conviction. 
12* 


138 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


The  letter  was  folded  and  directed, 
and  the  messenger  departed  again  for 
Tusculum.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  as  yet  we  had  eaten 
nothing.  In  spite  of  all  my  anxiety,  I 
began  to  feel  a  craving  appetite.  I  was 
glad  therefore  to  hear  the  captain  talk 
something  about  eating.  He  observed 
that  for  three  days  and  nights  they  had 
been  lurking  about  among  rocks  and 
woods,  meditating  their  expedition  to 
Tusculum,  during  which  time  all  their 
provisions  had  been  exhausted.  He 
should  now  take  measures  to  procure  a 
supply.  Leaving  me  therefore  in  charge 
of  his  comrade,  in  whom  he  appeared  to 
have  implicit  confidence,  he  departed, 
assuring  me  that  in  less  than  two  hours 
we  should  make  a  good  dinner.  Where 
it  was  to  come  from  was  an  enigma  to 
me,  though  it  was  evident  these  beings 
had  their  secret  friends  and  agents 
throughout  the  country. 

Indeed,  the  inhabitants  of  these  moun 
tains,  and  of  the  valleys  which  they  cm- 
bosom,  are  a  rude,  half-civilized  set. 
The  towns  and  villages  among  the  forests 
of  the  Abruzzi,  shut  up  from  the  rest  of 
the  world,  are  almost  like  savage  dens. 
It  is  wonderful  that  such  rude  abodes,  so 
little  known  and  visited,  should  be  embo 
somed  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most 
travelled  and  civilized  countries  of  Eu 
rope.  Among  these  regions  the  robber 
prowls  unmolested  ;  not  a  mountaineer 
hesitates  to  give  him  secret  harbour 
and  assistance.  The  shepherds,  how 
ever,  who  tend  their  flocks  among  the 
mountains,  are  the  favourite  emissaries 
of  the  robbers,  when  they  would  send 
messages  down  to  the  valleys  either  for 
ransom  or  supplies. 

The  shepherds  of  the  Abruzzi  are  as 
wild  as  the  scenes  they  frequent.  They 
are  clad  in  a  rude  garb  of  black  or  brown 
sheepskin ;  they  have  high  conical  hats, 
and  coarse  sandals  of  cloth  bound  round 
their  legs  with  thongs  similar  to  those 
worn  by  the  robbers.  They  carry  long 
staves,  on  which  as  they  lean,  they  form 
picturesque  objects  in  the  lonely  land 
scape,  and  they  are  followed  by  their 
ever-constant  companion,  the  dog.  They 
are  a  curious  questioning  set,  glad  at 
any  time  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  their 
solitude  by  the  conversation  of  the  pass 


ers-by  ;  and  the  dog  will  lend  an  attentive 
ear,  and  put  on  as  sagacious  and  inquisi 
tive  a  look  as  his  master. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  my  story. 
I  was  now  left  alone  with  one  of  the  rob 
bers,  the  confidential  companion  of  the 
chief.  He  was  the  youngest  and  most 
vigorous  of  the  band ;  and  though  his 
countenance  had  something  of  that  disso 
lute  fierceness  which  seems  natural  to 
this  desperate,  lawless  mode  of  life,  yet 
there  were  traces  of  manly  beauty  about 
it.  As  an  artist  I  could  not  but  admire 
it.  I  had  remarked  in  him  an  air  of 
abstraction  and  revery,  and  at  times  a 
movement  of  inward  suffering  and  impa 
tience.  He  now  sat  on  the  ground,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head  resting 
between  his  clenched  fists,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  earth  with  an  expression  of 
sad  and  bitter  rumination.  I  had  grown 
familiar  with  him  from  repeated  conver 
sations,  and  had  found  him  superior  in 
mind  to  the  rest  of  the  band.  I  was 
anxious  to  seize  any  opportunity  of  sound 
ing  the  feelings  of  these  singular  beings. 
I  fancied  I  read  in  the  countenance  of 
this  one  traces  of  self-condemnation  and 
remorse ;  and  the  ease  with  which  I  had 
drawn  forth  the  confidence  of  the  chief 
tain  encouraged  me  to  hope  the  same 
with  his  follower. 

After  a  little  preliminary  conversation, 
I  ventured  to  ask  him  if  he  did  not  feel 
regret  at  having  abandoned  his  family, 
and  taken  to  this  dangerous  profession. 
"  I  feel,"  replied  he,  "  but  one  regret, 
and  that  will  end  only  with  my  life." 

As  he  said  this,  he  pressed  his  clenched 
fists  upon  his  bosom,  drew  his  breath 
through  his  set  teeth,  and  added,  with  a 
deep  emotion,  "  I  have  something  within 
here  that  stifles  me ;  it  is  like  a  burning 
iron  consuming  my  very  heart.  I  could 
tell  you  a  miserable  story — but  not  now 
— another  time." 

He  relapsed  into  his  former  position, 
and  sat  with  his  head  between  his  hands, 
muttering  to  himself  in  broken  ejacula 
tions,  and  what  appeared  at  times  to  be 
curses  and  maledictions.  I  saw  he  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  be  disturbed,  so  I  left 
him  to  himself.  In  a  little  while  the  ex 
haustion  of  his  feelings,  and  probably  the 
fatigues  he  had  undergone  in  this  expedi 
tion,  began  to  produce  drowsiness.  He 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


139 


struggled  with  it  for  a  time,  but  the 
warmth  and  stillness  of  mid-day  made  it 
|  irresistible,  and  he  at  length  stretched 
himself  upon  the  herbage  and  fell  fast 
asleep. 

I  now  beheld  a  chance  of  escape  within 
my  reach.  My  guard  lay  before  me  at 
my  mercy.  His  vigorous  limbs  relaxed 
by  sleep — his  bosom  open  for  the  blow — 
his  carbine  slipped  from  his  nerveless 
grasp,  and  lying  by  his  side — his  stiletto 
half  out  of  the  pocket  in  which  it  was 
usually  carried.  Two  only  of  his  com 
rades  were  in  sight,  and  those  at  a  con 
siderable  distance  on  the  edge  of  the 
mountain,  their  backs  turned  to  us,  and 
their  attention  occupied  in  keeping  a 
look-out  upon  the  plain.  Through  a  strip 
of  intervening  forest,  and  at  the  foot  of  a 
steep  descent,  I  beheld  the  village  of 
Rocca  Priori.  To  have  secured  the  car 
bine  of  the  sleeping  brigand  ;  to  have 
seized  upon  his  poniard,  and  have  plunged 
it  in  his  heart,  would  have  been  the  work 
of  an  instant.  Should  he  die  without 
noise,  I  might  dart  through  the  forest, 
and  down  to  Rocca  Priori  before  my 
flight  might  be  discovered.  In  case  of 
alarm,  I  should  have  a  fair  start  of  the 
robbers,  and  a  chance  of  getting  beyond 
the  reach  of  their  shot. 

Here  then  was  an  opportunity  for  both 
escape  and  vengeance ;  perilous  indeed, 
but  powerfully  tempting.  Had  my  situa 
tion  been  more  critical  I  could  not  have 
resisted  it.  I  reflected,  however,  for  a 
moment.  The  attempt,  if  successful, 
would  be  followed  by  the  sacrifice  of  my 
two  fellow-prisoners,  who  were  sleeping 
profoundly,  and  could  not  be  awakened 
in  time  to  escape.  The  labourer  who 
had  gone  after  the  ransom  might  also  fall 
a  victim  to  the  rage  of  the  robbers,  with 
out  the  money  which  he  brought  being 
saved.  Besides,  the  conduct  of  the  chief 
towards  me  made  me  feel  confident  of 
speedy  deliverance.  These  reflections 
overcame  the  first  powerful  impulse,  and 
I  calmed  the  turbulent  agitation  which  it 
had  awakened. 

I  again  took  out  my  materials  for 
drawing,  and  amused  myself  with  sketch 
ing  the  magnificent  prospect.  It  was 
now  about  noon,  and  every  thing  had 
sunk  into  repose,  like  the  bandit  that  lay 
sleeping  before  me.  The  noontide  still 


ness  that  reigned  over  the  mountains,  the 
vast  landscape  below,  gleaming  with 
distant  towns,  and  dotted  with  various 
habitations  and  signs  of  life,  yet  all  so 
silent,  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  my 
mind.  The  intermediate  valleys,  too, 
which  lie  among  the  mountains,  have  a 
peculiar  air  of  solitude.  Few  sounds  are 
heard  at  mid-day  to  break  the  quiet  of 
the  scene.  Sometimes  the  whistle  of  a 
solitary  muleteer,  lagging  with  his  lazy 
animal  along  the  road  which  winds 
through  the  centre  of  the  valley ;  some 
times  the  faint  piping  of  a  shepherd's 
reed  from  the  side  of  the  mountain,  or 
sometimes  the  bell  of  an  ass  slowly 
pacing  along,  followed  by  a  monk  with 
bare  feet,  and  bare,  shining  head,  and 
carrying  provisions  to  his  convent. 

I  had  continued  to  sketch  for  some 
time  among  my  sleeping  companions, 
when  at  length  I  saw  the  captain  of  the 
band  approaching,  followed  by  a  peasant 
leading  a  mule,  on  which  was  a  well- 
filled  sack.  I  at  first  apprehended  that 
this  was  some  new  prey  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  robbers  ;  but  the  contented 
look  of  the  peasant  soon  relieved  me, 
and  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  it  was  our 
promised  repast.  The  brigands  now  came 
running  from  the  three  sides  of  the  moun 
tain,  having  the  quick  scent  of  vultures. 
Every  one  busied  himself  in  unloading 
the  mule,  and  relieving  the  sack  of  its 
contents. 

The  first  thing  that  made  its  appear 
ance  was  an  enormous  ham,  of  a  colour 
and  plumpness  that  would  have  inspired 
the  pencil  of  Teniers;  it  was  followed  by 
a  large  cheese,  a  bag  of  boiled  chestnuts, 
a  little  barrel  of  wine,  and  a  quantity  of 
good  household  bread.  Every  thing  was 
arranged  on  the  grass  with  a  degree  of 
symmetry  ;  and  the  captain,  presenting 
me  his  knife,  requested  me  to  help  my 
self.  We  all  seated  ourselves  round  the 
viands,  and  nothing  was  heard  for  a 
time  but  the  sound  of  vigorous  mastica 
tion,  or  the  gurgling  of  the  barrel  of 
wine  as  it  revolved  briskly  about  the 
circle.  My  long  fasting,  and  the  moun 
tain  air  and  exercise,  had  given  me  a 
keen  appetite ;  and  never  did  repast  ap 
pear  to  me  more  excellent  or  picturesque. 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  band 
was  despatched  to  keep  a  look-out  upon 


140 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


the  plain.  No  enemy  was  at  hand,  and 
the  dinner  was  undisturbed.  The  pea 
sant  received  nearly  three  times  the  value 
of  his  provisions,  and  set  off  down  the 
mountain  highly  satisfied  with  his  bar 
gain.  I  felt  invigorated  by  the  hearty 
meal  I  had  made,  and  notwithstanding 
the  wound  I  had  received  the  evening 
Jbefore  was  painful,  yet  I  could  not  but 
feel  extremely  interested  and  gratified  by 
the  singular  scenes  continually  presented 
to  me.  Every  thing  was  picturesque 
about  these  wild  beings  and  their  haunts. 
Their  bivouacs ;  their  groups  on  guard  ; 
their  indolent  noontide  repose  on  the 
mountain-brow  ;  their  rude  repast  on  the 
herbage  among  rocks  and  trees ;  every 
thing  presented  a  study  for  a  painter : 
but  it  was  towards  the  approach  of  eve 
ning  that  I  felt  the  highest  enthusiasm 
awakened. 

The  setting  sun,  declining  beyond  the 
vast  Campagna,  shed  its  rich  yellow 
beams  on  the  woody  summit  of  the 
Abruzzi.  Several  mountains  crowned 
with  snow  shone  brilliantly  in  the  dis 
tance,  contrasting  their  brightness  with 
others,  which,  thrown  into  shade,  as 
sumed  deep  tints  of  purple  and  violet. 
As  the  evening  advanced,  the  landscape 
darkened  into  a  sterner  character.  The 
immense  solitude  around;  the  wild  moun 
tains  broken  into  rocks  and  precipices, 
intermingled  with  vast  oaks,  corks,  and 
chestnuts  ;  and  the  groups  of  banditti  in 
the  foreground,  reminded  me  of  the 
savage  scenes  of  Salvator  Rosa. 

To  beguile  the  time,  the  captain  pro 
posed  to  his  comrades  to  spread  before 
me  their  jewels  and  cameos,  as  I  must 
doubtless  be  a  judge  of  such  articles,  and 
able  to  form  an  estimate  of  their  value. 
He  set  the  example,  the  others  followed 
it ;  and  in  a  few  moments  I  saw  the  grass 
before  me  sparkling  with  jewels  and  gems 
that  would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  an 
antiquary  or  a  fine  lady. 

Among  them  were  several  precious 
jewels,  and  antique  intaglios  and  cameos 
of  great  value ;  the  spoils,  doubtless  of 
travellers  of  distinction.  I  found  that 
they  were  in  the  habit  of  selling  their 
booty  in  the  frontier  towns ;  but  as  these 
in  general  were  thinly  and  poorly  peopled, 
and  little  frequented  by  travellers,  they 
could  offer  no  market  for  such  valuable 


articles  of  taste  and  luxury.  I  suggested 
to  them  the  certainty  of  their  readily  ob 
taining  great  prices  for  these  gems  among 
the  rich  strangers  with  whom  Rome  was 
thronged. 

The  impression  made  upon  their  greedy 
minds  was  immediately  apparent.  One 
of  the  band,  a  young  man,  and  the  least 
known,  requested  permission  of  the  cap 
tain  to  depart  the  following  day,  in  dis 
guise,  for  Rome,  for  the  purpose  of  traffic; 
promising,  on  the  faith  of  a  bandit  (a  sa 
cred  pledge  among  them),  to  return  in 
two  days  to  any  place  he  might  appoint. 
The  captain  consented,  and  a  curious 
scene  took  place :  the  robbers  crowded 
round  him  eagerly,  confiding  to  him  such 
of  their  jewels  as  they  wished  to  dispose 
of,  and  giving  him  instructions  what  to 
demand.  There  was  much  bargaining 
and  exchanging  and  selling  of  trinkets 
among  them ;  and  I  beheld  my  watch, 
which  had  a  chain  and  valuable  seals, 
purchased  by  the  young  robber-merchant 
of  the  ruffian  who  had  plundered  me,  for 
sixty  dollars.  I  now  conceived  a  faint 
hope,  that  if  it  went  to  Rome,  I  might 
somehow  or  other  regain  possession  of  it.* 

In  the  mean  time  day  declined,  and 
no  messenger  returned  from  Tusculum. 
The  idea  of  passing  another  night  in  the 
woods  was  extremely  disheartening,  for 
I  began  to  be  satisfied  with  what  I  had 
seen  of  robber-life.  The  chieftain  now 
ordered  his  men  to  follow  him,  that  he 
might  station  them  at  their  posts ;  adding, 
that  if  the  messenger  did  not  return  before 
night,  they  must  shift  their  quarters  to 
some  other  place. 

I  was  again  left  alone  with  the  young 
bandit  who  had  before  guarded  me :  he 
had  the  same  gloomy  air  and  haggard 
eye,  with  now  and  then  a  bitter  sardonic 
smile.  I  was  determined  to  probe  his 
ulcerated  heart,  and  reminded  him  of  a 
kind  of  promise  he  had  given  me  to  tell 
me  the  cause  of  his  suffering.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  these  troubled  spirits  were 
glad  of  any  opportunity  to  disburthen 
themselves,  and  of  having  some  fresh, 

*  The  hopes  of  the  artist  were  not  disappointed 
I  — the  robber  was  stopped  at  one  of  the  gates  of 
I  Rome.  Something  in  his  looks  or  deportment  had 
!  excited  suspicion.  He  was  searched,  and  the  va- 
j  luable  trinkets  found  on  him  sufficiently  evinced  his 

character..    On  applying  to  the  police,  the  artist's 

watch  was  returned  to  him. 


PI- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


141 


undiseased  mind,  with  which  they  could 
communicate.  I  had  hardly  made  the 
request,  when  he  seated  himself  by  my 
I  side,  and  gave  me  his  story  in,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  recollect,  the  following  words. 


STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG  ROBBER. 

I  WAS  born  in  the  little  town  of  Frosi- 
none,  which  lies  at  the  skirts  of  the 
Abruzzi.  My  father  had  made  a  little 
property  in  trade,  and  gave  me  some 
education,  as  he  intended  me  for  the 
church;  but  I  had  kept  gay  company  too 
much  to  relish  the  cowl,  so  I  grew  up  a 
loiterer  about  the  place.  I  was  a  heed 
less  fellow,  a  little  quarrelsome  on  occa 
sion,  but  good-humoured  in  the  main  ;  so 
I  made  my  way  very  well  for  a  time, 
until  I  fell  in  love.  There  lived  in  our 
town  a  surveyor  or  landbailhT  of  the 
prince,  who  had  a  young  daughter,  a 
beautiful  girl  of  sixteen  :  she  was  looked 
upon  as  something  better  than  the  com 
mon  run  of  our  townsfolk,  and  was  kept 
almost  entirely  at  home.  I  saw  her  oc 
casionally,  and  became  madly  in  love 
with  her — she  looked  so  fresh  and  tender, 
and  so  different  from  the  sunburnt  fe 
males  to  whom  I  had  been  accustomed. 

As  my  father  kept  me  in  money,  I 
always  dressed  well,  and  took  all  oppor 
tunities  of  showing  myself  off  to  advan 
tage  in  the  eyes  of  the  little  beauty.  I 
used  to  see  her  at  church ;  and  as  I  could 
play  a  little  upon  the  guitar,  I  gave  a 
tune  sometimes  under  her  window  of  an 
evening ;  and  I  tried  to  have  interviews 
with  her  in  her  father's  vineyard,  not  far 
from  the  town,  where  she.  sometimes 
walked.  She  was  evidently  pleased  with 
me,  but  she  was  young  and  shy ;  and  her 
father  kept  a  strict  eye  upon  her,  and 
took  alarm  at  my  attentions,  for  he  had 
a  bad  opinion  of  me,  and  looked  for  a 
better  match  for  his  daughter.  I  became 
furious  at  the  difficulties  thrown  in  my 
way,  having  been  accustomed  always  to 
easy  success  among  the  women,  being 
considered  one  of  the  smartest  young 
fellows  of  the  place. 

Her  father  brought  home  a  suitor  for 
her,  a  rich  farmer,  from  a  neighbouring 
town.  The  wedding-day  was  appointed, 


and  preparations  were  making.  I  got 
sight  of  her  at  her  window,  and  I  thought 
she  looked  sadly  at  me.  I  determined 
the  match  should  not  take  place,  cost 
what  it  might.  I  met  her  intended  bride 
groom  in  the  market-place,  and  could  not 
restrain  the  expression  of  my  rage.  A 
few  hot  words  passed  between  us,  when 
I  drew  my  stiletto  and  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart.  I  fled  to  a  neighbouring  church 
for  refuge,  and  with  a  little  money  I  ob 
tained  absolution,  but  I  did  not  dare  to 
venture  from  my  asylum. 

At  that  time  our  captain  was  forming 
his  troop.  He  had  known  me  from 
boyhood ;  and,  hearing  of  my  situation, 
came  to  me  in  secret,  and  made  such 
offers,  that  I  agreed  to  enrol  myself 
among  his  followers.  Indeed,  I  had  more 
than  once  thought  of  taking  to  this  mode 
of  life,  having  known  several  brave  fel 
lows  of  the  mountains,  who  used  to  spend 
their  money  freely  among  us  youngsters 
of  the  town.  I  accordingly  left  my 
asylum  late  one  night,  repaired  to  the 
appointed  place  of  meeting,  took  the 
oaths  prescribed,  and  became  one  of 
the  troop.  We  were  for  some  time  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  mountains,  and  our 
wild  adventurous  kind  of  life  hit  my 
fancy  wonderfully,  and  diverted  my 
thoughts.  At  length  they  returned  with 
all  their  violence  to  the  recollection  of 
Rosetta :  the  solitude  in  which  I  often 
found  myself  gave  me  time  to  brood  over 
her  image ;  and,  as  I  have  kept  watch 
at  night  over  our  sleeping  camp  in 
the  mountains,  my  feelings  have  been 
roused  almost  to  a  fever. 

At  length  we  shifted  our  ground,  and 
determined  to  make  a  descent  upon  the 
road  between  Terracina  and  Naples.  In 
the  course  of  our  expedition  we  passed 
a  day  or  two  in  the  woody  mountains 
which  rise  above  Frosinone.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  felt  when  I  looked  down 
upon  the  place,  and  distinguished  the  re 
sidence  of  Rosetta.  I  determined  to  have 
an  interview  with  her ; — but  to  what  pur 
pose  ?  I  could  not  expect  that  she  would 
quit  her  home,  and  accompany  me  in 
my  hazardous  life  among  the  mountains. 
She  had  been  brought  up  too  tenderly 
for  that ;  and  when  I  looked  upon  the 
women  who  were  associated  with  some 
of  our  troop,  I  could  not  have  borne  the 


142 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


thoughts  of  her  being  their  companion. 
All  return  to  my  former  life  was  likewise 
hopeless,  for  a  price  was  set  upon  my 
head.  Still  I  determined  to  see  her ;  the 
very  hazard  and  fruitlessness  of  the  thing 
made  me  furious  to  accomplish  it. 

About  three  weeks  since,  I  persuaded 
our  captain  to  draw  down  to  the  vicinity 
of  Frosinone,  suggesting  the  chance  of 
entrapping  some  of  its  principal  inhabi 
tants,  and  compelling  them  to  a  ransom. 
We  were  in  ambush  towards  evening, 
not  far  from  the  vineyard  of  Rosetta's 
father.  I  stole  quietly  from  my  compa 
nions,  and  drew  near  to  reconnoitre  the 
place  of  her  frequent  walks.  How  my 
heart  beat  when  among  the  vines  I  be- 
.held  the  gleaming  of  a  white  dress !  I 
knew  it  must  be  Rosetta's  ;  it  being  rare 
for  any  female  of  the  place  to  dress  in 
white.  I  advanced  secretly  and  without 
noise,  until,  putting  aside  the  vines,  I 
stood  suddenly  before  her.  She  uttered 
a  piercing  shriek,  but  I  seized  her  in  my 
arms,  put  my  hand  upon  her  mouth,  and 
conjured  her  to  be  silent.  I  poured  out 
all  the  frenzy  of  my  passion  ;  offered  to 
renounce  my  mode  of  life  ;  to  put  my 
fate  in  her  hands ;  to  fly  with  her  where 
we  might  live  in  safety  together.  All 
that  I  could  say  or  do  would  not  pacify 
her.  Instead  of  love,  horror  and  affright 
seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  her 
breast.  She  struggled  partly  from  my 
grasp,  and  filled  the  air  with  her  cries. 

In  an  instant  the  captain  and  the  rest 
of  my  companions  were  around  us.  I 
would  have  given  any  thing  at  that  mo 
ment  had  she  been  safe  out  of  our  hands, 
and  in  her  father's  house.  It  was  too 
late.  The  captain  pronounced  her  a 
prize,  and  ordered  that  she  should  be 
borne  to  the  mountains.  I  represented 
to  him  that  she  was  my  prize ;  that  I 
had  a  previous  claim  to  her ;  and  I 
mentioned  my  former  attachment.  He 
sneered  bitterly  in  reply ;  observed  that 
brigands  had  no  business  with  village 
intrigues,  and  that,  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  troop,  all  spoils  of  the  kind  were 
determined  by  lot.  Love  and  jealousy 
were  raging  in  my  heart,  but  I  had  to 
choose  between  obedience  and  death.  I 
surrendered  her  to  the  captain,  and  we 
made  for  the  mountains. 

She  was   overcome   by   affright,  and 


her  steps  were  so  feeble  and  faltering 
that  it  was  necessary  to  support  her.  I 
could  not  endure  the  idea  that  my  com 
rades  should  touch  her,  and  assuming  a 
forced  tranquillity,  begged  that  she  might 
be  confided  to  me,  as  one  to  whom  she 
was  more  accustomed.  The  captain  re 
garded  me,  for  a  moment,  with  a  search 
ing  look,  but  I  bore  it  without  flinching, 
and  he  consented.  I  took  her  in  my 
arms ;  she  was  almost  senseless.  Her 
head  rested  on  my  shoulder ;  I  felt  her 
breath  on  my  face,  and  it  seemed  to  fan 
the  flame  which  devoured.  Oh  God  !  to 
have  this  glowing  treasure  in  my  arms, 
and  yet  to  think  it  was  not  mine ! 

We  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  moun 
tain.  I  ascended  it  with  difficulty,  par 
ticularly  where  the  woods  were  thick, 
but  I  would  not  relinquish  my  delicious 
burthen.  I  reflected  with  rage,  however, 
that  I  must  soon  do  so.  The  thoughts 
that  so  delicate  a  creature  must  be  aban 
doned  to  my  rude  companions  maddened 
me.  I  felt  tempted,  the  stiletto  in  my 
hand,  to  cut  my  way  through  them  all, 
and  bear  her  off  in  triumph.  I  scarcely 
conceived  the  idea  before  I  saw  its  rash 
ness  ;  but  my  brain  was  fevered  with  the 
thought  that  any  but  myself  should  enjoy 
her  charms.  I  endeavoured  to  outstrip 
my  companions  by  the  quickness  of  my 
movements,  and  to  get  a  little  distance 
ahead,  in  case  any  favourable  opportu 
nity  of  escape  should  present.  Vain 
effort !  The  voice  of  the  captain  sud 
denly  ordered  a  halt.  I  trembled,  but 
had  to  obey.  The  poor  girl  partly  opened 
a  languid  eye,  but  was  without  strength 
or  motion.  I  laid  her  upon  the  grass. 
The  captain  darted  on  me  a  terrible  look 
of  suspicion,  and  ordered  me  to  scour 
the  woods  with  my  companions  in  search 
of  some  shepherd,  who  might  be  sent  to 
her  father's  to  demand  a  ransom. 

I   saw  at  once  the  peril.     To   resist 
with  violence  was  certain  death — but  to 
leave  her  alone,  in  the  power  of  the  cap 
tain  !     I  spoke  out  then  with  a  fervour 
inspired  by  my  passion  and  my  despair, 
i  I  reminded  the  captain  that  I  was  the 
|  first  to  seize  her  ;  that  she  was  my  prize; 
I  and  that  my  previous  attachment  to  her 
!  ought   to  make   her  sacred  among  my 
'  companions.     I  insisted,  therefore,  that 
;  he  should  pledge  me  his  word  to  respect 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


143 


her,  otherwise  I  should  refuse  obedience 
to  his  orders.  His  only  reply  was  to 
cock  his  carbine,  and  at  the  signal  my 
comrades  did  the  same.  They  laughed 
with  cruelty  at  my  impotent  rage.  What 
could  I  do?  I  felt  the  madness  of  re 
sistance.  I  was  menaced  on  all  hands, 
and  my  companions  obliged  me  to  follow 
them.  She  remained  alone  with  the 
chief — yes,  alone — and  almost  lifeless ! — 

Here  the  robber  paused  in  his  recital, 
overpowered  by  his  emotions.  Great 
drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead ; 
he  panted  rather  than  breathed ;  his 
brawny  bosom  rose  and  fell  like  the 
waves  of  a  troubled  sea.  When  he  had 
become  a  little  calm,  he  continued  his 
recital. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  a  shepherd, 
said  he.  I  ran  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
deer,  eager,  if  possible,  to  get  back  before 
what  I  dreaded  might  take  place.  I  had 
left  my  companions  far  behind,  and  I  re 
joined  them  before  they  had  reached  one 
half  the  distance  I  had  made.  I  hurried 
them  back  to  the  place  where  we  had 
left  the  captain.  As  we  approached,  I 
beheld  him  seated  by  the  side  of  Rosetta. 
His  triumphant  look,  and  the  desolate 
condition  of  the  unfortunate  girl,  left  me 
no  doubt  of  her  fate.  I  know  not  how  I 
restrained  my  fury. 

It  was  with  extreme  difficulty,  and  by 
guiding  her  hand,  that  she  was  made  to 
trace  a  few  characters,  requesting  her 
father  to  send  three  hundred  dollars  as 
her  ransom.  The  letter  was  despatched 
by  the  shepherd.  When  he  was  gone, 
the  chief  turned  sternly  to  me.  "  You 
have  set  an  example,"  said  he,  "  of  mu 
tiny  and  self-will,  which,  if  indulged, 
would  be  ruinous  to  the  troop.  Had  I 
treated  you  as  our  laws  require,  this 
bullet  would  have  been  driven  through 
your  brain.  But  you  are  an  old  friend  ; 
I  have  borne  patiently  with  your  fury 
and  your  folly.  I  have  even  protected 
you  from  a  foolish  passion  that  would 
have  unmanned  you.  As  to  this  girl, 
the  laws  of  our  association  must  have 
their  course/'  So  saying,  he  gave  his 
commands :  lots  were  drawn,  and  the 
helpless  girl  was  abandoned  to  the  troop. 

Here  the  robber  paused  again,  panting 
with  fury,  and  it  was  some  moments 
before  he  could  resume  his  story. 


Hell,  said  he,  was  raging  in  my  heart. 
I  beheld  the  impossibility  of  avenging 
myself;  and  I  felt  that,  according  to  the 
articles  in  which  we  stood  bound  to  one 
another,  the  captain  was  in  the  right.  I 
rushed  with  frenzy  from  the  place ;  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  earth  ;  tore  up 
the  grass  with  my  hands ;  and  beat  my 
head  and  gnashed  my  teeth  in  agony  and 
rage.  When  at  length.  I  returned,  I 
beheld  the  wretched  victim,  pale,  dis 
hevelled,  her  dress  torn  and  disordered. 
An  emotion  of  pity,  for  a  moment,  sub 
dued  my  fiercer  feelings.  I  bore  her  to 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  leaned  her  gently 
against  it.  1  took  my  gourd,  which  was 
filled  with  wine,  applying  it  to  her  lips, 
endeavoured  to  make  her  swallow  a 
little.  To  what  a  condition  was  she  re 
duced  !  she,  whom  I  had  once  seen  the 
pride  of  Frosinone  ;  who  but  a  short 
time  before  I  had  beheld  sporting  in  her 
father's  vineyard,  so  fresh,  and  beautiful, 
and  happy  !  Her  teeth  were  clenched  ; 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  ;  her  form 
without  motion,  and  in  a  state  of  absolute 
insensibility.  I  hung  over  her  in  an 
agony  of  recollection  at  all  that  she  had 
been,  and  of  anguish  at  what  I  now  be 
held  her.  I  darted  round  a  look  of  hor 
ror  at  my  companions,  who  seemed  like 
so  many  fiends  exulting  in  the  downfall 
of  an  angel ;  and  I  felt  a  horror  at  my 
self  for  being  their  accomplice. 

The  captain,  always  suspicious,  saw, 
with  his  usual  penetration,  what  was 
passing  within  me,  and  ordered  me  to 
go  upon  the  ridge  of  the  woods,  to  keep 
a  look-out  over  the  neighbourhood,  and 
await  the  return  of  the  shepherd.  I 
obeyed,  of  course,  stifling  the  fury  that 
raged  within  me,  though  I  felt,  for  the 
moment,  that  he  was  my  most  deadly  foe. 

On  my  way,  however,  a  ray  of  reflec 
tion  came  across  my  mind.  I  perceived 
that  the  captain  was  but  following,  with 
strictness,  the  terrible  laws  to  which  we 
had  sworn  fidelity.  That  the  passion  by 
which  I  had  been  blinded  might,  with 
justice,  have  been  fatal  to  me,  but  for  his 
forbearance ;  that  he  had  penetrated  my 
soul,  and  had  taken  precautions,  by  send 
ing  me  out  of  the  way,  to  prevent  my 
committing  any  excess  in  my  anger. 
From  that  instant  I  felt  that  I  was  capa 
ble  of  pardoning  him. 


144 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  I  ar 
rived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  The 
country  was  solitary  and  secure,  and  in 
a  short  time  I  beheld  the  shepherd  at  a 
distance  crossing  the  plain.  I  hastened 
to  meet  him.  He  had  obtained  nothing. 
He  had  found  the  father  plunged  in  the 
deepest  distress.  He  had  read  the  letter 
with  violent  emotion,  and  then,  calming 
himself  with  a  sudden  exertion,  he  re 
plied,  coldly :  "  My  daughter  has  been 
dishonoured  by  those  wretches  ;  let  her  be 
returned  without  ransom,  or  let  her  die  !" 

I  shuddered  at  this  reply.  I  knew 
that,  according  to  the  laws  of  our  troop, 
her  death  was  inevitable.  Our  oaths 
required  it.  I  felt,  nevertheless,  that  not 
having  been  able  to  have  her  to  myself,  I 
could  become  her  executioner  ! 

The  robber  again  paused  with  agita 
tion.  I  sat  musing  upon  his  last  fright 
ful  words  which  proved  to  what  excess 
the  passions  may  be  carried,  when 
escaped  from  all  moral  restraint.  There 
was  a  horrible  verity  in  this  story  that 
reminded  me  of  some  of  the  tragic  fictions 
of  Dante. 

We  now  come  to  a  fatal  moment,  re 
sumed  the  bandit.  After  the  report  of 
the  shepherd,  I  returned  with  him,  and 
the  chieftain  received  from  his  lips  the 
refusal  of  the  father.  At  a  signal  which 
we  all  understood,  we  followed  him  to 
some  distance  from  the  victim.  He  there 
pronounced  her  sentence  of  death.  Every 
one  stood  ready  to  execute  his  order,  but 
I  interfered.  I  observed  that  there  was 
something  due  to  pity  as  well  as  to 
justice.  That  I  was  as  ready  as  any 
one  to  approve  the  implacable  law,  which 
was  to  serve  as  a  warning  to  all  those 
who  hesitated  to  pay  the  ransoms  de 
manded  for  our  prisoners ;  but  that 
though  the  sacrifice  was  proper,  it  ought 
to  be  made  without  cruelty.  "  The  night 
is  approaching,"  continued  I ;  "  she  will 
soon  be  wrapped  in  sleep ;  let  her  then 
be  despatched.  All  I  now  claim  on  the 
score  of  former  fondness  for  her  is,  let 
me  strike  the  blow.  I  will  do  it  as  surely, 
but  more  tenderly  than  another."  Seve 
ral  raised  their  voices  against  my  propo 
sition,  but  the  captain  imposed  silence  on 
them.  He  told  me  I  might  conduct  her 
into  a  thicket  at  some  distance,  and  he 
relied  upon  my  promise. 


I  hastened  to  seize  upon  my  prey. 
There  was  a  forlorn  kind  of  triumph  at 
having  at  length  become  her  exclusive 
possessor.  I  bore  her  off  into  the  thick 
ness  of  the  forest.  She  remained  in  the 
same  state  of  insensibility  or  stupor.  I 
was  thankful  that  she  did  not  recollect 
me,  for  had  she  once  murmured  my 
name,  I  should  have  been  overcome. 
She  slept  at  length  in  the  arms  of  him 
who  was  to  poniard  her.  Many  were 
the  conflicts  I  underwent  before  I  could 
bring  myself  to  strike  the  blow.  But  my 
heart  had  become  sore  by  the  recent 
conflicts  it  had  undergone,  and  I  dreaded 
lest,  by  procrastination,  some  other 
should  become  her  executioner.  When 
her  repose  had  continued  for  some  time, 
I  separated  myself  gently  from  her,  that 
I  might  not  disturb  her  sleep,  and  seizing 
suddenly  my  poniard,  plunged  it  into  her 
bosom.  A  painful  and  concentrated  mur 
mur,  but  without  any  convulsive  move 
ment,  accompanied  her  last  sigh.  So 
perished  this  unfortunate  ! 


He  ceased  to  speak.  I  sat,  horror- 
struck,  covering  my  face  with  my  hands, 
seeking,  as  it  were,  to  hide  from  myself 
the  frightful  images  he  had  presented  to 
my  mind.  I  was  roused  from  this  silence 
by  the  voice  of  the  captain:  "You  sleep," 
said  he,  "  and  it  is  time  to  be  off.  Come, 
we  must  abandon  this  height,  as  night  is 
setting  in,  and  the  messenger  is  not  re 
turned.  I  will  post  some  one  on  the 
mountain-edge  to  conduct  him  to  the 
place  where  we  shall  pass  the  night." 

This  was  no  agreeable  news  to  me. 
I  was  sick  at  heart  with  the  dismal  story 
I  had  heard.  I  was  harassed  and  fa 
tigued,  and  the  sight  of  the  banditti  began 
to  grow  insupportable  to  me. 

The  captain  assembled  his  comrades. 
We  rapidly  descended  the  forest,  which 
we  had  mounted  with  so  much  difficulty 
in  the  morning,  and  soon  arrived  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  frequented  road.  The 
robbers  proceeded  with  great  caution, 
carrying  their  guns  cocked,  and  looking 
on  every  side  with  wary  and  suspicious 
eyes.  They  were  apprehensive  of  en 
countering  the  civic  patrole.  We  left 
Rocca  Priori  behind  us.  There  was  a 
fountain  near  by,  and  as  I  was  exces 
sively  thirsty,  I  begged  permission  to 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


145 


stop  and  drink.  The  captain  himself 
went  and  brought  me  water  in  his  hat. 
We  pursued  our  route,  when,  at  the  ex 
tremity  of  an  alley  which  crossed  the 
road,  I  perceived  a  female  on  horseback, 
dressed  in  white.  She  was  alone.  -  I 
recollected  the  fate  of  the  poor  girl  in 
the  story,  and  trembled  for  her  safety. 

One  of  the  brigands  saw  her  at  the 
same  instant,  and  plunging  into  the 
bushes,  he  ran  precipitately  in  the  di 
rection  towards  her.  Stopping  on  the 
border  of  the  alley,  he  put  one  knee  to 
the  ground,  presented  his  carbine  ready 
to  menace  her,  or  to  shoot  her  horse  if 
she  attempted  to  fly,  and  in  this  way 
awaited  her  approach.  I  kept  my  eyes 
fixed  on  her  with  intense  anxiety.  I  felt 
tempted  to  shout  and  warn  her  of  her 
danger,  though  my  own  destruction 
would  have  been  the  consequence.  It 
was  awful  to  see  this  tiger  crouching 
ready  for  a  bound,  and  the  poor  innocent 
victim  wandering  unconsciously  near 
him.  Nothing  but  a  mere  chance  could 
save  her.  To  my  joy  the  chance  turned 
in  her  favour.  She  seemed  almost  ac 
cidentally  to  take  an  opposite  path,  which 
led  outside  of  the  wood,  where  the  robber 
dared  not  venture.  To  this  casual  devi 
ation  she  owed  her  safety. 

I  could  not  imagine  why  the  captain 
of  the  band  had  ventured  to  such  a  dis 
tance  from  the  height  on  which  he  had 
placed  the  sentinel  to  watch  the  return 
of  the  messenger.  He  seemed  himself 
anxious  at  the  risk  to  which  he  exposed 
himself.  His  movements  were  rapid  and 
uneasy ;  I  could  scarce  keep  pace  with 
him.  At  length,  after  three  hours  of 
what  might  be  termed  a  forced  march, 
we  mounted  the  extremity  of  the  same 
woods,  the  summit  of  which  we  had 
occupied  during  the  day;  and  I  learnt 
with  satisfaction  that  we  had  reached  our 
quarters  for  the  night.  "  You  must  be 
fatigued,"  said  the  chieftain;  "  but  it  was 
necessary  to  survey  the  environs,  so  as 
not  to  be  surprised  during  the  night. 
Had  we  met  with  the  famous  civic  guard 
of  Rocca  Priori,  you  would  have  seen 
fine  sport."  Such  was  the  indefatigable 
precaution  and  forethought  of  this  robber 
chief,  who  really  gave  continual  evidence 
of  military  talent. 

The    night    was    magnificent.      The 

VOL.  II.  13 


moon,  rising  above  the  horizon  in  a 
cloudless  sky,  faintly  lit  up  the  grand 
features  of  the  mountain  ;  while  lights 
twinkling  here  and  there,  like  terrestrial 
stars,  in  the  wide  dusky  expanse  of  the 
landscape,  betrayed  the  lonely  cabins  of 
the  shepherds.  Exhausted  by  fatigue, 
and  by  the  many  agitations  I  had  expe 
rienced,  I  prepared  to  sleep,  soothed  by 
the  hope  of  approaching  deliverance. 
The  captain  ordered  his  companions  to 
collect  some  dry  moss ;  he  arranged 
with  his  own  hands  a  kind  of  mattress 
and  pillow  of  it,  and  gave  me  his  ample 
mantle  as  a  covering.  I  could  not  but 
feel  both  surprised  and  gratified  by  such 
unexpected  attentions  on  the  part  of  this 
benevolent  cut-throat ;  for  there  is  no 
thing  more  striking  than  to  find  the  ordi 
nary  charities,  which  are  matters  of 
course  in  common  life,  flourishing  by  the 
side  of  such  stern  and  sterile  crime.  It  is 
like  finding  the  tender  flowers  and  fresh 
herbage  of  the  valley  growing  among 
the  rocks  and  cinders  of  the  volcano. 

Before  I  fell  asleep  I  had  some  further 
discourse  with  the  captain,  who  seemed 
to  feel  great  confidence  in  me.  He  re 
ferred  to  our  previous  conversation  of 
the  morning ;  told  me  he  was  weary  of 
his  hazardous  profession ;  that  he  had 
acquired  sufficient  property,  and  was 
anxious  to  return  to  the  world,  and  lead 
a  peaceful  life  in  the  bosom  of  his  family. 
He  wished  to  know  whether  it  was  not 
in  my  power  to  procure  for  him  a  pass 
port  to  the  United  States  of  America.  I 
applauded  his  good  intentions,  and  pro 
mised  to  do  every  thing  in  my  power  to 
promote  its  success.  We  then  parted  for 
the  night.  I  stretched  myself  upon  my 
couch  of  moss,  which,  after  my  fatigues, 
felt  like  a  bed  of  down ;  and,  sheltered 
by  the  robber-mantle  from  all  humidity, 
I  slept  soundly,  without  waking,  until  the 
signal  to  arise. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  the  day 
was  just  dawning.  As  the  place  where 
we  had  passed  the  night  was  too  much 
exposed,  we  moved  up  into  the  thickness 
of  the  woods.  A  fire  was  kindled.  While 
there  was  any  flame,  the  mantles  were 
again  extended  round  it ;  but  when  no 
thing  remained  but  glowing  cinders,  they 
were  lowered,  and  the  robbers  seated 
themselves  in  a  circle. 


146 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


The  scene  before  me  reminded  me  of 
some  of  those  described  by  Homer. 
There  wanted  only  the  victim  on  the 
coals,  and  the  sacred  knife  to  cut  off 
the  succulent  parts,  and  distribute  them 
around.  My  companions  might  have 
rivalled  the  grim  warriors  of  Greece. 
]n  place  of  the  noble  repasts,  however, 
of  Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  I  beheld 
displayed  on  the  grass  the  remains  of  the 
ham  which  had  sustained  so  vigorous  an 
attack  on  the  preceding  evening,  accom 
panied  by  the  relics  of  the  bread,  cheese, 
and  wine.  We  had  scarcely  commenced 
our  frugal  breakfast,  when  I  heard  again 
an  imitation  of  the  bleating  of  sheep, 
similar  to  what  I  had  heard  the  day 
before.  The  captain  answered  it  in  the 
same  tone.  Two  men  were  soon  after 
seen  descending  from  the  woody  height, 
where  we  had  passed  the  preceding  even 
ing.  On  nearer  approach,  they  proved 
to  be  the  sentinel  and  the  messenger. 
The  captain  rose,  and  went  to  meet 
them.  He  made  a  signal  for  his  com 
rades  to  join  him.  They  had  a  short 
conference,  and  then  returning  to  me 
with  eagerness,  "  Your  ransom  is  paid," 
said  he ;  "  you  are  free !" 

Though  I  had  anticipated  deliverance, 
I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  rush  of  delight 
these  tidings  gave  me.  I  cared  not  to 
finish  my  repast,  but  prepared  to  depart. 
The  captain  took  me  by  the  hand,  re 
quested  permission  to  write  to  me,  and 
begged  me  not  to  forget  the  passport.  I 
replied,  that  I  hoped  to  be  of  effectual 
service  to  him,  and  that  I  relied  on  his 
honour  to  return  the  prince's  note  for 
five  hundred  dollars,  now  that  the  cash 
was  paid.  He  regarded  me  for  a  mo 
ment  with  surprise,  then  seeming  to  re 
collect  himself,  "E  giusto"  said  he, 
"  eccolo — addio  /"*'  He  delivered  me  the 
note,  pressed  my  hand  once  more,  and 
we  separated.  The  labourers  were  per 
mitted  to  follow  me,  and  we  resumed 
with  joy  our  road  toward  Tusculum. 

The  Frenchman  ceased  to  speak.  The 
party  continued,  for  a  few  moments,  to 
pace  the  shore  in  silence.  The  story 
had  made  a  deep  impression,  particularly 
on  the  Venitian  lady.  At  that  part  which 

*  It  is  just — there  it  is — adieu  ! 


related  to  the  young  girl  of  Frosinone, 
she  was  violently  affected.  Sobs  broke 
from  her ;  she  clung  closer  to  her  hus 
band,  and  as  she  looked  up  to  him  as  for 
protection,  the  moonbeams  shining  on 
her  beautifully  fair  countenance,  showed 
it  paler  than  usual,  while  tears  glittered 
in  her  fine  dark  eyes. 

"  Coraggio,  mia  vita  /"  said  he,  as  he 
gently  and  fondly  tapped  the  white  hand 
that  lay  upon  his  arm. 

The  party  now  returned  to  the  inn, 
and  separated  for  the  night.  The  fair 
Venitian,  though  of  the  sweetest  tempe 
rament,  was  half  out  of  humour  with  the 
Englishman,  for  a  certain  slowness  of 
faith  which  he  had  evinced  throughout 
the  whole  evening.  She  could  not  un 
derstand  this  dislike  to  "  humbug,"  as  he 
termed  it,  which  held  a  kind  of  sway 
over  him,  and  seemed  to  control  his 
opinions  and  his  very  actions. 

"I'll  warrant,"  said  she  to  her  hus 
band,  as  they  retired  for  the  night,  "  I'll 
warrant,  with  all  his  affected  indifference, 
this  Englishman's  heart  would  quake  at 
the  very  sight  of  a  bandit." 

Her  husband  gently,  and  good-humour- 
edly,  checked  her. 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  these  English 
men,"  said  she,  as  she  got  into  bed — 
"  they  are  so  cold  and  insensible  !" 


THE  ADVENTURE 
OF 

THE  ENGLISHMAN. 

IN  the  morning  all  was  bustle  in  the 
inn  at  Terracina.  The  procaccio  had 
departed  at  daybreak  on  its  route  towards 
Rome,  but  the  Englishman  was  yet  to 
start,  and  the  departure  of  an  English 
equipage  is  always  enough  to  keep  an 
inn  in  a  bustle.  On  this  occasion  there 
was  more  than  usual  stir,  for  the  English 
man,  having  much  property  about  him, 
and  having  been  convinced  of  the  real 
danger  of  the  road,  had  applied  to  the 
police,  and  obtained,  by  dint  of  liberal 
pay,  an  escort  of  eight  dragoons  and 
twelve  foot-soldiers,  as  far  as  Fondi. 
Perhaps,  too,  there  might  have  been  a 
little  ostentation  at  bottom,  though,  to  say 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


147 


the  truth,  he  had  nothing  of  it  in  his 
manner.  He  moved  about,  taciturn  and 
reserved  as  usual,  among  the  gaping 
crowd ;  gave  laconic  orders  to  John,  as 
he  packed  away  the  thousand  and  one 
indispensable  conveniences  of  the  night ; 
double-loaded  his  pistols  with  great  sang 
froid,  and  deposited  them  in  the  pockets 
of  the  carriage,  taking  no  notice  of  a 
pair  of  keen  eyes  gazing  on  him  from 
among  the  herd  of  loitering  idlers. 

The  fair  Venitian  now  came  up  with 
a  request,  made  in  her  dulcet  tones,  that 
he  would  permit  their  carriage  to  pro 
ceed  under  protection  of  his  escort.  The 
Englishman,  who  was  busy  loading  ano 
ther  pair  of  pistols  for  his  servant,  and 
held  the  ramrod  between  his  teeth,  nod 
ded  assent,  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
without  lifting  up  his  eyes.  The  fair 
Venitian  was  a  little  piqued  at  what  she 
supposed  indifference  : — "  O  Dio  !"  eja 
culated  she  softly  as  she  retired,  "  Quanto 
sono  insensibili  questi  Inglesi !" 

At  length,  off  they  set  in  gallant  style. 
The  eight  dragoons  prancing  in  front, 
the  twelve  foot-soldiers  marching  in  rear, 
and  the  carriage  moving  slowly  in  the 
centre,  to  enable  the  infantry  to  keep 
pace  with  them.  They  had  proceeded 
but  a  few  hundred  yards,  when  it  was 
discovered  that  some  indispensable  article 
had  been  left  behind.  In  fact,  the  Eng 
lishman's  purse  was  missing,  and  John 
was  despatched  to  the  inn  to  search  for 
it.  This  occasioned  a  little  delay,  and 
the  carriage  of  the  Venitians  drove  slow 
ly  on.  John  came  back  out  of  breath 
and  out  of  humour.  The  purse  was  not 
to  be  found.  His  master  was  irritated ; 
he  recollected  the  very  place  where  it 
lay ;  he  had  not  a  doubt  that  the  Italian 
servant  had  pocketed  it.  John  was  again 
sent  back.  He  returned  once  more  with 
out  the  purse,  but  with  the  landlord  and 
the  whole  household  at  his  heels.  A 
thousand  ejaculations  and  protestations, 
accompanied  by  all  sorts  of  grimaces 
and  contortions — "  No  purse  had  been 
seen — his  Eccellenza  must  be  mis 
taken." 

"  No — his  Eccellenza  was  not  mis 
taken — the  purse  lay  on  the  marble  table, 
under  the  mirror,  a  green  purse,  half  full 
of  gold  and  silver."  Again  a  thousand 
grimaces  and  contortions,  and  vows  by 


San  Gennaro,  that  no  purse  of  the  kind 
had  been  seen. 

The  Englishman  became  furious. — 
"The  waiter  had  pocketed  it — the  land 
lord  was  a  knave — the  inn  a  den  of 
thieves — it  was  a  vile  country — he  had 
been  cheated  and  plundered  from  one 
end  of  it  to  the  other — but  he'd  have 
satisfaction — he'd  drive  right  off  to  the 
police." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  the 
postilions  to  turn  back,  when,  on  rising, 
he  displaced  the  cushion  of  the  carriage, 
and  the  purse  of  money  fell  chinking  to 
the  floor. 

All  the  blood  in  his  body  seemed  to 
rush  into  his  face — "  Curse  the  purse," 
said  he,  as  he  snatched  it  up.  He  dashed 
a  handful  of  money  on  the  ground  before 
the  pale  cringing  waiter — "  There — be 
off!"  cried  he,  "  John,  order  the  posti 
lions  to  drive  on." 

Above  half  an  hour  had  been  exhausted 
in  this  altercation.  The  Venitian  car 
riage  had  loitered  along ;  its  passengers 
looking  out  from  time  to  time,  and  ex 
pecting  the  escort  every  moment  to  fol 
low.  They  had  gradually  turned  an 
angle  of  the  road  that  shut  them  out  of 
sight.  The  little  army  was  again  in 
motion,  and  made  a  very  picturesque 
appearance  as  it  wound  along  at  the 
bottom  of  the  rocks;  the  morning  sun 
shine  beaming  upon  the  weapons  of  the 
soldiery. 

The  Englishman  lolled  back  in  his 
carriage,  vexed  with  himself  at  what  had 
passed,  and  consequently  out  of  humour 
with  all  the  world.  As  this,  however,  is 
no  uncommon  case  with  gentlemen  who 
travel  for  pleasure,  it  is  hardly  worthy  of 
remark.  They  had  wound  up  from  the 
coast  among  the  hills,  and  came  to  a 
part  of  the  road  that  admitted  of  some 
prospect  ahead. 

"  I  see  nothing  of  the  lady's  carriage, 
sir,"  said  John,  leaning  down  from  the 
coach-box. 

"  Pish  !"  said  the  Englishman,  testily 
— "  don't  plague  me  about  the  lady's 
carriage ;  must  I  be  continually  pestered 
with  the  concerns  of  strangers  ?"  John 
said  not  another  word,  for  he  understood 
his  master's  mood. 

The  road  grew  more  wild  and  lonely ; 
they  were  slowly  proceeding  on  a  foot- 


148 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


pace  up  a  hill ;  the  dragoons  were  some 
distance  ahead,  and  had  just  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  when  they  uttered  an 
exclamation,  or  rather  shout,  and  gallop 
ed  forward.  The  Englishman  was  roused 
from  his  sulky  revery.  He  stretched  his 
head  from  the  carriage,  which  had  at 
tained  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Before  him 
extended  a  long  hollow  defile,  commanded 
on  one  side  by  rugged  precipitous  heights, 
covered  with  bushes  and  scanty  forest. 
At  some  distance  he  beheld  the  carriage 
of  the  Venitians  overturned.  A  numer 
ous  gang  of  desperadoes  were  rifling  it  ; 
the  young  man  and  his  servant  were 
overpowered,  and  partly  stripped ;  and 
the  lady  was  in  the  hands  of  two  of  the 
ruffians.  The  Englishman  seized  his 
pistols,  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and 
called  upon  John  to  follow  him. 

In  the  mean  time,  as  the  dragoons 
came  forward,  the  robbers,  who  were 
busy  with  the  carriage,  quitted  their 
spoil,  formed  themselves  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  taking  a  deliberate  aim, 
fired.  One  of  the  dragoons  fell,  another 
was  wounded,  and  the  whole  were  for  a 
moment  checked  and  thrown  into  confu 
sion.  The  robbers  loaded  again  in  an 
instant.  The  dragoons  discharged  their 
carbines,  but  without  apparent  effect. 
They  received  another  volley,  which, 
though  none  fell,  threw  them  again  into 
confusion.  The  robbers  were  loading  a 
second  time,  when  they  saw  the  foot-sol 
diers  at  hand.  "  Scampa  via  /"  was  the 
word:  they  abandoned  their  prey,  and 
retreated  up  the  rocks,  the  soldiers  after 
them.  They  fought  from  cliff  to  cliff, 
and  bush  to  bush,  the  robbers  turning 
every  now  and  then  to  fire  upon  their 
pursuers ;  the  soldiers  scrambling  after 
them,  and  discharging  their  muskets 
whenever  they  could  get  a  chance. 
Sometimes  a  soldier  or  a  robber  was 
shot  down,  and  came  tumbling  among 
the  cliffs.  The  dragoons  kept  firing 
from  below,  whenever  a  robber  came 
in  sight. 

The  Englishman  had  hastened  to  the 
scene  of  action,  and  the  balls  discharged 
at  the  dragoons  had  whistled  past  him 
as  he  advanced.  One  object,  however, 
engrossed  his  attention.  It  was  the  beau 
tiful  Venitian  lady  in  the  hands  of  two 
of  the  robbers,  who,  during  the  confusion 


of  the  fight,  carried  her  shrieking  up  the 
mountain.  He  saw  her  dress  gleaming 
among  the  bushes,  and  he  sprang  up  the 
rocks  to  intercept  the  robbers,  as  they 
bore  off  their  prey.  The  ruggedness  of 
the  steep,  and  the  entanglements  of  the 
bushes,  delayed  and  impeded  him.  He 
lost  sight  of  the  lady,  but  was  still  guided 
by  her  cries,  which  grew  fainter  and 
fainter.  They  were  off  to  the  left,  while 
the  reports  of  muskets  showed  that  the 
battle  was  raging  to  the  right.  At  length 
he  came  upon  what  appeared  to  be  a 
rugged  footpath,  faintly  worn  in  a  gully 
of  the  rocks,  and  beheld  the  ruffians  at 
some  distance  hurrying  the  lady  up  the 
defile.  One  of  them  hearing  his  ap 
proach,  let  go  his  prey,  advanced  towards 
him,  and  levelling  the  carbine  which  had 
been  slung  on  his  back,  fired.  The  ball 
whizzed  through  the  Englishman's  hat, 
and  carried  with  it  some  of  his  hair.  He 
returned  the  fire  with  one  of  his  pistols, 
and  the  robber  fell.  The  other  brigand 
now  dropped  the  lady,  and  drawing  a 
long  pistol  from  his  belt,  fired  on  his 
adversary  with  deliberate  aim.  The  ball 
passed  between  his  left  arm  and  his  side, 
slightly  wounding  the  arm.  The  Eng 
lishman  advanced,  and  discharged  his 
remaining  pistol,  which  wounded  the  rob 
ber,  but  not  severely. 

The  brigand  drew  a  stiletto  and  rushed 
upon  his  adversary,  who  eluded  the  blow, 
receiving  merely  a  slight  wound,  and 
defending  himself  with  his  pistol,  which 
had  a  spring-bayonet.  They  closed  with 
one  another,  and  a  desperate  struggle 
ensued.  The  robber  was  a  square-built, 
thick-set  man,  powerful,  muscular,  and 
active.  The  Englishman,  though  of 
larger  frame  and  greater  strength,  was 
less  active  and  less  accustomed  to  ath 
letic  exercises  and  feats  of  hardihood,  but 
he  showed  himself  practised  and  skilled 
in  the  art  of  defence.  They  were  on  a 
craggy  height,  and  the  Englishman  per 
ceived  that  his  antagonist  was  striving  to 
press  him  to  the  edge.  A  side-glance 
showed  him  also  the  robber  whom  he 
had  first  wounded,  scrambling  up  to  the 
assistance  of  his  comrade,  stiletto  in 
hand.  He  had  in  fact  attained  the  sum 
mit  of  the  cliff,  he  was  within  a  few 
steps,  and  the  Englishman  felt  that  his 
case  was  desperate,  when  he  heard  sud- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


149 


denly  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and  the 
ruffian  fell.  The  shot  came  from  John, 
who  had  arrived  just  in  time  to  save  his 
master. 

The  remaining  robber,  exhausted  by 
loss  of  blood  and  the  violence  of  the  con 
test,  showed  signs  of  faltering.  The  Eng 
lishman  pursued  his  advantage,  pressed 
on  him,  and  as  his  strength  relaxed, 
dashed  him  headlong  from  the  precipice. 
He  looked  after  him,  and  saw  him  lying 
motionless  among  the  rocks  below. 

The  Englishman  now  sought  the  fair 
Venitian.  He  found  her  senseless  on 
the  ground.  With  his  servant's  assist 
ance  he  bore  her  down  to  the  road, 
where  her  husband  was  raving  like  one 
distracted.  He  had  sought  her  in  vain, 
and  had  given  her  over  for  lost;  and 
when  he  beheld  her  thus  brought  back 
in  safety,  his  joy  was  equally  wild  and 
ungovernable.  He  would  have  caught 
her  insensible  form  to  his  bosom  had  not 
the  Englishman  restrained  him.  The 
latter  now  really  aroused,  displayed  a 
true  tenderness  and  manly  gallantry, 
which  one  would  not  have  expected  from 
his  habitual  phlegm.  His  kindness,  how 
ever,  was  practical,  not  wasted  in  words. 
He  despatched  John  to  the  carriage  for 
restoratives  of  all  kinds,  and,  totally 
thoughtless  of  himself,  was  anxious  only 
about  his  lovely  charge.  The  occasional 
discharge  of  firearms  along  the  height, 
showed  that  a  retreating  fight  was  still 
kept  up  by  the  robbers.  The  lady  gave 
signs  of  reviving  animation.  The  Eng 
lishman,  eager  to  get  her  from  this 
place  of  danger,  conveyed  her  to  his 
own  carriage,  and,  committing  her  to  the 
care  of  her  husband,  ordered  the  dra 
goons  to  escort  them  to  Fondi.  The 
Venitian  would  have  insisted  on  the 
Englishman's  getting  into  the  carriage  ; 
but  the  latter  refused.  He  poured  forth 
a  torrent  of  thanks  and  benedictions ;  but 
the  Englishman  beckoned  to  the  posti 
lions  to  drive  on. 

John  now  dressed  his  master's  wounds, 
which  were  found  not  to  be  serious, 
though  he  was  faint  with  loss  of  blood. 
The  Venitian  carriage  had  been  righted, 
and  the  baggage  replaced ;  and,  getting 
into  it,  they  set  out  on  their  way  towards 
Fondi,  leaving  the  foot-soldiers  still  en 
gaged  in  ferreting  out  the  banditti. 


Before  arriving  at  Fondi,  the  fair  Ve 
nitian  had  completely  recovered  from  her 
swoon.  She  made  the  usual  question — 

"Where  was  she?" 

"  In  the  Englishman's  carriage." 

"  How  had  she  escaped  from  the  rob 
bers?" 

"  The  Englishman  had  rescued  her." 

Her  transports  were  unbounded ;  and 
mingled  with  them  were  enthusiastic 
ejaculations  of  gratitude  to  her  deliverer. 
A  thousand  times  did  she  reproach  her 
self  for  having  accused  him  of  coldness 
and  insensibility.  The  moment  she  saw 
him  she  rushed  into  his  arms  with  the 
vivacity  of  her  nation,  and  hung  about 
his  neck  in  a  speechless  transport  of  gra 
titude.  Never  was  man  more  embar 
rassed  by  the  embraces  of  a  fine  woman. 

"  Tut ! — tut !"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  You  are  wounded  !"  shrieked  the 
fair  Venitian,  as  she  saw  blood  upon 
his  clothes. 

"  Pooh  !  nothing  at  all !" 

"  My  deliverer ! — my  angel !"  exclaim 
ed  she,  clasping  him  again  round  the 
neck,  and  sobbing  on  his  bosom. 

"  Pish !"  said  the  Englishman  with  a 
good-humoured  tone,  but  looking  some 
what  foolish,  "  this  is  all  humbug." 

The  fair  Venitian,  however,  has  never 
since  accused  the  English  of  insensi 
bility. 


PART  IV. 
THE    MONEY    DIGGERS. 


FOUND   AMONG   THE   PAPERS    OF    THE   LATE 
DIEDRICH    KNICKERBOCKER. 


Now  I  remember  those  old  women's  words 
Who  in  my  youth  would  tell  me  winter's  tales ; 
And  speak  of  sprites  and  ghosts  thnt  glide  by  night 
About  the  place  where  treasure  hath  been  hid. 
MARLOW'S  Jew  of  Malta. 


HELL-GATE. 

ABOUT  six  miles  from  the  renowned 
city  of  the  Manhattoes,  in  that  sound  or 
arm  of  the  sea  which  passes  between  the 
main  land  and  Nassau,  or  Long  Island, 

13* 


150 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


there  is  a  narrow  strait,  where  the  cur 
rent  is  violently  compressed  between 
shouldering  promontories,  and  horribly 
perplexed  by  rocks  and  shoals.  Being, 
at  the  best  of  times,  a  very  violent, 
impetuous  current,  it  takes  these  impedi 
ments  in  mighty  dudgeon ;  boiling  in 
whirlpools  ;  brawling  and  fretting  in  rip 
ples;  raging  and  roaring  in  rapids  and 
breakers  ;  and,  in  short,  indulging  in  all 
kinds  of  wrong-headed  paroxysms.  At 
such  times,  wo  to  any  unlucky  vessel 
that  ventures  within  its  clutches ! 

This  termagant  humour,  however,  pre 
vails  only  at  certain  times  of  tide.  At 
low  water,  for  instance,  it  is  as  pacific  a 
stream  as  you  would  wish  to  see  ;  but  as 
the  tide  rises,  it  begins  to  fret ;  at  half- 
tide  it  roars  with  might  and  main,  like  a 
bully  bellowing  for  more  drink ;  but 
when  the  tide  is  full,  it  relapses  into 
quiet,  and,  for  a  time,  sleeps  as  soundly 
as  an  alderman  after  dinner.  In  fact,  it 
may  be  compared  to  a  quarrelsome  toper, 
who  is  a  peaceable  fellow  enough  when 
he  has  no  liquor  at  all,  or  when  he  has  a 
skin  full,  but  who,  when  half-seas-over, 
plays  the  very  devil. 

This  mighty,  blustering,  bullying,  hard- 
drinking  little  strait,  was  a  place  of  great 
danger  and  perplexity  to  the  Dutch  navi 
gators  of  ancient  days ;  hectoring  their 
tub-built  barks  in  the  most  unruly  style ; 
whirling  them  about  in  a  manner  to  make 
any  but  a  Dutchman  giddy,  and  not  un- 
frequently  stranding  them  upon  rocks  and 
reefs,  as  it  did  the  famous  squadron  of 
Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  when  seeking  a  place 
to  found  the  city  of  the  Manhattoes. 
Whereupon,  out  of  sheer  spleen  they 
denominated  it  Helle-gat,  and  solemnly 
gave  it  over  to  the  devil.  This  appella 
tion  has  since  been  aptly  rendered  into 
English  by  the  name  of  Hell-gate,  and 
into  nonsense  by  the  name  of  Hurl-gate, 
according  to  certain  foreign  intruders, 
who  neither  understood  Dutch  nor  En 
glish — may  St.  Nicholas  confound  them ! 

This  strait  of  Hell-gate  was  a  place  of 
great  awe  and  perilous  enterprise  to  me 
in  my  boyhood  ;  having  been  much  of  a 
navigator  on  those  small  seas,  and  having 
more  than  once  run  the  risk  of  shipwreck 
and  drowning  in  the  course  of  certain 
holiday-voyages,  to  which,  in  common 
with  other  Dutch  urchins,  I  was  rather 


prone.  Indeed,  partly  from  4he  name, 
and  partly  from  various  strange  circum 
stances  connected  with  it,  this  place  had 
far  more  terrors  in  the  eyes  of  my  truant 
companions  and  myself,  than  had  Scylla 
and  Charybdis  for  the  navigators  of 
yore. 

In  the  midst  of  this  strait,  and  hard  by 
a  group  of  rocks  called  the  Hen  and 
Chickens,  there  lay  the  wreck  of  a  vessel 
which  had  been  entangled  in  the  whirl 
pools,  and  stranded  during  a  storm. 
There  was  a  wild  story  told  to  us  of 
this  being  the  wreck  of  a  pirate,  and 
some  tale  of  bloody  murder  which  I 
cannot  now  recollect,  but  which  made  us 
regard  it  with  great  awe,  and  keep  far 
from  it  in  our  cruisings.  Indeed,  the 
desolate  look  of  the  forlorn  hulk,  and 
the  fearful  place  where  it  lay  rotting, 
were  enough  to  awaken  strange  notions. 
A  row  of  timber-heads,  blackened  by 
time,  just  peered  above  the  surface  at 
high  water ;  but  at  low  tide  a  considera 
ble  part  of  the  hull  was  bare,  and  its 
great  ribs,  or  timbers,  partly  stripped  of 
their  planks,  and  dripping  with  sea 
weeds,  looked  like  the  huge  skeleton  of 
some  sea-monster.  There  was  also  the 
stump  of  a  mast,  with  a  few  ropes  and 
blocks  swinging  about,  and  whistling  in 
the  wind,  while  the  sea-gull  wheeled  and 
screamed  around  the  melancholy  carcass. 
I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  some  hob 
goblin  tale  of  sailors'  ghosts  being  seen 
about  this  wreck  at  night,  with  bare 
sculls,  and  blue  lights  in  their  sockets 
instead  of  eyes,  but  I  have  forgotten  all 
the  particulars. 

In  fact,  the  whole  of  this  neighbour 
hood  was,  like  the  Straits  of  Pelorus  of 
yore,  a  region  of  fable  and  romance  to 
me.  From  the  strait  to  the  Manhattoes 
the  borders  of  the  Sound  are  greatly 
diversified,  being  broken  and  indented 
by  rocky  nooks  overhung  with  trees, 
which  give  them  a  wild  and  roman 
tic  look.  In  the  time  of  my  boy 
hood,  they  abounded  with  traditions 
about  pirates,  ghosts,  smugglers,  and 
buried  money  ;  which  had  a  wonderful 
effect  upon  the  young  minds  of  my  com 
panions  and  myself. 

As  I  grew  to  more  mature  years,  I 
made  diligent  research  after  the  truth  of 
these  strange  traditions ;  for  I  have 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


151 


always  been  a  curious  investigator  of 
the  valuable  but  obscure  branches  of  the 
history  of  my  native  province.  I  found 
infinite  difficulty,  however,  in  arriving  at 
any  precise  information.  In  seeking  to 
dig  up  one  fact,  it  is  incredible  the  num 
ber  of  fables  that  I  unearthed.  I  will 
say  nothing  of  the  Devil's  Stepping- 
stones,  by  which  the  arch-fiend  made 
his  retreat  from  Connecticut  to  Long 
Island,  across  the  Sound;  seeing  the 
subject  is  likely  to  be  learnedly  treated 
by  a  worthy  friend  and  contemporary 
historian,  whom  I  have  furnished  with 
particulars  thereof.*  Neither  will  I  say 
any  thing  of  the  black  man  in  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  seated  in  the  stern  of  a 
jolly-boat,  who  used  to  be  seen  about 
Hell-gate  in  stormy  weather,  and  who 
went  by  the  name  of  the  pirate's  spuke, 
(i.  e.  pirate's  ghost),  and  whom,  it  is 
said,  old  Governor  Stuyvesant  once  shot 
with  a  silver  bullet ;  because  I  never 
could  meet  with  any  person  of  staunch 
credibility  who  professed  to  have  seen 
this  spectrum,  unless  it  were  the  widow 
of  Manus  Conklen,  the  blacksmith,  of 
Frogsneck ;  but  then,  poor  woman,  she 
was  a  little  purblind,  and  might  have 
been  mistaken ;  though  they  say  she 
saw  farther  than  other  folks  in  the  dark. 
All  this,  however,  was  but  little  satis 
factory  in  regard  to  the  tales  of  pirates 
and  their  buried  money,  about  which  I 
was  most  curious :  and  the  following  is 
all  that  I  could  for  a  long  time  collect 
that  had  any  thing  like  an  air  of  authen 
ticity. 


KIDD  THE  PIRATE. 

IN  old  times,  just  after  the  territory  of 
the  New  Netherlands  had  been  wrested 
from  the  hands  of  their  High  Mighti 
nesses,  the  Lords  States-General  of  Hol 
land,  by  King  Charles  the  Second,  and 
while  it  was  as  yet  in  an  unquiet  state, 
the  province  was  a  great  resort  of  ran 
dom  adventurers,  loose  livers,  and  all 

*  For  a  very  interesting  and  authentic  account  of 
the  devil  and  his  stepping-stones,  see  the  valuable 
Memoir  read  before  the  New  York  Historical  So 
ciety,  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  by 
his  friend,  an  eminent  jurist  of  the  place. 


that  class  of  hap-hazard  fellows  who  live 
by  their  wits,  and  dislike  the  old-fashioned 
restraint  of  law  and  Gospel.  Among 
these,  the  foremost  were  the  bucaniers. 
These  were  rovers  of  the  deep,  who,  per 
haps,  in  time  of  war,  had  been  educated 
in  those  schools  of  piracy,  the  privateers ; 
but  having  once  tasted  the  sweets  of  plun 
der,  had  ever  retained  a  hankering  after 
it.  There  is  but  a  slight  step  from  the 
privateersman  to  the  pirate  :  both  fight 
for  the  love  of  plunder ;  only  that  the 
latter  is  the  bravest,  as  he  dares  both  the 
enemy  and  the  gallows. 

But  in  whatever  school  they  had  been 
taught,  the  bucaniers  who  kept  about 
the  English  colonies  were  daring  fellows, 
and  made  sad  work  in  times  of  peace 
among  the  Spanish  settlements  and 
Spanish  merchantmen.  The  easy  access 
to  the  harbour  of  the  Manhattoes,  the 
number  of  hiding-places  about  its  waters, 
and  the  laxity  of  its  scarcely  organized 
government,  made  it  a  great  rendezvous 
of  the  pirates  :  where  they  might  dispose 
of  their  booty,  and  concert  new  depreda 
tions.  As  they  brought  home  with  them 
wealthy  lading  of  all  kinds,  the  luxuries 
of  the  tropics,  and  the  sumptuous  spoils 
of  the  Spanish  provinces,  and  disposed 
of  them  with  the  proverbial  carelessness 
of  freebooters,  they  were  welcome  visi- 
ters  to  the  thrifty  traders  of  the  Man 
hattoes.  Crews  of  these  desperadoes, 
therefore,  the  runagates  of  every  coun 
try  and  every  clime,  might  be  seen 
swaggering  in  open  day  about  the  streets 
of  the  little  burgh,  elbowing  its  quiet 
mynheers,  trafficking  away  their  rich 
outlandish  plunder  at  half  or  quarter 
price  to  the  wary  merchant;  and  then 
squandering  their  prize-money  in  taverns, 
drinking,  gambling,  singing,  swearing, 
shouting,  and  astounding  the  neighbour 
hood  with  midnight  brawl  and  ruffian 
revelry. 

At  length  these  excesses  rose  to  such 
a  height  as  to  become  a  scandal  to  the 
provinces,  and  to  call  loudly  for  the 
interposition  of  government.  Measures 
were  accordingly  taken  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  widely-extended  evil,  and  to  ferret 
this  vermin  brood  out  of  the  colonies. 

Among  the  agents  employed  to  exe 
cute  this  purpose  was  the  notorious 
Captain  Kidd.  He  had  long  been  an 


1.V2 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


equivocal  character;  one  of  Iliosc  non 
descript  animals  of  the  ocean  that  arc 
neither  tish,  llcsh,  nor  fowl,  lie  was 
somewhat  of  a  frailer,  something  more 
of  a  smuggler,  with  a  consiclerahle  dash 
of  the  jmvaroon.  He  luul  traded  for 
many  years  among  the  pirates,  in  a  little 
rakish,  mus(|iiil!o-hiiilt  vessel,  that  could 
run  into  all  kinds  of  waters.  Me  knew 
all  their  haunts  and  lurking-places;  was 
alwavs  hooking  about  on  mysterious 
Voyages,  and  as  busy  as  a  Mother 
Carey's  chicken  in  a  storm. 

This  nondescript  personage  was  pitched 
upon  by  government  as  the  very  man  to 
hunt  the  pirates  by  sea,  upon  the  good 
old  maxim  of  "  sotting  a  rogue  to  catch 
a  roiuie  ;"  or  as  otters  are  sometimes 
used  to  catch  their  eoiisins-german,  the 

fish. 

Kuld  accordingly  sailed  for  New  York, 
in  lH!)-"),  iu  a  gallant  vessel  called  the 
Adventure  llalley,  well  armed  and  duly 
commissioned.  On  arriving  at  his  old 
haunts,  however,  he  shipped  his  crew  on 
new  terms  ;  enlisted  a  number  of  his 
old  comrades  ;  lads  of  the  knife  and  the 
pistol  ;  and  then  set  sail  for  the  East. 
Instead  of  cruising  against  pirates,  he 
turned  pirate  himself;  steered  to  the 
Madeiras,  to  IVmavista,  and  Madagascar, 
and  cruised  about  the  entrance  of  the 
Red  Sea.  Here,  among  other  maritime 
robberies,  he  captured  a  rich  Quedah 
merchantman,  maimed  by  Moors,  though 
commanded  by  an  Englishman.  Kuld 
would  fain  have  passed  this  oil*  for  a 
worths  exploit,  as  being  a  kind  of  cru- 
sade  against  the  infidels  :  but  government 
bail  long  since  lost  all  relish  for  such 
Christian  triumphs. 

After  roaming  the  seas,  trafficking  his 
pri/.cs,  ami  changing  from  ship  to  ship, 
Kidd  had  the  hardihood  to  return  to  Bos- 
tou,  laden  with  booty,  with  a  crew  of 
swam^eriii'4'  companions  at  his  heels. 

Times,  however,  were  changed.  The 
hucaniers  could  no  longer  show  a  whis 
ker  in  the  colonies  \\i:h  impunity.  The 
new  go\ernor.  Lord  Bollamont,  had  sig 
nal  i/.ed  himself  by  his  y.eal  in  extirpating 
these  offenders  ;  and  was  doubly  exas 
perated  against  Kidd,  having  been  instru 
mental  in  appointing  him  to  the  trust 
which  he  had  betrayed.  No  sooner, 
therefore,  did  he  show  himself  in  Boston, 


than  the  alarm  was  given  of  his  re-ap 
pearance,  and  measures  were  taken  to 
arrest  this  cut-purse  of  the  ocean.  The 
daring  character  which  Kidd  had  ac 
quired,  however,  and  the  desperate  fel 
lows  who  followed  like  bulldogs  at  his 
heels,  caused  a  little  delay  in  his  arrest. 

I  lo  took  advantage  of  this,  it   is  said,  to 
bury    the  greater  part  of  his    treasures, 
and  then  carried  a  high   head  about  the 
streets  of  Boston,     lie  even  attempted 
to  defend  himself  when  arrested,  but  was 
secured  and  thrown  into  prison,  with  his 
followers.       Such    was     the    formidable 
character  of  this  pirate  and   his   crew, 
that  it  was  thought  advisable  to  despatch 
a     frigate    to     bring    them    to    England. 

I 1  real    exertions    were    made    to    screen 
him   from   justice,  but   in  vain  ;  he  and 
his   comrades    were    tried,    condemned, 
and  hanged  at   Execution  Dock  in  Lon 
don.      Kidd   died   hard,  for  the  rope  with 
which  he  was  first    tied   up  broke  with 
his  weight,  and  he  tumbled  to  the  ground. 
He  was  tied  up  a  second   time,  and  more 
ctlectually  ;   from  hence  came,  doubtless, 
the  story  of   Kidd's  having  a  charmed 
life,  and  that  he  had  to  he  twice  hanged. 

Such  is  the  main  outline  of  Kidd's  his 
tory  ;  hut  it  has  given  birth  to  an  innume 
rable  progeny  of  traditions.  The  report 
of  his  having  buried  great  treasures  of 
gold  anil  jewels  before  his  arrest,  set 
the  brains  of  all  the  good  people  along 
the  coast  in  a  ferment.  There  were 
rumours  on  rumours  of  great  sums  of 
money  found  here  and  there,  sometimes 
in  one  part  of  the  country,  sometimes 
in  a-iother;  of  coins  with  Moorish  in 
scriptions,  doubtless  the  spoils  of  his 
eastern  prizes,  but  which  the  common 
people  looked  upon  with  superstitious 
awe,  regarding  the  Moorish  letters  as 
diabolical  or  magical  characters. 

Some  reported  the  treasure  to  have 
been  buried  in  solitary,  unsettled  places 
about  Plymouth  and  Cape  Cod;  but  by  de 
grees  various  other  parts,  not  only  on  the 
eastern  coast,  but  along  the  shores  of  the 
Sound,  and  even  of  Mauhatta  and  Long 
Island,  v\ere  gilded  by  these  rumours. 
In  fact,  the  rigorous  measures  of  Lord 
Bellamont  had  spread  sudden  consterna 
tion  among  the  bucaniers  in  every  part 
of  the  provinces:  they  had  secreted  their 
money  and  jewels  in  lonely  out-of-the-way 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


153 


places,  about  the  wild  shores  of  the  rivers 
and  sea-coast,  and  dispersed  themselves 
over  the  face  of  the  country.  The  hand 
of  justice  prevented  many  of  them  from 
ever  returning  to  regain  their  buried 
treasures,  which  remained,  and  remain 
probably  to  this  day,  objects  of  enterprise 
for  the  money-digger. 

This  is  the  cause  of  those  frequent 
reports  of  trees  and  rocks  bearing  mys 
terious  marks,  supposed  to  indicate  the 
spots  where  treasures  lay  hidden ;  and 
many  have  been  the  ransackings  after 
the  pirates'  booty.  In  all  the  stories 
which  once  abounded  of  these  enter 
prises,  the  devil  played  a  conspicuous 
part.  Either  he  was  conciliated  by 
ceremonies  and  invocations,  or  some 
solemn  compact  was  made  with  him. 
Still,  he  was  ever  prone  to  play  the 
money-diggers  some  slippery  trick. 
Some  would  dig  so  far  as  to  come  to  an 
iron  chest,  when  some  baffling  circum 
stance  was  sure  to  take  place.  Either 
the  earth  would  fall  in  and  fill  up  the 
pit,  or  some  direful  noise  or  apparition 
would  frighten  the  party  from  the  place : 
sometimes  the  devil  himself  would  appear, 
and  bear  off  the  prize  when  within  their 
very  grasp ;  and  if  they  revisited  the 
place  the  next  day,  not  a  trace  would 
be  found  of  their  labours  of  the  preceding 
night. 

All  these  rumours,  however,  were  ex 
tremely  vague,  and  for  a  long  time  tan 
talized  without  gratifying  my  curiosity. 
There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  hard  to 
get  at  as  truth,  and  there  is  nothing  in 
this  world  but  truth  that  I  care  for.  I 
sought  among  all  my  favourite  sources  of 
authentic  information,  the  oldest  inhabi 
tants,  and  particularly  the  old  Dutch 
wives  of  the  province ;  but  though  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  am  better  versed  than  most 
men  in  the  curious  history  of  my  native 
province,  yet  for  a  long  time  my  inquiries 
were  unattended  with  any  substantial  re 
sult. 

At  length  it  happened  that,  one  calm 
day  in  the  latter  part  of  summer,  I  was 
relaxing  myself  from  the  toils  of  severe 
study,  by  a  day's  amusement  in  fishing 
in  those  waters  which  had  been  the  fa 
vourite  resort  of  my  boyhood.  I  was  in 
company  with  several  worthy  burghers 
of  my  native  city,  among  whom  were 


r 


more  than  one  illustrious  member  of  the 
corporation,  whose  names,  did  I  dare  to 
mention  them,  would  do  honour  to  my 
humble  page.  Our  sport  was  indifferent. 
The  fish  did  not  bite  freely,  and  we  fre 
quently  changed  our  fishing-ground 
without  bettering  our  luck.  We  were  at 
length  anchored  close  under  a  ledge  of 
rocky  coast,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
island  of  Manhattan.  It  was  a  still  warm 
day.  The  stream  whirled  and  dimpled 
by  us  without  a  wave  or  even  a  ripple ; 
and  every  thing  was  so  calm  and  quiet, 
that  it  was  almost  startling  when  the 
kingfisher  would  pitch  himself  from  the 
branch  of  some  dry  tree,  and  after  sus 
pending  himself  for  a  moment  in  the  air 
to  take  his  aim,  would  souse  into  the 
smooth  water  after  his  prey.  While  we 
were  lolling  in  our  boat,  half  drowsy 
with  the  warm  stillness  of  the  day,  and 
the  dulness  of  our  sport,  one  of  our 
party,  a  worthy  alderman,  was  overtaken 
by  a  slumber,  and,  as  he  dozed,  suffered 
the  sinker  of  his  dropline  to  lie  upon  the 
bottom  of  the  river.  On  waking,  he 
found  he  had  caught  something  of  im 
portance  from  the  weight.  On  drawing 
it  to  the  surface,  we  were  much  surprised 
to  find  it  a  long  pistol  of  very  curious  and 
outlandish  fashion,  which,  from  its  rusted 
condition,  and  its  stock  being  worm-eaten 
and  covered  with  barnacles,  appeared  to 
have  lain  a  long  time  under  water.  The 
unexpected  appearance  of  this  document 
of  warfare,  occasioned  much  speculation 
among  my  pacific  companions.  One 
supposed  it  to  have  fallen  there  during 
the  revolutionary  war ;  another,  from  the 
peculiarity  of  its  fashion,  attributed  it  to 
the  voyagers  in  the  earliest  days  of  the 
settlement ;  perchance  to  the  renowned 
Adrian  Block,  who  explored  the  Sound, 
and  discovered  Block  Island,  since  so 
noted  for  its  cheese.  But  a  third,  after 
regarding  it  for  some  time,  pronounced 
it  to  be  of  veritable  Spanish  workman 
ship. 

"  I'll  warrant,"  said  he,  "  if  this  pistol 
could  talk,  it  would  tell  strange  stories  of 
hard  fights  among  the  Spanish  Dons. 
I've  no  doubt  but  it  is  a  relic  of  the 
bucaniers  of  old  times — who  knows  but  it 
belonged  to  Kidd  himself?" 

"  Ah  !  that  Kidd  was  a  resolute  fellow," 
cried  an  old  iron-faced  Cape  Cod  whaler. 


154 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  There's  a  fine  old  song  about  him,  all 
to  the  tune  of — 

My  name  is  Captain  Kidd, 
As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed — 

And  then  it  tells  all  about  how  he  gained 
the  devil's  good  graces  by  burying  the 
Bible : 

I  had  the  Bible  in  my  hand, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  I  buried  it  in  the  sand 

As  I  sailed. — 

Odsfish,  if  I  thought  this  pistol  had  be 
longed  to  Kidd,  I  should  set  great  store 
by  it,  for  curiosity's  sake.  By  the  way, 
I  recollect  a  story  about  a  fellow  who 
once  dug  up  Kidd's  buried  money,  which 
was  written  by  a  neighbour  of  mine,  and 
which  I  learnt  by  heart.  As  the  fish 
don't  bite  just  now,  I'll  tell  it  to  you  by 
way  of  passing  away  the  time."  And  so 
saying,  he  gave  us  the  following  narra 
tion. 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER. 

A  FEW  miles  from  Boston  in  Massa 
chusetts,  there  is  a  deep  inlet,  winding 
several  miles  into  the  interior  of  the 
country  from  Charles  Bay,  and  termi 
nating  in  a  thickly-wooded  swamp  or 
morass.  On  one  side  of  this  inlet  is  a 
beautiful  dark  grove ;  on  the  opposite 
side  the  land  rises  abruptly  from  the 
water's  edge  into  a  high  ridge,  on  which 
grow  a  few  scattered  oaks  of  great  age 
and  immense  size.  Under  one  of  these 
gigantic  trees,  according  to  old  stories, 
there  was  a  great  amount  of  treasure 
buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate.  The  inlet 
allowed  a  facility  to  bring  the  money  in  a 
boat  secretly  and  at  night  to  the  very  foot 
of  the  hill ;  the  elevation  of  the  place  per 
mitted  a  good  look-out  to  be  kept  that  no 
one  was  at  hand  ;  while  the  remarkable  : 
trees  formed  good  landmarks  by  which 
the  place  might  easily  be  found  again.  I 
The  old  stories  add,  moreover,  that  the  I 
devil  presided  at  the  hiding  of  the  money, 
and  took  it  under  his  guardianship ;  but 
this  it  is  well  known  he  always  does  with  j 
buried  treasure,  particularly  when  it  has  ! 
been  ill-gotten.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Kidd  j 


never  returned  to  recover  his  wealth  ; 
being  shortly  after  seized  at  Boston,  sent 
out  to  England,  and  there  hanged  for  a 
pirate. 

About  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time 
that  earthquakes  were  prevalent  in  New 
England,  and  shook  many  tall  sinners 
down  upon  their  knees,  there  lived  near 
this  place  a  meagre  miserly  fellow,  of 
the  name  of  Tom  Walker.  He  had  a 
wife  as  miserly  as  himself:  they  were  so 
miserly  that  they  even  conspired  to  cheat 
each  other.  Whatever  the  woman  could 
lay  hands  on,  she  hid  away ;  a  hen  could 
not  cackle  but  she  was  on  the  alert  to 
secure  the  new-laid  egg.  Her  husband 
was  continually  prying  about  to  detect  her 
secret  hoards,  and  many  and  fierce  were 
the  conflicts  that  took  place  about  what 
ought  to  have  been  common  property. 
They  lived  in  a  forlorn-looking  house 
that  stood  alone,  and  had  an  air  of  star 
vation.  A  few  straggling  savin-trees, 
emblems  of  sterility,  grew  near  it ;  no 
smoke  ever  curled  from  its  chimney ; 
no  traveller  stopped  at  its  door.  A 
miserable  horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  ar 
ticulate  as  the  bars  of  a  gridiron,  stalked 
about  a  field,  where  a  thin  carpet  of  moss, 
scarcely  covering  the  ragged  beds  of 
pudding-stone,  tantalized  and  balked  his 
hunger;  and  sometimes  he  would  lean 
his  head  over  the  fence,  look  piteously  at 
the  passer-by,  and  seem  to  petition  de 
liverance  from  this  land  of  famine. 

The  house  and  its  inmates  had  alto 
gether  a  bad  name.  Tom's  wife  was  a 
tall  termagant,  fierce  of  temper,  loud  of 
tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.  Her  voice 
was  often  heard  in  wordy  warfare  with 
her  husband;  and  his  face  sometimes 
showed  signs  that  their  conflicts  were 
not  confined  to  words.  No  one  ven 
tured,  however,  to  interfere  between 
them.  The  lonely  wayfarer  shrunk 
within  himself  at  the  horrid  clamour 
and  clapper-clawing;  eyed  the  den  of 
discord  askance ;  and  hurried  on  his 
way  rejoicing,  if  a  bachelor,  in  his  celi 
bacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been 
to  a  distant  part  of  the  neighbourhood, 
he  took  what  he  considered  a  short  cut 
homewards,  through  the  swamp.  Like 
most  short  cuts,  it  was  an  ill-chosen 
route.  The  swamp  was  thickly  grown 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


155 


with  great  gloomy  pines  and  hemlocks, 
some  of  them  ninety  feet  high,  which 
made  it  dark  at  noonday,  and  a  retreat 
for  all  the  owls  of  the  neighbourhood. 
It  was  full  of  pits  and  quagmires,  partly 
covered  with  weeds  and  mosses,  where 
the  green  surface  often  betrayed  the 
traveller  into  a  gulf  of  black,  smother 
ing  mud ;  there  were  also  dark  and  stag 
nant  pools,  the  abodes  of  the  tadpole,  the 
bullfrog,  and  the  water-snake  ;  where  the 
trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay  half- 
drowned,  half  rotting,  looking  like  alli 
gators  sleeping  in  the  mire. 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way 
cautiously  through  this  treacherous  forest ; 
stepping  from  tuft  to  tuft  of  rushes  and 
roots,  which  afforded  precarious  foot 
holds  among  deep  sloughs ;  or  pacing 
carefully,  like  a  cat,  along  the  prostrate 
trunks  of  trees ;  startled  now  and  then 
by  the  sudden  screaming  of  the  bittern, 
or  the  quacking  of  a  wild  duck,  rising  on 
the  wing  from  some  solitary  pool.  At 
length  he  arrived  at  a  piece  of  firm 
ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  peninsula 
into  the  deep  bosom  of  the  swamp.  It 
had  been  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the 
Indians  during  their  wars  with  the  first 
colonists.  Here  they  had  thrown  up  a 
kind  of  fort,  which  they  had  looked  upon 
as  almost  impregnable,  and  had  used  as 
a  place  of  refuge  for  their  squaws  and 
children.  Nothing  remained  of  the  old 
Indian  fort  but  a  few  embankments, 
gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  sur 
rounding  earth,  and  already  overgrown 
in  part  by  oaks  and  other  forest  trees, 
the  foliage  of  which  formed  a  contrast 
to  the  dark  pines  and  hemlocks  of  the 
swamp. 

It  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  evening 
when  Tom  Walker  reached  the  old  fort, 
and  he  paused  therefore  a  while  to  rest 
himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have 
felt  unwilling  to  linger  in  this  lonely, 
melancholy  place,  for  the  common  peo 
ple  had  a  bad  opinion  of  it,  from  the 
stories  handed  down  from  the  time  of 
the  Indian  wars  ;  when  it  was  asserted 
that  the  savages  held  incantations  here, 
and  made  sacrifices  to  the  evil  spirit. 

Tom  Walker,  however,  was  not  a  man 
to  be  troubled  with  any  fears  of  the  kind. 
He  reposed  himself  for  some  time  on  the 
trunk  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  listening  to 


the  boding  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  and 
delving  with  his  walking-staff  into  a 
mound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet.  As 
he  turned  up  the  soil  unconsciously,  his 
staff  struck  against  something  hard.  He 
raked  it  out  of  the  vegetable  mould,  and 
lo  !  a  cloven  scull,  with  an  Indian  toma 
hawk  buried  deep  in  it,  lay  before  him. 
The  rust  on  the  weapon  showed  the  time 
that  had  elapsed  since  this  deathblow 
had  been  given,  It  was  a  dreary  me 
mento  of  the  fierce  struggle  that  had 
taken  place  in  this  last  foothold  of  the 
Indian  warriors. 

"  Humph !"  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he 
gave  it  a  kick  to  shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"  Let  that  scull  alone !"  said  a  gruff 
voice.  Tom  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 
beheld  a  great  black  man  seated  di 
rectly  opposite  him,  on  the  stump  of  a 
tree.  He  was  exceedingly  surprised, 
having  neither  heard  nor  seen  any  one 
approach;  and  he  was  still  more  per 
plexed  on  observing,  as  well  as  the 
gathering  gloom  would  permit,  that  the 
stranger  was  neither  negro  nor  Indian. 
It  is  true  he  was  dressed  in  a  rude  half 
Indian  garb,  and  had  a  red  belt  or  sash 
swathed  round  his  body  ;  but  his  face 
was  neither  black  nor  copper-colour,  but 
swarthy  and  dingy,  and  begrimed  with 
soot,  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
toil  among  fires  and  forges.  He  had  a 
shock  of  coarse  black  hair,  that  stood 
out  from  his  head  in  all  directions,  and 
bore  an  axe  on  his  shoulder. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom 
with  a  pair  of  great  red  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  on  my  grounds  ?" 
said  the  black  man,  with  a  hoarse  growl 
ing  voice. 

"  Your  grounds !"  said  Tom  with  a 
sneer.  "  No  more  your  grounds  than 
mine  ;  they  belong  to  Deacon  Peabody." 

"  Deacon  Peabody  be  d d,"  said 

the  stranger,  "  as  I  flatter  myself  he  will 
be,  if  he  does  not  look  more  to  his  own 
sins  and  less  to  those  of  his  neighbours. 
Look  yonder,  and  see  how  Deacon  Pea- 
body  is  faring." 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the 
stranger  pointed,  and  beheld  one  of  the 
great  trees,  fair  and  flourishing  without, 
but  rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw  that  it 
had  been  nearly  hewn  through,  so  that 
the  first  high  wind  was  likely  to  blow  it 


156 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


down.  On  the  bark  of  the  tree  was 
scored  the  name  of  Deacon  Peabody, — 
an  eminent  man,  who  had  waxed  wealthy 
by  driving  shrewd  bargains  with  the 
Indians.  He  now  looked  round,  and 
found  most  of  the  tall  trees  marked 
with  the  name  of  some  great  man  in  the 
colony,  and  all  more  or  less  scored  by 
the  axe.  The  one  on  which  he  had 
been  seated,  and  which  had  evidently 
just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the  name 
of  Crowninshield ;  and  he  recollected  a 
mighty  rich  man  of  that  name,  who 
made  a  vulgar  display  of  wealth,  which 
it  was  whispered  he  had  acquired  by 
bucaniering. 

"  He's  just  ready  for  burning  !"  said 
the  black  man,  with  a  growl  of  triumph. 
"  You  see  I  am  likely  to  have  a  good 
stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"But  what  right  have  you,"  said 
Tom,  "  to  cut  down  Deacon  Peabody's 
timber  ?" 

"  The  right  of  a  prior  claim,"  said  the 
other.  "  This  woodland  belonged  to  me 
long  before  one  of  your  white-faced  race 
put  foot  upon  the  soil." 

"  And  pray  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be 
so  bold  ?"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  I  go  by  various  names.  I  am 
the  wild  huntsman  in  some  countries : 
the  black  miner  in  others.  In  this 
neighbourhood  I  am  known  by  the  name 
of  the  black  woodman.  I  am  he  to 
whom  the  red  men  consecrated  this  spot, 
and  in  honour  of  whom  they  now  and 
then  roasted  a  white  man,  by  way  of 
sweet-smelling  sacrifice.  Since  the  red 
men  have  been  exterminated  by  you 
white  savages,  I  amuse  myself  by  pre 
siding  at  the  persecutions  of  quakers 
and  anabaptists.  I  am  the  great  patron 
and  prompter  of  slave-dealers  and  the 
grand  master  of  the  Salem  witches." 

"  The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  that,  if 
I  mistake  not,"  said  Tom,  sturdily,  "  you 
are  he  commonly  called  Old  Scratch." 

"  The  same,  at  your  service  !"  replied 
the  black  man,  with  a  half-civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  inter 
view,  according  to  the  old  story ;  though 
it  has  almost  too  familiar  an  air  to  be 
credited.  One  would  think  that  to  meet 
with  such  a  singular  personage,  in  this 
wild,  lonely  place,  would  have  shaken 
any  man's  nerves  ;  but  Tom  was  a  hard- 


minded  fellow,  not  easily  daunted,  and 
he  had  lived  so  long  with  a  termagant 
wife,  that  he  did  not  even  fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement 
they  had  a  long  and  earnest  conversa 
tion  together,  as  Tom  returned  home 
ward.  The  black  man  told  him  of  great 
sums  of  money  which  had  been  buried 
by  Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak  trees 
on  the  high  ridge,  not  far  from  the 
morass.  All  these  were  under  his  com 
mand,  and  protected  by  his  power,  so 
that  none  could  find  them  but  such  as 
propitiated  his  favour.  These  he  offered 
to  place  within  Tom  Walker's  reach, 
having  conceived  an  especial  kindness 
for  him ;  but  they  were  to  be  had  only 
on  certain  conditions.  What  these  con 
ditions  were  may  easily  be  surmised, 
though  Tom  never  disclosed  them  pub 
licly.  They  must  have  been  very  hard, 
for  he  required  time  to  think  of  them, 
and  he  was  not  a  man  to  stick  at  trifles 
where  money  was  in  view.  When  they 
had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  the 
stranger  paused — "  What  proof  have  I 
that  all  you  have  been  telling  me  is 
true  ?'  said  Tom.  "  There  is  my  sig 
nature,"  said  the  black  man,  pressing 
his  finger  on  Tom's  forehead.  So  say 
ing,  he  turned  off  among  the  thickets  of 
the  swamp,  and  seemed,  as  Tom  said, 
to  go  down,  down,  down,  into  the  earth, 
until  nothing  but  his  head  and  shoulders 
could  be  seen,  and  so  on,  until  he  totally 
disappeared. 

When  Tom  reached  home,  he  found 
the  black  print  of  a  finger,  burnt,  as  it 
were,  into  his  forehead,  which  nothing 
could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him 
was  the  sudden  death  of  Absalom  Crown 
inshield,  the  rich  bucanier.  It  was  an 
nounced  in  the  papers  with  the  usual 
flourish,  that  "  A  great  man  had  fallen 
in  Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his 
black  friend  had  just  hewn  down,  and 
which  was  ready  for  burning.  "Let 
the  freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "  who 
cares  !"  He  now  felt  convinced  that  all 
he  had  heard  and  seen  was  no  illusion. 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into 
his  confidence,  but  as  this  was  an  uneasy 
secret,  he  willingly  shared  it  with  her. 
All  her  avarice  was  awakened  at  the 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


157 


mention  of  hidden  gold,  and  she  urged 
her  husband  to  comply  with  the  black 
man's  terms,  and  secure  what  would 
make  them  wealthy  for  life.  However 
Tom  might  have  felt  disposed  to  sell 
himself  to  the  devil,  he  was  determined 
not  to  do  so  to  oblige  his  wife ;  so  he 
flatly  refused,  out  of  the  mere  spirit  of 
contradiction.  Many  and  bitter  were 
the  quarrels  they  had  on  the  subject,  but 
the  more  she  talked,  the  more  resolute 
was  Tom  not  to  be  damned  to  please  her. 

At  length  she  determined  to  drive  the 
bargain  on  her  own  account,  and  if  she 
succeeded,  to  keep  all  the  gain  to  her 
self.  Being  of  the  same  fearless  temper 
as  her  husband,  she  set  off  for  the  old 
Indian  fort  towards  the  close  of  a  sum 
mer's  day.  She  was  many  hours  absent. 
When  she  came  back,  she  was  reserved 
and  sullen  in  her  replies.  She  spoke 
something  of  a  black  man,  whom  she 
had  met  about  twilight,  hewing  at  the 
root  of  a  tail  tree.  He  was  sulky, 
however,  and  would  not  come  to  terms  : 
she  was  to  go  again  with  a  propitiatory 
offering,  but  what  it  was  she  forbore  to 
say. 

The  next  evening  she  set  off  again  for 
the  swamp,  with  her  apron  heavily  laden. 
Tom  waited  and  waited  for  her,  but  in 
vain ;  midnight  came,  but  she  did  not 
make  her  appearance :  morning,  noon, 
night  returned,  but  she  did  not  come. 
Tom  now  grew  uneasy  for  her  safety, 
especially  as  he  found  she  had  carried 
off  in  her  apron  the  silver  teapot  and 
spoons,  and  every  portable  article  of 
value.  Another  night  elapsed,  another 
morning  came ;  but  no  wife.  In  a  word, 
she  was  never  heard  of  more. 

What  was  her  real  fate  nobody  knows, 
in  consequence  of  so  many  pretending  to 
know.  It  is  one  of  those  facts  which 
have  become  confounded  with  a  variety 
of  historians.  Some  asserted  that  she 
lost  her  way  among  the  tangled  mazes 
of  the  swamp,  and  sunk  into  some  pit 
or  slough ;  others,  more  uncharitable, 
hinted  that  she  had  eloped  with  the 
household  booty,  and  made  off  to  some 
other  province;  while  others  surmised 
that  the  tempter  had  decoyed  her  into  a 
dismal  quagmire,  on  .the  top  of  which 
her  hat  was  found  lying.  In  confirma 
tion  of  this,  it  was  said  a  great  black 

VOL.  II.  14 


man,  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder,  was 
seen  late  that  very  evening  coming  out 
of  the  swamp,  carrying  a  bundle  tied  in 
a  check  apron,  with  an  air  of  surly  tri 
umph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story, 
however,  observes  that  Tom  Walker 
grew  so  anxious  about  the  fate  of  his 
wife  and  his  property,  that  he  set  out  at 
length  to  seek  them  both  at  the  Indian 
fort.  During  a  long  summer's  afternoon 
he  searched  about  the  gloomy  place,  but 
no  wife  was  to  be  seen.  He  called  her 
name  repeatedly,  but  she  was  nowhere 
to  be  heard.  The  bittern  alone  re 
sponded  to  his  voice,  as  he  flew  scream 
ing  by ;  or  the  bullfrog  croaked  dolefully 
from  a  neighbouring  pool.  At  length,  it 
is  said,  just  in  the  brown  hour  of  twi 
light,  when  the  owls  began  to  hoot,  and 
the  bats  to  flit  about,  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  the  clamour  of  carrion- 
crows  that  were  hovering  about  a  cypress 
tree.  He  looked  up  and  beheld  a  bundle 
tied  in  a  check  apron,  and  hanging  in 
the  branches  of  the  tree,  with  a  great 
vulture  perched  hard  by,  as  if  keeping 
watch  upon  it.  He  leaped  with  joy ; 
for  he  recognised  his  wife's  apron,  and 
supposed  it  to  contain  the  household 
valuables. 

"  Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property," 
said  he  consolingly  to  himself,  "  and  we 
will  endeavour  to  do  without  the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree,  the  vul 
ture  spread  its  wide  wings,  and  sailed 
off  screaming  into  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  forest.  Tom  seized  the  check  apron, 
but  woful  sight !  found  nothing  but  a 
heart  and  liver  tied  up  in  it ! 

Such,  according  to  the  most  authentic 
old  story,  was  all  that  was  to  be  found 
of  Tom's  wife.  She  had  probably  at 
tempted  to  deal  with  the  black  man 
as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  deal 
with  her  husband ;  but  though  a  female 
scold  is  generally  considered  a  match 
for  the  devil,  yet  in  this  instance  she 
appears  to  have  had  the  worst  of  it. 
She  must  have  died  game,  however ;  for 
it  is  said  that  Tom  noticed  many  prints 
of  cloven  feet  deeply  stamped  about  the 
tree,  and  found  handfuls  of  hair,  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  plucked  from 
the  coarse  black  shock  of  the  woodman. 
Tom  knew  his  wife's  prowess  by  expe- 


158 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


rience.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as 
he  looked  at  the  signs  of  a  fierce  clapper 
clawing.  "  Egad,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  Old  Scratch  must  have  had  a  tough 
time  of  it !" 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of 
his  property  with  the  loss  of  his  wife, 
for  he  was  a  man  of  fortitude.  He  even 
felt  something  like  gratitude  towards  the 
black  woodman,  who,  he  considered,  had 
done  him  a  kindness.  He  sought,  there 
fore,  to  cultivate  a  further  acquaintance 
with  him,  but  for  some  time  without 
success ;  the  old  black-legs  played  shy, 
for  whatever  people  may  think,  he  is 
not  always  to  be  had  for  calling  for : 
he  knows  how  to  play  his  cards  when 
pretty  sure  of  his  game. 

At  length  it  is  said,  when  delay  had 
whetted  Tom's  eagerness  to  the  quick, 
and  prepared  him  to  agree  to  any  thing 
rather  than  not  gain  the  promised  trea 
sure,  he  met  the  black  man  one  evening 
in  his  usual  woodman's  dress,  with  his 
axe  on  his  shoulder,  sauntering  along  the 
edge  of  the  swamp,  and  humming  a  tune. 
He  affected  to  receive  Tom's  advances 
with  great  indifference,  made  brief  replies, 
and  went  on  humming  his  tune. 

By  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought 
him  to  business,  and  they  began  to  hag 
gle  about  the  terms  on  which  the  former 
was  to  have  the  pirate's  treasure.  There 
was  one  condition  which  need  not  be 
mentioned,  being  generally  understood  in 
all  cases  where  the  devil  grants  favours ; 
but  there  were  others  about  which, 
though  of  less  importance,  he  was  inflexi 
bly  obstinate.  He  insisted  that  the  money 
found  through  his  means  should  be  em 
ployed  in  his  service.  He  proposed, 
therefore,  that  Tom  should  employ  it  in 
the  black  traffic;  that  is  to  say,  that  he 
should  fit  out  a  slave-ship.  This,  how 
ever,  Tom  resolutely  refused :  he  was 
bad  enough  in  all  conscience ;  but  the 
devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  to  turn 
slave-dealer. 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this 
point,  he  did  not  insist  upon  it,  but  pro 
posed  instead,  that  he  should  turn  usurer ; 
the  devil  being  extremely  anxious  for  the 
increase  of  usurers,  looking  upon  them 
as  his  peculiar  people. 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for 
it  was  just  to  Tom's  taste. 


t- 


"  You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in 
Boston  next  month,"  said  the  black  man. 

"  I'll  do  it  to-morrow,  if  you  wish," 
said  Tom  Walker. 

"  You  shall  lend  money  at  two  per 
cent,  a  month." 

"  Egad,  I'll  charge  four !"  replied  Tom 
Walker. 

"You  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose 
mortgages,  drive  the  merchant  to  bank 
ruptcy — " 

"  I'll  drive  him  to  the  d — 1,"  cried 
Tom  Walker. 

"  You  are  the  usurer  for  my  money !" 
said  the  black-legs  with  delight.  "  When 
will  you  want  the  rhino  ?" 

"  This  very  night." 

"  Done  !"  said  the  devil. 

"  Done  !"  said  Tom  Walker.  So  they 
shook  hands,  and  struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker 
seated  behind  his  desk  in  a  counting- 
house  in  Boston.  His  reputation  for  a 
ready-moneyed  man,  who  would  lend 
money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon 
spread  abroad.  Every  body  remembers 
the  time  of  Governor  Belcher,  when 
money  was  particularly  scarce.  It  was 
a  time  of  paper  credit.  The  country  had 
been  deluged  with  government  bills ;  the 
famous  Land  Bank  had  been  established  ; 
there  had  been  a  rage  for  speculating; 
the  people  had  run  mad  with  schemes 
for  new  settlements ;  for  building  cities  in 
the  wilderness  ;  land-jobbers  went  about 
with  maps  and  grants,  and  townships, 
and  El  Dorados,  lying  nobody  knew 
where,  but  which  every  body  was  ready 
to  purchase.  In  a  word,  the  great  specu 
lating  fever  which  breaks  out  every  now 
and  then  in  the  country  had  raged  to  an 
alarming  degree,  and  every  body  was 
dreaming  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from 
nothing.  As  usual,  the  fever  had  subsi 
ded  ;  the  dream  had  gone  off,  and  the 
imaginary  fortunes  with  it ;  the  patients 
were  left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole 
country  resounded  with  the  consequent 
cry  of  "  hard  times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  dis 
tress  did  Tom  Walker  set  up  as  a  usurer 
in  Boston.  His  door  was  soon  thronged 
by  customers.  The  needy  and  the 
adventurous  ;  the  gambling  speculator  ; 
the  dreaming  land-jobber;  the  thriftless 
tradesman ;  the  merchant  with  cracked 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


159 


credit ;  in  short,  every  one  driven  to  raise 
money  by  desperate  means  and  desperate 
sacrifices,  hurried  to  Tom  Walker. 

Thus  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of 
the  needy  ;  and  he  acted  like  a  "  friend 
in  need  ;"  that  is  to  say,  he  always  ex 
acted  good  pay  and  good  security.  In 
proportion  to  the  distress  of  the  applicant 
was  the  hardness  of  his  terms.  He  accu 
mulated  bonds  and  mortgages ;  gradually 
squeezed  his  customers  closer  and  closer ; 
and  sent  them  at  length  dry  as  a  sponge 
from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  hand  over 
hand ;  became  a  rich  and  mighty  rnan, 
and  exalted  his  cocked  hat  upon  'Change. 
He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast  house 
out  of  ostentation,  but  left  the  greater  part 
of  it  unfinished  and  unfurnished  out  of 
parsimony.  He  even  set  up  a  carriage 
in  the  fulness  of  his  vainglory,  though  he 
nearly  starved  the  horses  which  drew  it ; 
and  as  the  ungreased  wheels  groaned  and 
screeched  on  the  axletrees,  you  would 
have  thought  you  heard  the  souls  of  the 
poor  debtors  he  was  squeezing. 

As  Tom  waxed  old,  however,  he  grew 
thoughtful.  Having  secured  the  good 
things  of  this  world,  he  began  to  feel 
anxious  about  those  of  the  next.  He 
thought  with  regret  upon  the  bargain  he 
had  made  with  his  black  friend,  and  set 
his  wits  to  work  to  cheat  him  out  of  the 
conditions.  He  became,  therefore,  all  of 
a  sudden  a  violent  church-goer.  He 
prayed  loudly  and  strenuously,  as  if 
heaven  were  to  be  taken  by  force  of 
lungs.  Indeed,  one  might  always  tell 
when  he  had  sinned  most  during  the  week 
by  the  clamour  of  his  Sunday  devotion. 
The  quiet  Christians  who  had  been  most 
modestly  and  steadfastly  travelling  Zion- 
ward,  were  struck  with  self-reproach  at 
seeing  themselves  so  suddenly  outstripped 
in  their  career  by  this  new-made  convert. 
Tom  was  as  rigid  in  religious  as  in  money 
matters ;  he  was  a  stern  supervisor  and 
censurer  of  his  neighbours,  and  seemed 
to  think  every  sin  entered  up  to  their  ac 
count  became  a  credit  on  his  own  side  of 
the  page.  He  even  talked  of  the  expedi 
ency  of  reviving  the  persecution  of  Qua 
kers  and  Anabaptists.  In  a  word,  Tom's 
zeal  became  as  notorious  as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this  strenuous  at 
tention  to  forms,  Tom  had  a  lurking  dread 


that  the  devil,  after  all,  would  have  his 
due.  That  he  might  not  be  taken  una 
wares,  therefore,  it  is  said  he  always 
carried  a  small  Bible  in  his  coat-pocket. 
He  had  also  a  great  folio  Bible  on  his 
counting-house  desk,  and  would  fre 
quently  be  found  reading  it  when  people 
called  on  business.  On  such  occasions 
he  would  lay  his  green  spectacles  in  the 
book  to  mark  the  place,  while  he  turned 
round  to  drive  some  usurious  bargain. 

Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little 
crack-brained  in  his  old  days,  and  that, 
fancying  his  end  approaching,  he  had  his 
horse  new-shod,  saddled,  and  bridled,  and 
buried  with  his  feet  uppermost ;  because 
he  supposed  that,  at  the  last  day,  the 
world  would  be  turned  upside  down,  in 
which  case  he  would  find  his  horse 
standing  ready  for  mounting,  and  he  was 
determined,  at  the  worst,  to  give  his  old 
friend  a  run  for  it.  This,  however,  is 
probably  a  mere  old  wives'  fable. 

If  he  really  did  take  such  a  precaution, 
it  was  totally  superfluous;  at  least  so  says 
the  authentic  old  legend,  which  closes  his 
story  in  the  following  manner. 

On  one -hot  afternoon  in  the  dog-days 
just  as  a  terrible  black  thunder-gust  was 
coming  up,  Tom  sat  in  his  counting- 
house,  in  his  white  linen  cap,  and  India 
silk  morning-gown.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  foreclosing  a  mortgage,  by 
which  he  would  complete  the  ruin  of  an 
unlucky  land  speculator,  for  whom  he 
had  professed  the  greatest  friendship. 

The  poor  land-jobber  begged  him  to 
grant  a  few  months'  indulgence.  Tom 
had  grown  testy  and  irritated,  and  re 
fused  another  day. 

"My  family  will  be  ruined,  and 
brought  upon  the  parish,"  said  the  land- 
jobber. 

"  Charity  begins  at  home,"  replied 
Tom.  "I  must  take  care  of  myself  in 
these  hard  times." 

"  You  have  made  so  much  money  out 
of  me,"  said  the  speculator. 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety. 
"The  d— 1  take  me,"  said  he,  "if  I 
have  made  a  farthing." 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks 
at  the  street-door.  He  stepped  out  to  see 
who  was  there.  A  black  man  was  hold 
ing  a  black  horse,  which  neighed  and 
stamped  with  impatience. 


160 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


"  Tom,  you're  come  for !"  said  the 
black  fellow,  gruffly.  Tom  shrank  back, 
but  too  late.  He  had  left  his  little  Bible 
at  the  bottom  of  his  coat-pocket,  and  his 
big  Bible  on  the  desk,  buried  under  the 
mortgage  he  was  about  to  foreclose ; 
never  was  sinner  taken  more  unawares  ; 
the  black  man  whisked  him  like  a  child 
into  the  saddle,  gave  the  horse  a  lash, 
and  away  he  galloped,  with  Tom  on  his 
back,  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder-storm. 
The  clerks  stuck  their  pens  behind  their 
ears,  and  stared  after  him  from  the  win 
dows.  Away  went  Tom  Walker,  dashing 
down  the  streets,  his  white  cap  bobbing 
up  and  down,  his  morning-gown  flutter 
ing  in  the  wind,  and  his  steed  striking 
fire  out  of  the  pavement  at  every  bound. 
When  the  clerks  turned  to  look  for  the 
black  man,  he  had  disappeared. 

Tom  Walker  never  returned  to  fore 
close  the  mortgage.  A  countryman,  who 
lived  on  the  border  of  the  swamp,  re 
ported,  that  in  the  height  of  the  thunder- 
gust  he  had  heard  a  great  clattering  of 
hoofs,  and  a  howling  along  the  road,  and 
that  when  he  ran  to  the  window,  he  just 
caught  sight  of  a  figure  such  as  I  have 
described,  on  a  horse  that  galloped  like 
mad  across  the  fields,  over  the  hills,  and 
down  into  the  black  hemlock  swamp, 
towards  the  old  Indian  fort;  and  that 
shortly  after,  a  thunderbolt  fell  in  that 
direction,  which  seemed  to  set  the  whole 
forest  in  a  blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their 
heads  and  shrugged  their  shoulders ;  but 
had  been  so  much  accustomed  to  witches 
and  goblins,  and  tricks  of  the  devil  in  all 
kinds  of  shapes  from  the  first  settlement 
of  the  colony,  that  they  were  not  so  much 
horror  struck  as  might  have  been  ex 
pected.  Trustees  were  appointed  to  take 
charge  of  Tom's  effects.  There  was 
nothing,  however,  to  administer  upon. 
On  searching  his  coffers,  all  his  bonds 
and  mortgages  were  found  reduced  to 
cinders.  In  place  of  gold  and  silver,  his 
iron  chest  was  filled  with  chips  and 
shavings ;  two  skeletons  lay  in  his  stable 
instead  of  his  half-starved  horses  ;  and 
the  very  next  day  his  great  house  took 
fire,  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Tom  Walker  and 
his  ill-gotten  wealth.  Let  all  griping 
money-brokers  lay  this  story  to  heart. 


The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be  doubted.  The 
very  hole  under  the  oak-trees,  from 
whence  he  dug  Kidd's  money,  is  to  be 
seen  to  this  day ;  and  the  neighbouring 
swamp  and  old  Indian  fort  are  often 
haunted  in  stormy  nights  by  a  figure  on 
horseback,  in  morning-gown  and  white 
cap,  which  is,  doubtless,  the  troubled 
spirit  of  the  usurer.  In  fact  the  story 
had  resolved  itself  into  a  proverb,  and  is 
the  origin  of  that  popular  saying,  so 
prevalent  throughout  New  England,  of 
"  The  Devil  twd  Tom  Walker." 

Such,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect, 
was  the  purport  of  the  tale  told  by  the 
Cape  Cod  whaler.  There  were  divers 
trivial  particulars  which  I  have  omitted, 
and  which  whiled  away  the  morning 
very  pleasantly,  until,  the  time  of  tide 
favourable  to  fishing  being  passed,  it  was 
proposed  that  we  should  go  to  land  and 
refresh  ourselves  under  the  trees,  till  the 
noontide  heat  should  have  abated. 

We  accordingly  landed  on  a  delectable 
part  of  the  Island  of  Manhattan,  in  that 
shady  and  embowered  tract  formerly 
under  the  dominion  of  the  ancient  family 
of  the  Hardenbrooks.  It  was  a  spot 
well  known  to  me  in  the  course  of  the 
aquatic  expeditions  of  my  boyhood.  Not 
far  from  where  we  landed  there  was  an 
old  Dutch  family  vault,  constructed  on 
the  side  of  a  bank,  which  had  been  an 
object  of  great  awe  and  fable  among  my 
schoolboy  associates.  We  had  peeped 
into  it  during  one  of  our  coasting  voyages, 
and  had  been  startled  by  the  sight  of 
mouldering  coffins,  and  musty  bones 
within ;  but  what  had  given  it  the  most 
fearful  interest  in  our  eyes,  was  its  being 
in  some  way  connected  with  the  pirate 
wreck  which  lay  rotting  among  the 
rocks  of  Hell-gate.  There  were  stories, 
also,  of  smuggling  connected  with  it ; 
particularly  relating  to  a  time  when  this 
retired  spot  was  owned  by  a  noted 
burgher,  called  Ready-money  Provost,  a 
man  of  whom  it  was  whispered,  that  he 
had  many  and  mysterious  dealings  with 
parts  beyond  seas.  All  these  things, 
however,  had  been  jumbled  together  in 
our  minds,  in  that  vague  way  in  which 
such  themes  are  mingled  up  in  the  tales 
of  boyhood. 

While   I  was   pondering   upon   these 


: 


E- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


161 


matters,  my  companions  had  spread  a 
repast  from  the  contents  of  our  well- 
stored  pannier,  under  a  broad  chestnut 
on  the  green-sward,  which  swept  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  Here  we  soiaced 
ourselves  on  the  cool  grassy  carpet 
during  the  warm  sunny  hours  of  mid 
day.  While  lolling  on  the  grass,  indulg 
ing  in  that  kind  of  musing  revery  of 
which  I  am  fond,  I  summoned  up  the 
dusky  recollections  of  my  boyhood  re 
specting  this  place,  and  repeated  them, 
like  the  imperfectly-remembered  traces 
of  a  dream,  for  the  amusement  of  my 
companions.  When  I  had  finished,  a 
worthy  old  burgher,  John  Josse  Vander- 
moere,  the  same  who  once  related  to 
me  adventures  of  Dolph  Heyliger,  broke 
silence,  and  observed,  that  he  recol 
lected  a  story  of  money-digging,  which 
occurred  in  this  very  neighbourhood, 
and  might  account  for  some  of  the  tradi 
tions  which  I  had  heard  in  my  boyhood. 
As  we  knew  him  to  be  one  of  the  most 
authentic  narrators  in  the  province,  we 
begged  him  to  let  us  have  the  particu 
lars,  and  accordingly,  while  we  solaced 
ourselves  with  a  clean  long  pipe  of  Blase 
Moore's  best  tobacco,  the  authentic  John 
Josse  Vandermoere  related  the  following 
tale. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER; 

OR, 

GOLDEN  DREAMS. 

IN  the  year  of  grace,  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and — blank — for  I  do  not 
remember  the  precise  date ;  however,  it 
was  somewhere  in  the  early  part  of  the 
last  century,  there  lived  in  the  ancient 
city  of  the  Manhattoes  a  worthy  burgher, 
Wolfert  Webber  by  name.  He  was  de 
scended  from  old  Cobus  Webber  of  the 
Brille  in  Holland,  one  of  the  original  set 
tlers,  famous  for  introducing  the  cultiva 
tion  of  cabbages,  and  who  came  over  to 
the  province  during  the  protectorship  of 
OlofFe  Van  Kortlandt,  otherwise  called 
the  Dreamer. 

The  field  in  which  Cobus  W^ebber  first 
planted  himself  and  his  cabbages  had  re 
mained  ever  since  in  the  family,  who 


n 


continued  in  the  same  line  of  husbandry, 
with  that  praiseworthy  perseverance  for 
which  our  Dutch  burghers  are  noted. 
The  whole  family  genius,  during  several 
generations,  was  devoted  to  the  study 
and  developement  of  this  once  noble 
vegetable,  and  to  this  concentration  of 
intellect  may,  doubtless,  be  ascribed  the 
prodigious  size  and  renown  to  which  the 
Webber  cabbages  attained. 

The  Webber  dynasty  continued  in 
uninterrupted  succession  ;  and  never  did 
a  line  give  more  unquestionable  proofs 
of  legitimacy.  The  eldest  son  succeeded 
to  the  looks  as  well  as  the  territory  of 
his  sire ;  and  had  the  portraits  of  this 
line  of  tranquil  potentates  been  taken, 
they  would  have  presented  a  row  of 
heads  marvellously  resembling,  in  shape 
and  magnitude,  the  vegetables  over  which 
they  reigned. 

The  seat  of  government  continued  un 
changed  in  the  family  mansion,  a  Dutch- 
built  house,  with  a  front,  or  rather  gable- 
end,  of  yellow  brick,  tapering  to  a  point, 
with  the  customary  iron  weathercock  at 
the  top.  Every  thing  about  the  building 
bore  the  air  of  long-settled  ease  and 
security.  Flights  of  martins  peopled  the 
little  coops  nailed  against  its  walls,  and 
swallows  built  their  nests  under  the 
eaves :  and  every  one  knows  that  these 
house-loving  birds  bring  good  luck  to  the 
dwelling  where  they  take  up  their  abode. 
In  a  bright  sunny  morning,  in  early 
summer,  it  was  delectable  to  hear  their 
cheerful  notes  as  they  sported  about  in 
the  pure  sweet  air,  chirping  forth,  as  it 
were,  the  greatness  and  prosperity  of  the 
Webbers. 

Thus  quietly  and  comfortably  did  this 
excellent  family  vegetate  under  the  shade 
of  a  mighty  buttonwood  tree,  which,  by 
little  and  little,  grew  so  great,  as  entirely 
to  overshadow  their  palace.  The  city 
gradually  spread  its  suburbs  round  their 
domain.  Houses  sprang  up  to  interrupt 
their  prospects ;  the  rural  lanes  in  the 
vicinity  began  to  grow  into  the  bustle 
and  populousness  of  streets ;  in  short, 
with  all  the  habits  of  rustic  life,  they 
began  to  find  themselves  the  inhabitants 
of  a  city.  Still,  however,  they  main 
tained  their  hereditary  character  and 
hereditary  possessions,  with  all  the  tena 
city  of  petty  German  princes  in  the  midst 

14* 


-fcl 


162 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


of  the  empire.  Wolfert  was  the  last  of 
the  line,  and  succeeded  to  the  patriarchal 
bench  at  the  door,  under  the  family-tree, 
and  swayed  the  sceptre  of  his  fathers,  a 
kind  of  rural  potentate  in  the  midst  of  a 
metropolis. 

To  share  the  cares  and  sweets  of  sove- 
reignity,  he  had  taken  unto  himself  a 
helpmate,  one  of  that  excellent  kind 
called  stirring  women;  that  is  to  say, 
she  was  one  of  those  notable  little  house 
wives  who  are  always  busy  when  there 
is  nothing  to  do.  Her  activity,  however, 
took  one  particular  direction  ;  her  whole 
life  seemed  devoted  to  intense  knitting : 
whether  at  home  or  abroad,  walking  or 
sitting,  her  needles  were  continually  in 
motion  ;  and  it  is  even  affirmed  that,  by 
her  unwearied  industry,  she  very  nearly 
supplied  her  household  with  stockings 
throughout  the  year.  This  worthy  cou 
ple  were  blessed  with  one  daughter,  who 
was  brought  up  with  great  tenderness 
and  care ;  uncommon  pains  had  been 
taken  with  her  education,  so  that  she 
could  stitch  in  every  variety  of  way, 
make  all  kinds  of  pickles  and  preserves, 
and  mark  her  own  name  on  a  sampler. 
The  influence  of  her  taste  was  seen,  also, 
in  the  family-garden,  where  the  orna 
mental  began  to  mingle  with  the  useful ; 
whole  rows  of  fiery  marigolds  and  splen 
did  hollyhocks  bordered  the  cabbage- 
beds,  and  gigantic  sunflowers  lolled 
their  broad  jolly  faces  over  the  fences, 
seeming  to  ogle  most  affectionately  the 
passers-by. 

Thus  reigned  and  vegetated  Wolfert 
Webber  over  his  paternal  acres,  peace 
ful  and  contentedly.  Not  but  that,  like 
all  other  sovereigns,  he  had  his  occa 
sional  cares  and  vexations.  The  growth 
of  his  native  city  sometimes  caused  him 
annoyance.  His  little  territory  gradually 
became  hemmed  in  by  streets  and  houses, 
which  intercepted  air  and  sunshine.  He 
was  now  and  then  subjected  to  the  irrup 
tions  of  the  border  population  that  infest 
the  skirts  of  a  metropolis ;  who  would 
sometimes  make  midnight  forays  into  his 
dominions,  and  carry  off  captive  whole 
platoons  of  his  noblest  subjects.  Vagrant 
swine  would  make  a  descent,  too,  now 
and  then,  when  the  gate  was  left  open, 
and  lay  all  waste  before  them ;  and  mis 
chievous  urchins  would  often  decapitate 


the  illustrious  sunflowers,  the  glory  of 
the  garden,  as  they  lolled  their  heads  so 
fondly  over  the  walls.  Still  all  these 
were  petty  grievances,  which  might  now 
and  then  ruffle  the  surface  of  his  mind, 
as  a  summer  breeze  will  ruffle  the  sur 
face  of  a  millpond,  but  they  could  not 
disturb  the  deep-seated  quiet  of  his  soul. 
He  would  but  seize  a  trusty  staff  that 
stood  behind  the  door,  issue  suddenly 
out,  and  anoint  the  back  of  the  aggressor, 
whether  pig  or  urchin,  and  then  return 
within  doors,  marvellously  refreshed  and 
tranquillized. 

The  chief  cause  of  anxiety  to  honest 
Wolfert,  however,  was  the  growing  pros 
perity  of  the  city.  The  expenses  of 
living  doubled  and  trebled ;  but  he  could 
not  double  and  treble  the  magnitude  of 
his  cabbages  ;  and  the  number  of  com 
petitors  prevented  the  increase  of  price. 
Thus,  therefore,  while  every  one  around 
him  grew  richer,  Wolfert  grew  poorer ; 
and  he  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  per 
ceive  how  the  evil  was  to  be  remedied. 

This  growing  care,  which  increased 
from  day  to  day,  had  its  gradual  effect 
upon  our  worthy  burgher ;  insomuch, 
that  it  at  length  implanted  two  or  three 
wrinkles  in  his  brow,  things  unknown 
before  in  the  family  of  the  Webbers ; 
and  it  seemed  to  pinch  up  the  corners 
of  his  cocked  hat  into  an  expression  of 
anxiety  totally  opposite  to  the  tranquil, 
broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  beavers  of 
his  illustrious  progenitors. 

Perhaps  even  this  would  not  have 
materially  disturbed  the  serenity  of  his 
mind,  had  he  had  only  himself  and  his 
wife  to  care  for ;  but  there  was  his  daugh 
ter  gradually  growing  to  maturity  ;  and 
all  the  world  knows  that  when  daughters 
begin  to  ripen,  no  fruit  nor  flower 


re 


quires  so  much  looking  after.  I  have 
no  talent  at  describing  female  charms, 
else  fain  would  I  depict  the  progress  of 
this  little  Dutch  beauty.  How  her  blue 
eyes  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  and  her 
cherry  lips  redder  and  redder ;  and  how 
she  ripened  and  ripened,  and  rounded 
and  rounded,  in  the  opening  breath  of 
sixteen  summers;  until  in  her  seven 
teenth  spring  she  seemed  ready  to  burst 
out  of  her  bodice  like  a  half-blown  rose 
bud. 

Ah,  well-a-day  !  could  I  but  show  her 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


163 


as  she  was  then  tricked  out  on  a  Sun 
day  morning  in  the  hereditary  finery  of 
the  old  Dutch  clothes-press,  of  which  her 
mother  had  confided  to  her  the  key.  The 
wedding-dress  of  her  grandmother  mo 
dernised  for  use,  with  sundry  ornaments, 
handed  down  as  heir-looms  in  the  family; 
her  pale-brown  hair,  smoothed  with  but 
termilk  in  flat  waving  lines,  on  each  side 
of  her  fair  forehead  ;  the  chain  of  yellow 
virgin  gold  that  encircled  her  neck  ;  the 
little  cross  that  just  rested  at  the  entrance 
of  a  soft  valley  of  happiness,  as  if  it 
would  sanctify  the  place ;  the — but,  pooh 
— it  is  not  for  an  old  man  like  me  to  be 
prosing  about  female  beauty.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  Amy  had  attained  her  seven 
teenth  year.  Long  since  had  her  sampler 
exhibited  hearts  in  couples,  desperately 
transfixed  with  arrows,  and  true-lover's- 
knots,  worked  in  deep  blue  silk  ;  and  it 
was  evident  she  began  to  languish  for 
some  more  interesting  occupation  than 
the  rearing  of  sunflowers,  or  pickling  of 
cucumbers. 

At  this  critical  period  of  female  exist 
ence,  when  the  heart  within  a  damsel's 
bosom,  like  its  emblem,  the  miniature 
which  hangs  without,  is  apt  to  be  en 
grossed  by  a  single  image,  a  new  visiter 
began  to  make  his  appearance  under  the 
roof  of  Wolfert  Webber.  This  was  Dirk 
Waldron,  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow ; 
but  who  could  boast  of  more  fathers  than 
any  lad  in  the  province ;  for  his  mother 
had  had  four  husbands,  and  this  only 
child ;  so  that,  though  born  in  her  last 
wedlock,  he  might  fairly  claim  to  be  the 
tardy  fruit  of  a  long  course  of  cultiva 
tion.  This  son  of  four  fathers  united  the 
merits  and  the  vigour  of  all  his  sires. 
If  he  had  not  had  a  great  family  before 
him,  he  seemed  likely  to  have  a  great 
one  after  him ;  for  you  had  only  to  look 
at  the  fresh  bucksome  youth,  to  see  that 
he  was  formed  to  be  the  founder  of  a 
mighty  race. 

This  youngster  gradually  became  an 
intimate  visiter  of  the  family.  He  talked 
little,  but  he  sat  long.  He  filled  the 
father's  pipe  when  it  was  empty ;  ga 
thered  up  the  mother's  knitting-needle 
or  ball  of  worsted,  when  it  fell  to  the 
ground  ;  stroked  the  sleek  coat  of  the 
tortoise-shell  cat ;  and  replenished  the 
teapot  for  the  daughter,  from  the  bright 


copper  kettle  that  sang  before  the  fire. 
All  these  quiet  little  offices  may  seem  of 
trifling  import ;  but  when  true  love  is 
translated  into  Low  Dutch,  it  is  in  this 
way  that  it  eloquently  expresses  itself. 
They  were  not  lost  upon  the  Webber 
family.  The  winning  youngster  found 
marvellous  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
mother ;  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  albeit  the 
most  staid  and  demure  of  her  kind,  gave 
indubitable  signs  of  approbation  of  his 
visits ;  the  tea-kettle  seemed  to  sing  out 
a  cheery  note  of  welcome  at  his  approach ; 
and  if  the  shy  glances  of  the  daughter 
might  be  rightly  read,  as  she  sat  bridling, 
and  dimpling,  and  sewing  by  her  mother's 
side,  she  was  not  a  whit  behind  Dame 
Webber,  or  grimalkin,  or  the  tea-kettle 
in  good-will. 

Wolfert  alone  saw  nothing  of  what 
was  going  on ;  profoundly  wrapped  up 
in  meditation  on  the  growth  of  the  city, 
and  his  cabbages,  he  sat  looking  in  the 
fire  and  puffing  his  pipe  in  silence.  One 
night,  however,  as  the  gentle  Amy,  ac 
cording  to  custom,  lighted  her  lover  to 
the  outer  door,  and  he,  according  to  cus 
tom,  took  his  parting  salute,  the  smack 
resounded  so  vigorously  through  the  long, 
silent  entry,  as  to  startle  even  the  dull 
ear  of  Wolfert.  He  was  slowly  roused 
to  a  new  source  of  anxiety.  It  had 
never  entered  into  his  head,  that  this 
mere  child,  who,  as  it  seemed,  but  the 
other  day,  had  been  climbing  about  his 
knees,  and  playing  with  dolls  and  baby- 
houses,  could,  all  at  once,  be  thinking  of 
lovers  and  matrimony.  He  rubbed  his 
eyes  ;  examined  into  the  fact ;  and  really 
found,  that  while  he  had  been  dreaming 
of  other  matters,  she  had  actually  grown 
to  be  a  woman,  and  what  was  worse,  had 
fallen  in  love.  Here  arose  new  cares  for 
poor  Wolfert.  He  was  a  kind  father; 
but  he  was  a  prudent  man.  The  young 
man  was  a  lively,  stirring  lad ;  but  then 
he  had  neither  money  nor  land.  Wol- 
fert's  ideas  all  ran  in  one  channel ;  and 
he  saw  no  alternative,  in  case  of  a  mar 
riage,  but  to  portion  off  the  young  couple 
with  a  corner  of  his  cabbage-garden,  the 
whole  of  which  was  barely  sufficient  for 
the  support  of  his  family. 

Like  a  prudent  father,  therefore,  he 
determined  to  nip  this  passion  in  the  bud, 
and  forbade  the  youngster  the  house; 


164 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


though  sorely  did  it  go  against  his  fa 
therly  heart,  and  many  a  silent  tear  did 
it  cause  in  the  bright  eye  of  his  daugh 
ter.  She  showed  herself,  however,  a 
pattern  of  filial  piety  and  obedience.  She 
never  pouted  and  sulked ;  she  never  flew 
in  the  face  of  parental  authority ;  she 
never  fell  into  a  passion,  or  fell  into 
hysterics,  as  many  romantic,  novel-read 
young  ladies  would  do.  Not  she,  in 
deed  !  She  was  none  such  heroical  rebel 
lious  trumpery,  I'll  warrant  you.  On 
the  contrary,  she  acquiesced  like  an  obe 
dient  daughter;  shut  the  street  door  in 
her  lover's  face ;  and  if  ever  she  did 
grant  him  an  interview,  it  was  either  out 
of  the  kitchen  window,  or  over  the  gar 
den  fence. 

Wolfert  was  deeply  cogitating  these 
I  matters  in  his  mind,  and  his  brow  wrin- 
I  kled  with  unusual  care,  as  he  wended  his 
way  on  Saturday  afternoon  to  a  rural 
inn,  about  two  miles  from  the  city.  It 
was  a  favourite  resort  of  the  Dutch  part 
of  the  community,  from  being  always 
held  by  a  Dutch  line  of  landlords,  and 
retaining  an  air  and  relish  of  the  good 
old  times.  It  was  a  Dutch-built  house, 
that  had  probably  been  a  country-seat  of 
some  opulent  burgher  in  the  early  time 
of  the  settlement.  It  stood  near  a  point 
of  land  called  Corlear's  Hook,  which 
stretches  out  into  the  Sound,  and  against 
which  the  tide,  at  its  flux  and  reflux,  sets 
with  extraordinary  rapidity.  The  vene 
rable  and  somewhat  crazy  mansion  was 
distinguished  from  afar  by  a  grove  of 
elms  and  sycamores,  that  seemed  to  wave 
a  hospitable  invitation,  while  a  few  weep 
ing  willows,  with  their  dank,  drooping 
foliage,  resembling  falling  waters,  gave 
an  idea  of  coolness  that  rendered  it  an 
attractive  spot  during  the  heats  of  sum 
mer.  Here  therefore,  as  I  said,  resorted 
many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Manhat- 
toes,  where,  while  some  played  at  shuffle- 
board,  and  quoits,  and  ninepins,  others 
smoked  a  deliberate  pipe,  and  talked  over 
public  affairs. 

It  was  on  a  blustering  autumnal  after 
noon  that  Wolfert  made  his  visit  to  the 
The  grove  of  elms   and  willows 


inn. 


was  stripped  of  its  leaves,  which  whirled 
in  rustling  eddies  about  the  fields.  The 
ninepin  alley  was  deserted,  for  the  pre 
mature  chillness  of  the  day  had  driven 


|  the  company  within  doors.  As  it  was 
!  Saturday  afternoon,  the  habitual  club 
j  was  in  session,  composed,  principally,  of 
I  regular  Dutch  burghers,  though  mingled 
j  occasionally  with  persons  of  various  cha- 
I  racter  and  country,  as  is  natural  in  a 
j  place  of  such  motley  population. 

Beside  the  fireplace,  in  a  huge  leather- 
bottomed  armchair,  sat  the  dictator  of  this 
little  world,  the  venerable  Remm,  or,  as 
it  was  pronounced,  Ramm  Rapelye.  He 
was  a  man  of  Walloon  race,  and  illustri 
ous  for  the  antiquity  of  his  line,  his  great 
grandmother  having  been  the  first  white 
child  born  in  the  province.  But  he  was 
still  more  illustrious  for  his  wealth  and 
dignity  :  he  had  long  filled  the  noble 
office  of  alderman,  and  was  a  man  to 
whom  the  governor  himself  took  off  his 
hat.  He  had  maintained  possession  of 
the  leather-bottomed  chair  from  time  im 
memorial  ;  and  had  gradually  waxed  in 
bulk  as  he  sat  in  this  seat  of  government  ; 
until,  in  the  course  of  years,  he  filled  its 
whole  magnitude.  His  word  was  deci 
sive  with  his  subjects ;  for  he  was  so 
rich  a  man  that  he  was  never  expected 
to  support  any  opinion  by  argument. 
The  landlord  waited  on  him  with  peculiar 
officiousness ;  not  that  he  paid  better  than 
his  neighbours,  but  then  the  coin  of  a 
rich  man  seems  always  to  be  so  much 
more  acceptable.  The  landlord  had  ever 
a  pleasant  word  and  a  joke  to  insinuate 
in  the  ear  of  the  august  Ramm.  It  is 
true,  Ramm  never  laughed ;  and,  indeed, 
ever  maintained  a  mastiff-like  gravity, 
and  even  surliness  of  aspect ;  yet  he  now 
and  then  rewarded  mine  host  with  a 
token  of  approbation ;  which,  though 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  kind  of 
grunt,  still  delighted  the  landlord  more 
than  a  broad  laugh  from  a  poorer  man. 

"  This  will  be  a  rough  night  for  the 
money-diggers,"  said  mine  host,  as  a 
gust  of  wind  howled  round  the  house 
and  rattled  at  the  windows. 

"  What !  are  they  at  their  work  again?" 
said  an  English  half-pay  captain  with  one 
eye,  who  was  a  very  frequent  attendant 
at  the  inn. 

!  "  Ay,  are  they,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  and  well  may  they  be.  They've  had 
luck  of  late.  They  say  a  great  pot  of 
money  has  been  dug  up  in  the  field 
just  behind  Stuyvesant's  orchard.  Folks 


PI- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


165 


think  it  must  have  been  buried  there  in 
old  times,  by  Peter  Stuyvesant,  the  Dutch 
governor." 

"  Fudge !"  said  the  one-eyed  man  of 
war,  as  he  added  a  small  portion  of  water 
to  a  bottom  of  brandy. 

"  Well,  you  may  believe  or  not,  as 
you  please,"  said  mine  host,  somewhat 
nettled ;  "  but  every  body  knows  that 
the  old  governor  buried  a  great  deal  of 
his  money  at  the  time  of  the  Dutch  trou 
bles,  when  the  English  red-coats  seized 
on  the  province.  They  say  too,  the  old 
gentleman  walks ;  ay,  and  in  the  very 
same  dress  that  he  wears  in  the  picture 
that  hangs  up  in  the  family-house." 

"  Fudge  !"  said  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  Fudge,  if  you  please  !  But  didn't 
Corny  Van  Zandt  see  him  at  midnight, 
stalking  about  in  the  meadow  with  his 
wooden  leg,  and  a  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand,  that  flashed  like  fire  ?  And  what 
can  he  be  walking  for,  but  because  peo 
ple  have  been  troubling  the  place  where 
he  buried  his  money  in  old  times  ?" 

Here  the  landlord  was  interrupted  by 
several  guttural  sounds  from  Ramm 
Rapelye,  betokening  that  he  was  labour 
ing  with  the  unusual  production  of  an 
idea.  As  he  was  too  great  a  man  to  be 
slighted  by  a  prudent  publican,  mine  host 
respectfully  paused  until  he  should  de 
liver  himself.  The  corpulent  frame  of 
this  mighty  burgher  now  gave  all  the 
symptoms  of  a  volcanic  mountain  on  the 
point  of  an  eruption.  First  there  was  a 
certain  heaving  of  the  abdomen,  not  un 
like  an  earthquake ;  then  was  emitted  a 
cloud  of  tobacco-smoke  from  that  crater, 
his  mouth  ;  then  there  was  a  kind  of 
rattle  in  the  throat,  as  if  the  idea  were 
working  its  way  up  through  a  region  of 
phlegm ;  then  there  were  several  dis 
jointed  members  of  a  sentence  thrown 
out,  ending  in  a  cough :  at  length  his 
voice  forced  its  way  in  the  slow  but 
absolute  tone  of  a  man  who  feels  the 
weight  of  his  purse,  if  not  of  his  ideas  ; 
every  portion  of  his  speech  being  marked 
by  a  testy  puff  of  tobacco-smoke. 

"  Who  talks  of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant's 
walking  ?" — Puff — "  Have  people  no  re 
spect  for  persons  ?" — Puff — puff — "  Peter 
Stuyvesant  knew  better  what  to  do  with 
his  money  than  to  bury  it" — Puff — "  I 
know  the  Stuyvesant  family" — Puff— 


"Every  one  of  them" — Puff— "Not  a 
more  respectable  family  in  the  province" 
—Puff—"  Old  standers"— Puff— «  Warm 
householders" — Puff — "None  of  your 
upstarts"  —  Puff —  puff— puff— "  Don't 
talk  to  me  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  walking." 
— Puff— puff— puff— puff. 

Here  the  redoubtable  Ramm  contracted 
his  brow,  clasped  up  his  mouth  till  it 
wrinkled  at  each  corner,  and  redoubled 
his  smoking  with  such  vehemence,  that 
the  cloudy  volumes  soon  wreathed  round 
his  head  as  the  smoke  envelopes  the  awful 
summit  of  Mount  Etna. 

A  general  silence  followed  the  sudden 
rebuke  of  this  very  rich  man.  The  sub 
ject,  however,  was  too  interesting  to  be 
readily  abandoned.  The  conversation 
soon  broke  forth  again  from  the  lips  of 
Peechy  Prauw  Van  Hook,  the  chronicler 
of  the  club,  one  of  those  prosy,  narrative 
old  men  who  seem  to  be  troubled  with  an 
incontinence  of  words  as  they  grow  old. 
-  Peechy  could  at  any  time  tell  as  many 
stories  in  an  evening  as  his  hearers  could 
digest  in  a  month.  He  now  resumed  the 
conversation  by  affirming,  that  to  his 
knowledge  money  had  at  different  times 
been  dug  up  in  various  parts  of  the 
island.  The  lucky  persons  who  had  dis 
covered  them  had  always  dreamt  of  them 
three  times  beforehand  ;  and,  what  was 
worthy  of  remark,  those  treasures  had 
never  been  found  but  by  some  descendant 
of  the  good  old  Dutch  families,  which 
clearly  proved  that  they  had  been  buried 
by  Dutchmen  in  the  olden  time. 

"  Fiddlestick  with  your  Dutchmen  !" 
cried  the  half-pay  officer.  "  The  Dutch 
had  nothing  to  do  with  them.  They  were 
all  buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate,  and  his 
crew." 

Here  a  key-note  was  touched  which 
roused  the  whole  company.  The  name 
of  Captain  Kidd  was  like  a  talisman  in 
those  times,  and  was  associated  with  a 
thousand  marvellous  stories.  The  half- 
pay  officer  took  the  lead,  and  in  his 
narrations  fathered  upon  Kidd  all  the 
plunderings  and  exploits  of  Morgan, 
Blackbeard,  and  the  whole  list  of  bloody 
bucaniers. 

The  officer  was  a  man  of  great  weight 
among  the  peaceable  members  of  the 
club,  by  reason  of  his  warlike  character 
and  gunpowder  tales.  All  his  golden 


166 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


stories  of  Kidd,  however,  and  of  the 
booty  he  had  buried,  were  obstinately 
rivalled  by  the  tales  of  Peechy  Prauw; 
who,  rather  than  suffer  his  Dutch  proge 
nitors  to  be  eclipsed  by  a  foreign  free 
booter,  enriched  every  field  and  shore  in 
the  neighbourhood  with  the  hidden  wealth 
of  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  his  contempo 
raries. 

Not  a  word  of  this  conversation  was 
lost  upon  Wolfert  Webber.  He  returned 
•  pensively  home,  full  of  magnificent  ideas. 
I  The  soil  of  his  native  island  seemed  to 
be  turned  into  gold-dust,  and  every  field 
to  teem  with  treasure.  His  head  almost 
reeled  at  the  thought,  how  often  he  must 
have  heedlessly  rambled  over  places 
where  countless  sums  lay  scarcely  co 
vered  by  the  turf  beneath  his  feet.  His 
mind  was  in  an  uproar  with  this  whirl  of 
new  ideas.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
venerable  mansion  of  his  forefathers,  and 
the  little  realm  where  the  Webbers  had 
so  long  and  so  contentedly  flourished, 
his  gorge  rose  at  the  narrowness  of  his 
destiny. 

"  Unlucky  Wolfert !"  exclaimed  he. 
"  Others  can  go  to  bed  and  dream  them 
selves  into  whole  mines  of  wealth ;  they 
have  but  to  seize  a  spade  in  the  morning, 
and  turn  up  doubloons  like  potatoes;  but 
thou  must  dream  of  hardship  and  rise  to 
poverty — must  dig  thy  fields  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end,  and  yet  raise  nothing 
but  cabbages !" 

Wolfert  Webber  went  to  bed  with  a 
heavy  heart,  and  it  was  long  before  the 
golden  visions  that  disturbed  his  brain 
permitted  him  to  sink  into  repose.  The 
same  visions,  however,  extended  into  his 
sleeping  thoughts,  and  assumed  a  more 
definite  form.  He  dreamt  that  he  had 
discovered  an  immense  treasure  in  the 
centre  of  his  garden.  At  every  stroke 
of  the  spade  he  laid  bare  a  golden  ingot ; 
diamond  crosses  sparkled  out  of  the  dust; 
bags  of  money  turned  up  their  bellies, 
corpulent  with  pieces-of-eight,  or  venera 
ble  doubloons  ;  and  chests,  wedged  close 
with  moidores,  ducats,  and  pistareens, 
yawned  before  his  ravished  eyes,  and 
vomited  forth  their  glittering  contents. 

Wolfert  awoke  a  poorer  man  than  ever. 
He  had  no  heart  to  go  about  his  daily 
concerns,  which  appeared  so  paltry  and 
profitless,  but  sat  all  day  long  in  the 


chimney-corner,  picturing  to  himself 
ingots  and  heaps  of  gold  in  the  fire. 

The  next  night  his  dream  was  repeat 
ed.  He  was  again  in  his  garden,  dig 
ging,  and  laying  open  stores  of  hidden 
wealth.  There  was  something  very 
singular  in  this  repetition.  He  passed 
another  day  of  revery  ;  and  though  it 
was  cleaning-day,  and  the  house,  as 
usual  in  Dutch  households,  completely 
topsy-turvy,  yet  he  sat  unmoved  amidst 
the  general  uproar. 

The  third  night  he  went  to  bed  with  a 
palpitating  heart.  He  put  on  his  red 
nightcap  wrong  side  outwards,  for  good 
luck.  It  was  deep  midnight  before  hi,s 
anxious  mind  could  settle  into  sleep. 
Again  the  golden  dream  was  repeated, 
and  again  he  saw  his  garden  teeming 
with  ingots  and  money-bags. 

Wolfert  rose  the  next  morning  in  com 
plete  bewilderment.  A  dream,  three 
times  repeated,  was  never  known  to  lie, 
and  if  so,  his  fortune  was  made.  In  his 
agitation,  he  put  on  his  waistcoat  with 
the  hind  part  before,  and  this  was  a  cor- 
roboration  of  good  luck.  He  no  longer 
doubted  that  a  huge  store  of  money  lay 
buried  somewhere  in  his  cabbage-field, 
coyly  waiting  to  be  sought  for ;  and  he 
repined  at  having  so  long  been  scratching 
about  the  surface  of  the  soil  instead  of 
digging  to  the  centre.  He  took  his  seat 
at  the  breakfast-table,  full  of  these  specu 
lations;  asked  his  daughter  to  put  a  lump 
of  gold  into  his  tea ;  and  on  handing  his 
wife  a  plate  of  slapjacks,  begged  her  to 
help  herself  to  a  doubloon. 

His  grand  care  now  was,  how  to  secure 
this  immense  treasure  without  its  being 
known.  Instead  of  working  regularly 
in  his  grounds  in  the  daytime,  he  now 
stole  from  his  bed  at  night,  and  with 
spade  and  pickaxe,  went  to  work  to  rip 
up  and  dig  about  his  paternal  acres  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  In  a  little  time, 
the  whole  garden,  which  had  presented 
such  a  goodly  and  regular  appearance, 
with  its  phalanx  of  cabbages,  like  a 
vegetable  army  in  battle  array,  was 
reduced  to  a  scene  of  devastation ; 
while  the  relentless  Wolfert,  with  night 
cap  on  head,  and  lantern  and  spade  in 
hand,  stalked  through  the  slaughtered 
ranks,  the  destroying  angel  of  his  own 
vegetable  world. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


167 


Every  morning  bore  testimony  to  the 
ravages  of  the  preceding  night,  in  cab 
bages  of  all  ages  and  conditions,  from 
the  tender  sprout  to  the  full-grown  head, 
piteously  rooted  from  their  quiet  beds, 
like  worthless  weeds,  and  left  to  wither 
in  the  sunshine.  It  was  in  vain  Wolfert's 
wife  remonstrated ;  it  was  in  vain  his 
darling  daughter  wept  over  the  destruc 
tion  of  some  favourite  marigold.  "Thou 
shalt  have  gold  of  another  guess  sort," 
hte  would  cry,  chucking  her  under  the 
chin.  "Thou  shalt  have  a  string  of 
crooked  ducats  for  thy  wedding  neck 
lace,  my  child!" 

His  family  began  really  to  fear  that 
the  poor  man's  wits  were  diseased.  He 
muttered  in  his  sleep  at  night  about  mines 
of  wealth  ;  about  pearls,  and  diamonds, 
and  bars  of  gold.  In  the  daytime  he 
was  moody  and  abstracted,  and  walked 
about  as  if  in  a  trance.  Dame  Webber 
held  frequent  councils  with  all  the  old 
women  of  the  neighbourhood.  Scarce 
an  hour  in  the  day  but  a  knot  of  them 
might  be  seen,  wagging  their  white  caps 
together  round  her  door,  while  the  poor 
woman  made  some  piteous  recital.  The 
daughter,  too,  was  fain  to  seek  for  more 
frequent  consolation  from  the  stolen 
interviews  of  her  favoured  swain,  Dirk 
Waldron.  The  delectable  little  Dutch 
songs  with  which  she  used  to  dulcify  the 
house  grew  less  and  less  frequent ;  and 
she  would  forget  her  sewing,  and  look 
wistfully  in  her  father's  face,  as  he  sat 
pondering  by  the  fireside.  Wolfe rt 
caught  her  eye  one  day  fixed  on  him 
thus  anxiously,  and  for  a  moment  was 
roused  from  his  golden  reveries.  "  Cheer 
up,  my  girl,"  said  he,  exultingly;  "why 
dost  thou  droop?  Thou  shalt  hold  up 
thy  head  one  day  with  the  Brinckerhoffs 
and  the  Schermerhorns,  the  Van  Homes, 
and  the  Van  Dams — by  St.  Nicholas,  but 
the  patroon  himself  shall  be  glad  to  get 
thee  for  his  son !" 

Amy  shook  her  head  at  this  vain 
glorious  boast,  and  was  more  than  ever 
in  doubt  of  the  soundness  of  the  good 
man's  intellect. 

In  the  mean  time,  Wolfert  went  on 
digging  and  digging ;  but  the  field  was 
extensive,  and  as  his  dream  had  indi 
cated  no  precise  spot,  he  had  to  dig  at 
random.  The  winter  set  in  before  one- 


13- 


tenth  of  the  scene  of  promise  had  been 
explored.  The  ground  became  frozen 
hard,  and  the  nights  too  cold  for  the 
labours  of  the  spade.  No  sooner,  how 
ever,  did  the  returning  warmth  of  spring 
loosen  the  soil,  and  the  small  frogs  begin 
to  pipe  in  the  meadows,  but  Wolfert  re 
sumed  his  labours  with  renovated  zeal. 
Still,  however,  the  hours  of  industry 
were  reversed.  Instead  of  working 
cheerily  all  day,  planting  and  setting 
out  his  vegetables,  he  remained  thought 
fully  idle,  until  the  shades  of  night  sum 
moned  him  to  his  secret  labours.  In 
this  way  he  continued  to  dig,  from  night 
to  night,  and  week  to  week,  and  month 
to  month,  but  not  a  stiver  did  he  find. 
On  the  contrary,  the  more  he  digged, 
the  poorer  he  grew.  The  rich  soil  of 
his  garden  was  digged  away,  and  the 
sand  and  gravel  from  beneath  were 
thrown  to  the  surface,  until  the  whole 
field  presented  an  aspect  of  sandy  bar 
renness. 

In  the  mean  time  the  seasons  gradually 
rolled  on.  The  little  frogs  which  had 
piped  in  the  meadows  in  early  spring, 
croaked  as  bullfrogs  during  the  summer 
heats,  and  then  sunk  into  silence.  The 
peach-tree  budded,  blossomed,  and  bore 
its  fruit.  The  swallows  and  martens 
came,  twittered  about  the  roof,  built 
their  nest,  reared  their  young,  held  their 
congress  along  the  eaves,  and  then 
winged  their  flight  in  search  of  another 
spring.  The  caterpillar  spun  its  wind 
ing-sheet,  dangled  in  it  from  the  great 
buttonwood  tree  before  the  house,  turned 
into  a  moth,  fluttered  with  the  last  sun 
shine  of  summer,  and  disappeared;  and, 
finally,  the  leaves  of  the  buttonwood  tree 
turned  yellow,  then  brown,  then  rustled 
one  by  one  to  the  ground,  and,  whirling 
about  in  little  eddies  of  wind  and  dust, 
whispered  that  winter  was  at  hand. 

Wolfert  gradually  woke  from  his  dream 
of  wealth  as  the  year  declined.  He  had 
reared  no  crop  for  the  supply  of  his 
household  during  the  sterility  of  winter. 
The  season  was  long  and  severe,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  the  family  was  really 
straitened  in  its  comforts.  By  degrees  a 
revulsion  of  thought  took  place  in  Wol 
fert's  mind,  common  to  those  whose 
golden  dreams  have  been  disturbed  by 
pinching  realities.  The  idea  gradually 


168 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


stole  upon  him  that  he  should  come  to 
want.  He  already  considered  himself 
one  of  the  most  unfortunate  men  in  the 
province,  having  lost  such  an  incalcula 
ble  amount  of  undiscovered  treasure ; 
and  now,  when  thousands  of  pounds  had 
eluded  his  search,  to  be  perplexed  for 
shillings  and  pence  was  cruel  in  the 
extreme. 

Haggard  care  gathered  about  his 
brow ;  he  went  about  with  a  money- 
seeking  air ;  his  eyes  bent  downwards 
into  the  dust,  and  carrying  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  as  men  are  apt  to  do  when 
they  have  nothing  else  to  put  into  them. 
He  could  not  even  pass  the  city  alms- 
house  without  giving  it  a  rueful  glance, 
as  if  destined  to  be  his  future  abode. 
The  strangeness  of  his  conduct  and  of 
his  looks  occasioned  much  speculation 
and  remark.  For  a  long  time  he  was 
suspected  of  being  crazy,  and  then 
every  body  pitied  him ;  at  length  it 
began  to  be  suspected  that  he  was  poor, 
and  then  every  body  avoided  him. 

The  rich  old  burghers  of  his  acquaint 
ance  met  him  outside  of  the  door  when 
he  called ;  entertained  him  hospitably  on 
the  threshold ;  pressed  him  warmly  by 
the  hand  at  parting ;  shook  their  heads 
as  he  walked  away,  with  the  kind- 
hearted  expression  of  "  Poor  Wolfert!" 
and  turned  a  corner  nimbly,  if  by  chance 
they  saw  him  approaching  as  they  walk 
ed  the  streets.  Even  the  barber  and 
cobbler  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  a  tat 
tered  tailor  in  an  alley  hard  by,  three  of 
the  poorest  and  merriest  rogues  in  the 
world,  eyed  him  with  that  abundant 
sympathy  which  usually  attends  a  lack 
of  means ;  and  there  is  not  a  doubt  but 
their  pockets  would  have  been  at  his 
command,  only  that  they  happened  to 
be  empty. 

Thus  every  body  deserted  the  Webber 
mansion,  as  if  poverty  were  contagious, 
like  the  plague ;  every  body  but  honest 
Dirk  Waldron,  who  still  kept  up  his 
stolen  visits  to  the  daughter,  and,  indeed, 
seemed  to  wax  more  affectionate  as  the 
fortunes  of  his  mistress  were  in  the 
wane. 

Many  months  had  elapsed  since  Wol 
fert  had  frequented  his  old  resort,  the 
rural  inn.  He  was  taking  a  long  lonely 
walk  one  Saturday  afternoon,  musing 


over  his  wants  and  disappointments, 
when  his  feet  took,  instinctively,  their 
wonted  direction,  and  on  awaking  out  of 
a  revery,  he  found  himself  before  the 
door  of  the  inn.  For  some  moments  he 
hesitated  whether  to  enter,  but  his  heart 
yearned  for  companionship;  and  where 
can  a  ruined  man  find  better  companion 
ship  than  at  a  tavern,  where  there  is 
neither  sober  example  nor  sober  advice 
to  put  him  out  of  countenance  ? 

Wolfert  found  several  of  the  old  fre 
quenters  of  the  inn  at  their  usual  post, 
and  seated  in  their  usual  places ;  but  one 
was  missing,  the  great  Ramm  Rapelye, 
who  for  many  years  had  filled  the 
leather-bottomed  chair  of  state.  His 
place  was  supplied  by  a  stranger,  who 
seemed,  however,  completely  at  home  in 
the  chair  and  the  tavern.  He  was  rather 
under  size,  but  deep-chested,  square,  and 
muscular.  His  broad  shoulders,  double 
joints,  and  bow-knees,  gave  tokens  of 
prodigious  strength.  His  face  was  dark 
and  weatherbeaten ;  a  deep  scar,  as  if 
from  the  slash  of  a  cutlass,  had  almost 
divided  his  nose,  and  made  a  gash  in  his 
upper  lip,  through  which  his  teeth  shone 
like  a  bulldog's.  A  mop  of  iron-gray 
hair  gave  a  grizzly  finish  to  his  hard- 
favoured  visage.  His  dress  was  of  an 
amphibious  character.  He  wore  an  old 
hat  edged  with  tarnished  lace,  and  cocked 
in  martial  style  on  one  side  of  his  head  ; 
a  rusty  blue  military  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  and  a  wide  pair  of  short  petticoat 
trousers,  or  rather  breeches,  for  they 
were  gathered  up  at  the  knees.  He 
ordered  every  body  about  him  with  an 
authoritative  air ;  talked  in  a  brattling 
voice,  that  sounded  like  the  crackling  of 
thorns  under  a  pot ;  d — d  the  landlord 
and  servants  with  perfect  impunity;  and 
was  waited  upon  with  greater  obsequious 
ness  than  had  ever  been  shown  to  the 
mighty  Ramm  himself. 

Wolfert's  curiosity  was  awakened  to 
know  who  and  what  was  this  stranger, 
who  had  thus  usurped  absolute  sway  in 
this  ancient  domain.  Peechy  Prauw 
took  him  aside  into  a  remote  corner  of 
the  hall,  and  there,  in  an  under  voice, 
and  with  great  caution,  imparted  to  him 
all  that  he  knew  on  the  subject.  The 
inn  had  been  aroused,  several  months 
before,  on  a  dark  stormy  night,  by 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


169 


repeated  long  shouts,  that  seemed  like 
the  howl  ings   of  a   wolf.     They   came 
from  the  water-side ;  and  at  length  were 
distinguished   to  be    hailing    the    house 
in  the  seafaring  manner — House  a-fooy  ! 
The  landlord  turned  out  with  his  head- 
waiter,  tapster,  ostler,   and  errand-boy, 
that  is  to  say,  with  his  old  negro,  Cuff.  On 
approaching  the  place  from  whence  the 
voice  proceeded,  they  found  this  amphi 
bious-looking  personage   at  the  water's 
edge,  quite  alone,  and  seated  on  a  great 
oaken  sea-chest.     How  he  came  there, 
whether  he  had  been  set  on  shore  from 
some  boat,  or  had  floated  to  land  on  his 
chest,  nobody  could  tell,  for  he  did  not 
seem  disposed  to  answer  questions ;  and 
there  was  something  in   his   looks  and 
manners  that  put  a  stop  to  all  question 
ing.    Suffice  it  to  say,  he  took  possession 
of  a  corner  room  of  the  inn,  to  which 
his  chest  was  removed  with  great  diffi 
culty.    Here  he  had  remained  ever  since, 
keeping  about  the  inn  and  its  vicinity ; 
sometimes,  it  is  true,  he  disappeared  for 
one,  two,  or  three  days  at  a  time,  going 
and  returning  without  giving  any  notice 
or    account    of    his    movements.      He 
always    appeared    to    have    plenty    of 
money,  though  often   of  very  strange, 
outlandish   coinage ;    and    he   regularly 
paid  his  bill  every  evening  before  turn 
ing  in.     He  had  fitted  up  his  room  to 
his  own  fancy,  having  slung  a  hammock 
from  the  ceiling  instead  of  a  bed,  and 
decorated   the  walls  with   rusty  pistols 
and  cutlasses  of  foreign   workmanship. 
A  great  part  of  his  time  was  passed  in 
this  room,  seated  by  the  window,  which 
commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  Sound,  a 
short  old-fashioned  pipe  in  his  mouth,  a 
glass  of  rum  toddy  at  his  elbow,  and  a 
pocket-telescope  in  his  hand,  with  which 
he  reconnoitered  every  boat  that  moved 
upon   the  water.     Large   square-rigged 
vessels  seemed  to  excite  but  little  atten 
tion  ;  but  the  moment  he  descried  any 
thing  with  a  shoulder-of-mutton  sail,  or 
that  a  barge,  yawl,  or  jolly-boat  hove  in 
sight,   up   went   the   telescope,    and    he 
examined   it  with   the   most  scrupulous 
attention. 

All  this  might  have  passed  without 
much  notice,  for  in  those  times  the  pro 
vince  was  so  much  the  resort  of  adven 
turers  of  all  characters  and  climes,  that 

VOL.  II.  15 


any  oddity  in  dress  or  behaviour  attract 
ed  but  small  attention.     In  a  little  while, 
however,  this  strange  sea-monster,  thus 
strangely  cast  upon  dry  land,  began  to 
ncroach  upon  the  long-established  cus 
toms  and  customers  of  the  place,  and  to 
nterfere,  in  a  dictatorial  manner,  in  the 
affairs  of  the  ninepin  alley  and  the  bar 
room,  until  in  the  end  he  usurped  an  abso 
lute  command  over  the  whole  inn.    It  was 
all  in  vain  to  attempt  to  withstand  his  au 
thority.    He  was  not  exactly  quarrelsome, 
but  boisterous  and  peremptory,  like  one 
accustomed  to  tyrannise  on  a  quarter 
deck;    and  there  was   a  dare-devil  air 
about  every  thing  he  said  and  did,  that 
inspired   a  wariness   in   all  bystanders. 
Even  the  half-pay  officer,  so  long  the 
hero  of  the  club,  was  soon  silenced  by 
him  ;  and  the  quiet  burghers  stared  with 
wonder  at  seeing  their  inflammable  man 
of  war  so  readily  and  quietly  extinguish 
ed.     And  then  the  tales  that  he  would 
tell  were  enough  to  make  a  peaceable 
man's  hair  stand  on  end.      There  was 
not  a  sea-fight,  or  marauding  or  Tree- 
booting    adventure    that   had   happened 
within   the   last   twenty   years,   but    he 
seemed  perfectly  versed  in  it.     He  de 
lighted  to  talk  of  the  exploits  of  the  bu- 
caniers  in  the  West  Indies  and  on  the 
Spanish   Main.      How   his   eyes   would 
glisten  as  he  described  the  waylaying  of 
treasure-ships,  the  desperate  fights,  yard- 
arm  and  yard-arm,  broadside  and  broad 
side  ;  the  boarding  and  capturing  of  huge 
Spanish  galleons  !    With  what  chuckling 
relish  would  he  describe  the  descent  upon 
some  rich  Spanish  colony  ;  the  rifling  of 
a  church  ;    the  sacking   of  a  convent ! 
You  would  have  thought  you  heard  some 
gormandizer  dilating  upon  the  roasting 
of  a  savoury  goose  at  Michaelmas,  as  he 
described  the  roasting  of  some  Spanish 
Don  to  make  him  discover  his  treasure 
— a  detail  given  with  a  minuteness  that 
made  every  rich  old  burgher  present  turn 
uncomfortably  in  his   chair.      All  this 
would  be  told  with  infinite  glee,  as  if  he 
considered  it  an  excellent  joke  ;  and  then 
he  would  give  such  a  tyrannical  leer  in 
the  face  of  his  next  neighbour,  that  the 
poor  man  would  be  fain  to  laugh  out  of 
sheer  faint-heartedness.  If  any  one,  how 
ever,  pretended  to  contradict  him  in  any 
of  his  stories,  he  was  on  fire  in  an  in- 


170 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


slant.  His  very  cocked  hat  assumed  a 
momentary  fierceness,  and  seemed  to  re 
sent  the  contradiction.  "  How  the  devil 
should  you  know  as  well  as  1 1 — I  tell 
you  it  was  as  I  say ;"  and  he  would  at 
the  same  time  let  slip  a  broadside  of  thun 
dering  oaths  and  tremendous  sea-phrases, 
such  as  had  never  been  heard  before 
within  these  peaceful  walls. 

Indeed,  the  worthy  burghers  began  to 
surmise  that  he  knew  more  of  these  sto 
ries  than  mere  hearsay.  Day  after  day 
their  conjectures  concerning  him  grew 
more  and  more  wild  and  fearful.  The 
strangeness  of  his  arrival,  the  strange 
ness  of  his  manners,  the  mystery  that 
surrounded  him,  all  made  him  something 
incomprehensible  in  their  eyes.  He  was 
a  kind  of  monster  of  the  deep  to  them — 
he  was  a  merman — he  was  Behemoth — 
he  was  Leviathan — in  short,  they  knew 
not  what  he  was. 

The  domineering  spirit  of  this  bois 
terous  sea-urchin  at  length  grew  quite 
intolerable.  He  was  no  respecter  of 
persons ;  he  contradicted  the  richest 
burghers  without  hesitation ;  he  took 
possession  of  the  sacred  elbow-chair, 
which,  time  out  of  mind,  had  been  the 
seat  of  sovereignty  of  the  illustrious 
Ramm  Rapelye, — nay,  he  even  went  so 
far,  in  one  of  his  rough  jocular  moods,  as 
to  slap  that  mighty  burgher  on  the  back, 
drink  his  toddy,  and  wink  in  his  face, — 
a  thing  scarcely  to  be  believed.  From 
this  time  Ramm  Rapelye  appeared  no 
more  at  the  inn ;  and  his  example  was 
followed  by  several  of  the  most  eminent 
customers,  who  were  too  rich  to  tolerate 
being  bullied  out  of  their  opinions,  or 
being  obliged  to  laugh  at  another  man's 
jokes.  The  landlord  was  almost  in  de- 

rir ;  but  he  knew  not  how  to  get  rid  of 
sea-monster  and  his  sea-chest,  who 
seemed  both  to  have  grown  like  fixtures 
or  excrescences  on  his  establishment. 

Such  was  the  account  whispered  cau 
tiously  in  Wolfert's  ear  by  the  narrator, 
Peechy  Prauw,  as  he  held  him  by  the 
button  in  a  corner  of  the  hall ;  casting  a 
wary  glance  now  and  then  towards  the 
door  of  the  bar-room,  lest  he  should  be 
overheard  by  the  terrible  hero  of  his  tale. 

Wolfert  took  his  seat  in  a  remote  part 
of  the  room  in  silence,  impressed  with 
profound  awe  of  this  unknown,  so  versed 


in  freebooting  history.  It  was  to  him  a 
wonderful  instance  of  the  revolutions  of 
mighty  empires,  to  find  the  venerable 
Ramm  Rapelye  thus  ousted  from  the 
throne,  and  a  rugged  tarpawling  dictating 
from  his  elbow-chair,  hectoring  the  pa 
triarchs,  and  filling  this  tranquil  little 
realm  with  brawl  and  bravado. 

The  stranger  was,  on  this  evening,  in 
a    more    than    usually    communicative 
mood,  and  was  narrating  a  number  of 
astounding   stories   of  plunderings   and 
burnings  on  the  high  seas.     He  dwelt 
upon  them  with  peculiar  relish  ;  height 
ening   the   frightful   particulars   in  pro 
portion   to  their  effect  on   his   peaceful 
auditors.     He  gave  a  long  swaggering 
detail  of  the  capture  of  a  Spanish  mer 
chantman.      She   was    lying   becalmed 
during  a  long  summer's  day,  just  off  from 
an  island  which  was  one  of  the  lurking- 
places  of  the  pirates.     They  had  recon 
noitred  her  with  their  spyglasses   from 
the  shore,  and  ascertained  her  character 
and  force.     At  night  a  picked  crew  of 
daring  fellows  set  off  for  her  in  a  whale- 
boat.      They  approached   with   muffled 
oars,  as  she  lay  rocking  idly  with  the 
undulations   of  the   sea,  and   her  sails 
flapping  against  the  masts.     They  were 
close  under  her  stern  before  the  guard  on 
deck  was  aware  of  their  approach.    The 
alarm  was  given  ;  the  pirates  threw  hand- 
grenades  on  deck,  and   sprang  up  the 
mainchains  sword  in  hand.     The  crew 
flew  to  arms,  but  in  great   confusion ; 
some  were  shot  down,  others  took  refuge 
in  the  tops,  others  were  driven  overboard 
and  drowned,  while  others  fought  hand 
to  hand  from  the  maindeck  to  the  quarter 
deck,  disputing  gallantly  every  inch  of 
ground.     There  were  three  Spanish  gen 
tlemen  on  board  with  their  ladies,  who 
made  the  most  desperate  resistance.  They 
I  defended  the  companionway,  cut  down 
I  several  of  their  assailants,  and  fought  like 
j  very  devils,  for  they  were  maddened  by 
I  the  shrieks  of  the  ladies  from  the  cabin, 
i  One  of  the  Dons  was  old,  and  soon  des 
patched.    The  other  two  kept  their  ground 
I  vigorously,  even  though  the  captain  of 
the  pirates  was   among  the   assailants. 
I  Just  then  there  was  a  shout  of  victory 
•  from  the  maindeck — "  The  ship  is  ours  !" 
!  cried  the  pirates.     One  of  the  Dons  im- 
!  mediately  dropped  his  sword,  and  surren- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


171 


dered  ;  the  other,  who  was  a  hot-headed 
youngster,  and  just  married,  gave  the 
captain  a  slash  in  the  face  that  laid  all 
open. 

The  captain  just  made  out  to  articulate 
the  words  "  no  quarter  !" 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  the  pri 
soners  ?"  said  Peechy  Prauw,  eagerly. 

"  Threw  them  all  overboard !"  was  the 
answer. 

A  dead  pause  followed  this  reply. 

Peechy  Prauw  shrunk  quietly  back, 
like  a  man  who  had  unwarily  stolen  upon 
the  lair  of  a  sleeping  lion.  The  honest 
burghers  cast  fearful  glances  at  the  deep 
scar  slashed  across  the  visage  of  the 
stranger,  and  moved  their  chairs  a  little 
farther  off.  The  seaman,  however, 
smoked  on,  without  moving  a  muscle,  as 
though  he  either  did  not  perceive,  or  did 
not  regard,  the  unfavourable  effect  he  had 
produced  on  his  hearers. 

The  half- pay  officer  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  for  he  was  continually 
tempted  to  make  ineffectual  head  against 
this  tyrant  of  the  seas,  and  to  regain  his 
lost  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  his  an 
cient  companions.  He  now  tried  to  match 
the  gunpowder  tales  of  the  stranger,  by 
others  equally  tremendous.  Kidd,  as 
usual,  was  his  hero,  concerning  whom 
he  seemed  to  have  picked  up  many  of  the 
floating  traditions  of  the  province.  The 
seaman  had  always  evinced  a  settled 
pique  against  the  one-eyed  warrior.  On 
this  occasion  he  listened  with  peculiar  im 
patience.  He  sat  with  one  arm  a-kimbo, 
the  other  elbow  on  a  table,  the  hand  hold 
ing  on  to  the  small  pipe  he  was  pettishly 
puffing ;  his  legs  crossed ;  drumming 
with  one  foot  on  the  ground,  and  casting 
every  now  and  then  the  side-glance  of  a 
basilisk  at  the  prosing  captain.  At  length 
the  latter  spoke  of  Kidd's  having  ascend 
ed  the  Hudson  with  some  of  his  crew,  to 
land  his  plunder  in  secrecy.  "  Kidd  up 
the  Hudson  !"  burst  forth  the  seaman  with 
a  tremendous  oath — "  Kidd  never  was  up 
the  Hudson !" 

"  I  tell  you  he  was,"  said  the  other. 
"  Ay,  and  they  say  he  buried  a  quantity 
of  treasure  on  the  little  flat  that  runs  out 
into  the  river,  called  the  Devil's  Dans 
Kammer." 

"  The  Devil's  Dans  Kammer  in  your 
teeth  !"  cried  the  seaman.  "  I  tell  you 


Kidd  never  was  up  the  Hudson.  What  a 
plague  do  you  know  of  Kidd  and  his 
haunts  ?" 

"  What  do  I  know?"  echoed  the  half- 
pay  officer.  "  Why,  I  was  in  London  at 
the  time  of  his  trial ;  ay,  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  hanged  at  Exe 
cution  Dock." 

"  Then,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  saw 
as  pretty  a  fellow  hanged  as  ever  trod 
shoe-leather.  Ay,"  putting  his  face 
nearer  to  that  of  the  officer,  "  and  there 
was  many  a  landlubber  looked  on  that 
might  much  better  have  swung  in  his 
stead." 

The  half-pay  officer  was  silenced :  but 
the  indignation  thus  pent  up  in  his  bosom 
glowed  with  intense  vehemence  in  his 
single  eye,  which  kindled  like  a  coal. 

Peechy  Prauw,  who  never  could  remain 
silent,  observed  that  the  gentleman  cer 
tainly  was  in  the  right.  Kidd  never  did 
bury  money  up  the  Hudson,  nor  indeed 
in  any  of  those  parts,  though  many  af 
firmed  such  to  be  the  fact.  It  was  Bra- 
dish  and  others  of  the  bucaniers  who 
had  buried  money  ;  some  said  in  Turtle 
Bay ;  others  on  Long  Island ;  others  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Hell-gate.  Indeed, 
added  he,  I  recollect  an  adventure  of  Sam, 
the  negro  fisherman,  many  years  ago, 
which  some  think  had  something  to  do 
with  the  bucaniers.  As  we  are  all 
friends  here,  and  as  it  will  go  no  farther, 
I'll  tell  it  to  you.  "  Upon  a  dark  night, 
many  years  ago,  as  Black  Sam  was  re 
turning  from  fishing  in  Hell-gate — " 

Here  the  story  was  nipped  in  the  bud 
by  a  sudden  movement  from  the  unknown, 
who,  laying  his  iron  fist  on  the  table, 
knuckles  downward,  with  a  quiet  force 
that  indented  the  very  boards,  and  look 
ing  grimly  over  his  shoulder,  with  the 
grin  of  an  angry  bear — 

"  Hark'ee,  neighbour !"  said  he,  with  a 
significant  nodding  of  the  head,  "  you'd 
better  let  the  bucaniers  and  their  money 
alone — they're  not  for  old  men  and  old 
women  to  meddle  with.  They  fought 
hard  for  their  money ;  they  gave  body 
and  soul  for  it ;  and  wherever  it  lies 
buried,  depend  upon  it  he  must  have  a 
tug  with  the  devil  who  gets  it !" 

This  sudden  explosion  was  succeeded 
by  a  blank  silence  throughout  the  room  ; 
Peechy  Prauw  shrunk  within  himself, 


172 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


and  even  the  one-eyed  officer  turned  pale. 
Wolfert,  who  from  a  dark  corner  in  the 
room  had  listened  with  intense  eagerness 
to  all  his  talk  about  buried  treasure, 
looked  with  mingled  awe  and  reverence 
at  this  bold  bucanier,  for  such  he  really 
suspected  him  to  be.  There  was  a 
chinking  of  gold  and  a  sparkling  of 
jewels  in  all  his  stories  about  the  Spanish 
Main  that  gave  a  value  to  every  period  ; 
and  Wolfert  would  have  given  any  thing 
for  the  rummaging  of  the  ponderous  sea- 
chest,  which  his  imagination  crammed 
full  of  golden  chalices,  crucifixes,  and 
jolly  round  bags  of  doubloons. 

The  dead  stillness  that  had  fallen  upon 
the  company  was  at  length  interrupted 
by  the  stranger,  who  pulled  out  a  pro 
digious  watch,  of  curious  and  ancient 
workmanship,  and  which  in  Wolfert's 
eyes,  had  a  decidedly  Spanish  look. 
On  touching  a  spring,  it  struck  ten 
o'clock  ;  upon  which  the  sailor  called  for 
his  reckoning,  and  having  paid  it  out  of 
a  handful  of  outlandish  coin,  he  drank  off 
the  remainder  of  his  beverage,  and,  with 
out  taking  leave  of  any  one,  rolled  out  of 
the  room,  muttering  to  himself,  as  he 
stumped  up  stairs  to  his  chamber. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  company 
could  recover  from  the  silence  into  which 
they  had  been  thrown.  The  very  foot 
steps  of  the  stranger,  which  were  heard 
now  and  then  as  he  traversed  his  cham 
ber,  inspired  awe.  Still  the  conversation 
in  which  they  had  been  engaged  was  too 
interesting  not  to  be  resumed.  A  heavy 
thundergust  had  gathered  up  unnoticed 
while  they  were  lost  in  talk,  and  the 
torrents  of  rain  that  fell  forbade  all 
thoughts  of  setting  off  for  home  until  the 
storm  should  subside.  They  drew  nearer 
together,  therefore,  and  entreated  the 
worthy  Peechy  Prauw  to  continue  the 
tale  which  had  been  so  discourteously 
I  interrupted.  He  readily  complied,  whis 
pering,  however,  in  a  tone  scarcely 
above  his  breath,  and  drowned  occasion 
ally  by  the  rolling  of  the  thunder ;  and 
he  would  pause  every  now  and  then,  and 
listen  with  evident  awe,  as  he  heard  the 
heavy  footsteps  of  the  stranger  pacing 
overhead.  The  following  is  the  purport 
of  his  story. 


THE  ADVENTURE 

OF 

THE  BLACK  FISHERMAN. 

EVERY  body  knows  Black  Sam,  the 
old  negro  fisherman,  or,  as  he  is  com 
monly  called,  Mud  Sam,  who  has  fished 
about  the  Sound  for  the  last  half  century. 
It  is  now  many  years  since  Sam,  who 
was  then  as  active  a  young  negro  as  any 
in  the  province,  and  worked  on  the  farm 
of  Killian  Suydam,  on  Long  Island, 
having  finished  his  day's  work  at  an 
early  hour,  was  fishing,  one  still  summer 
evening,  just  about  the  neighbourhood  of 
Hell-gate. 

He  was  in  a  light  skiff,  and  being  well 
acquainted  with  the  currents  and  eddies, 
he  had  shifted  his  station  according  to  the 
shifting  of  the  tide,  from  the  Hen  and 
Chickens  to  the  Hog's  Back,  from  the 
Hog's  Back  to  the  Pot,  and  from  the  Pot 
to  the  Frying-pan ;  but  in  the  eagerness 
of  his  sport  he  did  not  see  that  the  tide 
was  rapidly  ebbing,  until  the  roaring  of 
the  whirlpools  and  eddies  warned  him  of 
his  danger  ;  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in 
shooting  his  skiff  from  among  the  rocks 
and  breakers,  and  getting  to  the  point  of 
Blackwell's  Island.  Here  he  cast  anchor 
for  some  time,  waiting  the  turn  of  the 
tide  to  enable  him  to  return  homewards. 
As  the  night  set  in,  it  grew  blustering 
and  gusty.  Dark  clouds  came  bundling 
up  in  the  west,  and  now  and  then  a 
growl  of  thunder,  or  a  flash  of  light 
ning,  told  that  a  summer  storm  was  at 
hand.  Sam  pulled  over,  therefore,  under 
the  lee  of  Manhattan  Island,  and  coasting 
along,  came  to  a  snug  nook,  just  under  a 
steep  beetling  rock,  where  he  fastened 
his  skiff  to  the  root  of  a  tree  that  shot  out 
from  a  cleft  in  the  rock,  and  spread  its 
broad  branches,  like  a  canopy,  over  the 
water.  The  gust  came  scouring  along  ; 
the  wind  threw  up  the  river  in  white 
surges  ;  the  rain  rattled  among  the  leaves  ; 
the  thunder  bellowed  worse  than  that 
which  is  now  bellowing  ;  the  lightning 
seemed  to  lick  up  the  surges  of  the 
stream  ;  but  Sam,  snugly  sheltered  under 
rock  and  tree,  lay  crouched  in  his  skiff, 
rocking  upon  the  billows  until  he  fell 
asleep. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


173 


When  he  awoke,  all  was  quiet.  The 
gust  had  passed  away,  and  only  now  and 
then  a  faint  gleam  of  lightning  in  the 
east  showed  which  way  it  had  gone. 
The  night  was  dark  and  moonless  ;  "and 
from  the  state  of  the  tide  Sam  concluded 
it  was  near  midnight.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  making  loose  his  skiff  to  return 
homewards,  when  he  saw  a  light  gleam 
ing  along  the  water  from  a  distance, 
which  seemed  rapidly  approaching.  As 
it  drew  near,  he  perceived  it  came  from 
a  lantern  in  the  bow  of  a  boat,  which 
was  gliding  along  under  shadow  of  the 
land.  It  pulled  up  in  a  small  cove,  close 
to  where  he  was.  A  man  jumped  on 
shore,  and  searching  about  with  the  lan 
tern,  exclaimed,  "  This  is  the  place — 
here's  the  iron  ring."  The  boat  was 
then  made  fast,  and  the  man  returning  on 
board,  assisted  his  comrades  in  convey 
ing  something  heavy  on  shore.  As  the 
light  gleamed  among  them,  Sam  saw  that 
they  were  five  desperate-looking  fellows, 
in  red  woollen  caps,  with  a  leader  in  a 
three-cornered  hat,  and  that  some  of  them 
were  armed  with  dirks,  or  long  knives, 
and  pistols.  They  talked  low  to  one 
another,  and  occasionally  in  some  out 
landish  tongue  which  he  could  not  under 
stand. 

On  landing  they  made  their  way  among 
the  bushes,  taking  turns  to  relieve  each 
other  in  lugging  their  burthen  up  the 
rocky  bank.  Sam's  curiosity  was  now 
fully  aroused  ;  so,  leaving  his  skiff,  he 
clambered  silently  up  a  ridge  that  over 
looked  their  path.  They  had  stopped  to 
rest  for  a  moment ;  and  the  leader  was 
looking  about  among  the  bushes  with 
his  lantern.  «*  Have  you  brought  the 
spades  ?"  said  one.  "  They  are  here," 
replied  another,  who  had  them  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  We  must  dig  deep,  where  there  will 
be  no  risk  of  discovery,"  said  a  third. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  Sam's  veins. 
He  fancied  he  saw  before  him  a  gang  of 
murderers  about  to  bury  their  victim. 
His  knees  smote  together.  In  his  agita 
tion  he  shook  the  branch  of  a  tree  with 
which  he  was  supporting  himself,  as  he 
looked  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  What's  that  1"  cried  one  of  the 
gang.  "  Some  one  stirs  among  the 
bushes !" 


The  lantern  was  held  up  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  noise.  One  of  the  red-caps 
cocked  a  pistol  and  pointed  it  towards  the 
very  place  where  Sam  was  standing. 
Fie  stood  motionless — breathless — expect 
ing  the  next  moment  to  be  his  last. 
Fortunately,  his  dingy  complexion  was 
in  his  favour,  and  made  no  glare  among 
the  leaves. 

"  'Tis  no  one,"  said  the  man  with  the 
lantern.  "  What  a  plague  !  you  would 
not  fire  off  your  pistol  and  alarm  the 
country  f 

The  pistol  was  uncocked,  the  burthen 
was  resumed,  and  the  party  slowly  toiled 
along  the  bank.  Sam  watched  them  as 
they  went,  the  light  sending  back  fitful 
gleams  through  the  dripping  bushes  ;  and 
it  was  not  till  they  were  fairly  out  of 
sight  that  he  ventured  to  draw  breath 
freely.  He  now  thought  of  getting  back 
to  his  boat,  and  making  his  escape  out  of 
the  reach  of  such  dangerous  neighbours  ; 
but  curiosity  was  all  powerful.  Fie  hesi 
tated,  and  lingered  and  listened.  By 
and  by  he  heard  the  strokes  of  spades. 
"  They  are  digging  the  grave  !"  said  he 
to  himself,  and  the  cold  sweat  started 
upon  his  forehead.  Every  stroke  of  a 
spade,  as  it  sounded  through  the  silent 
groves,  went  to  his  heart.  It  was  evident 
there  was  as  little  noise  made  as  possible ; 
every  thing  had  an  air  of  terrible  mystery 
and  secrecy,  Sam  had  a  great  relish 
for  the  horrible — a  tale  of  murder  was  a 
treat  for  him,  and  he  was  a  constant 
attendant  at  executions.  He  could  not  re 
sist  an  impulse,  in  spite  of  every  danger, 
to  steal  nearer  to  the  scene  of  mystery, 
and  overlook  the  midnight  fellows  at 
their  work.  He  crawled  along  cautiously, 
therefore,  inch  by  inch,  stepping  with  the 
utmost  care  among  the  dry  leaves  lest  j 
their  rustling  should  betray  him.  He 
came  at  length  to  where  a  steep  rock  in-  j 
tervened  between  him  and  the  gang  ;  for  j 
he  saw  the  light  of  the  lantern  shining  up 
against  the  branches  of  the  trees  on  the 
other  side.  Sam  slowly  and  silently 
clambered  up  the  surface  of  the  rock,  and 
raising  his  head  above  its  naked  edge, 
beheld  the  villains  immediately  below  him, 
and  so  near  that  though  he  dreaded  dis 
covery  he  dared  not  withdraw,  lest  the 
least  movement  should  be  heard.  In  this 
way  he  remained,  with  his  round  black 

15* 

;.-.-;— -a 


174 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


face  peering  above  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
like  the  sun  just  emerging  above  the  edge 
of  the  horizon,  or  the  round-cheeked 
moon  on  the  dial  of  a  clock. 

The  red-caps  had  nearly  finished  their 
work  ;  the  grave  was  filled  up  and  they 
were  carefully  replacing  the  turf.  This 
done,  they  scattered  dry  leaves  over  the 
place  ;  "  And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "  I 
defy  the  devil  himself  to  find  it  out !" 

"  The  murderers  !"  exclaimed  Sam, 
involuntarily.  The  whole  gang  started, 
and  looking  up,  beheld  the  round  black 
head  of  Sam  just  above  them  ;  his  white 
eyes  strained  half  out  of  their  orbits,  his 
white  teeth  chattering,  and  his  whole 
visage  shining  with  cold  perspiration. 

"  We're  discovered  !"  cried  one. 

"  Down  with  him,"  cried  another. 

Sam  heard  the  cocking  of  a  pistol,  but 
did  not  pause  for  the  report.  He  scram 
bled  over  rock  and  stone,  through  bush 
and  briar ;  rolled  down  banks  like  a 
hedgehog;  scrambled  up  others  like  a 
catamount.  In  every  direction  he  heard 
some  one  or  other  of  the  gang  hemming 
him  in.  At  length  he  reached  the  rocky 
ridge  along  the  river :  one  of  the  red-caps 
was  hard  behind  him.  A  steep  rock  like 
a  wall  rose  directly  in  his  way  ;  it  seemed 
to  cut  off  all  retreat,  when,  fortunately, 
he  espied  the  strong  cord-like  branch  of 
a  grape-vine  reaching  half  way  down  it. 
He  sprang  at  it  with  the  force  of  a  des 
perate  man  ;  seized  it  with  both  hands  ; 
and,  being  young  and  agile,  succeeded  in 
swinging  himself  to  the  summit  of  the 
cliff.  Here  he  stood  in  full  relief  against 
the  sky,  when  the  red-cap  cocked  his 
pistol  and  fired.  The  ball  whistled  by 
Sam's  head.  With  the  lucky  thought  of 
a  man  in  emergency,  he  uttered  a  yell, 
fell  to  the  ground,  and  detached  at  the 
same  time  a  fragment  of  the  rock,  which 
tumbled  with  a  loud  splash  into  the  river. 

"  I've  done  his  business,"  said  the  red 
cap  to  one  or  two  of  his  comrades,  as 
they  arrived  panting :  "  he'll  tell  no  tales, 
except  to  the  fishes  in  the  river." 

His  pursuers  now  turned  off  to  meet 
their  companions.  Sam,  sliding  silently 
down  the  surface  of  the  rock,  let  himself 
quietly  into  his  skiff;  cast  loose  the  fas 
tening,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the 
rapid  current,  which  in  that  place  runs 
like  a  mill-stream,  and  soon  swept  him 


off  from  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  not, 
however,  until  he  had  drifted  a  great  dis 
tance  that  he  ventured  to  ply  his  oars  ; 
when  he  made  his  skiff  dart  like  an 
arrow  through  the  strait  of  Hell-gate, 
never  heeding  the  danger  of  Pot,  Frying- 
pan,  or  Hog's  Back  itself;  nor  did  he  feel 
himself  thoroughly  secure  until  safely 
nestled  in  bed  in  the  cockloft  of  the 
ancient  farm-house  of  the  Snydams. 

Here  the  worthy  Peechy  Prauw  paused 
to  take  breath,  and  to  take  a  sip  of  the 
gossip  tankard  that  stood  at  his  elbow. 
His  auditors  remained  with  open  mouths 
and  outstretched  necks,  gaping  like  a  nest 
of  swallows  for  an  additional  mouthful. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?"  exclaimed  the  half- 
pay  officer." 

"  That's  all  that  belongs  to  the  story," 
said  Peechy  Prauw. 

"  And  did  Sam  never  find  out  what 
was  buried  by  the  red-caps  ?"  said  Wol- 
fert,  eagerly,  whose  mind  was  haunted 
by  nothing  but  ingots  and  doubloons. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Peechy  ; 
"  he  had  no  time  to  spare  from  his  work, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  like  to 
run  the  risk  of  another  race  among  the 
rocks.  Besides,  how  should  he  recollect 
the  spot  where  the  grave  had  been  digged, 
every  thing  would  look  so  different  by 
daylight?  And  then,  where  was  the 
use  of  looking  for  a  dead  body,  when 
there  was  no  chance  of  hanging  the 
murderers  ?" 

"Ay,  but  are  you  sure  it  was  a  dead 
body  they  buried  ?"  said  Wolfert. 

"  To  be  sure,"  cried  Peechy  Prauw, 
exultingly.  "  Does  it  not  haunt  in  the 
neighbourhood  to  this  very  day  ?" 

"  Haunts  !"  exclaimed  several  of  the 
party,  opening  their  eyes  still  wider,  and 
edging  their  chairs  still  closer. 

"  Ay,  haunts,"  repeated  Peechy : "  have 
none  of  you  heard  of  Father  Redcap, 
who  haunts  the  old  burnt  farm-house  in 
the  woods,  on  the  border  of  the  Sound, 
near  Hell-gate?" 

"  Oh  !  to  be  sure,  I've  heard  tell  of 
something  of  the  kind  :  but  then  I  took 
it  for  some  old  wives'  fable." 

"  Old  wives'  fable  or  not,"  said  Peechy 
Prauw,  "  that  farm-house  stands  hard  by 
the  very  spot.  It's  been  unoccupied  time 
out  of  mind,  and  stands  in  a  lonely  part 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


175 


of  the  coast ;  but  those  who  fish  in  the 
neighbourhood  have  often  heard  strange 
noises  there ;  and  lights  have  been  seen 
about  the  wood  at  night;  and  an^old 
fellow  in  a  red  cap  has  been  seen  at  the 
windows  more  than  once,  which  people 
take  to  be  the  ghost  of  the  body  that 
was  buried  there.  Once  upon  a  time 
three  soldiers  took  shelter  in  the  building 
for  the  night,  and  rummaged  it  from  top 
to  bottom,  when  they  found  old  Father 
Redcap  astride  of  a  cider-barrel  in  the 
cellar,  with  a  jug  in  one  hand  and  a 
goblet  in  the  other.  He  offered  them  a 
drink  out  of  his  goblet ;  but  just  as  one 
of  the  soldiers  was  putting  it  to  his 
mouth — whew  ! — a  flash  of  fire  blazed 
through  the  cellar,  blinded  every  mo 
ther's  son  of  them  for  several  minutes, 
and  when  they  recovered  their  eyesight, 
jug,  goblet,  and  Redcap,  had  vanished, 
and  nothing  but  the  empty  cider-barrel 
remained !" 

Here  the  half-pay  officer,  who  was 
growing  very  muzzy  and  sleepy,  and 
nodding  over  his  liquor,  with  half-ex 
tinguished  eye,  suddenly  gleamed  up 
like  an  expiring  rushlight. 

"  That' s  all  fudge  !"  said  he,  as  Peechy 
finished  his  last  story. 

"  Well,  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of 
it  myself,"  said  Peechy  Prauw,  "  though 
all  the  world  knows  that  there's  some 
thing  strange  about  that  house  and 
grounds ;  but  as  to  the  story  of  Mud 
Sam,  I  believe  it  just  as  well  as  if  it 
had  happened  to  myself." 

The  deep  interest  taken  in  this  conver 
sation  by  the  company  had  made  them 
unconscious  of  the  uproar  that  prevail 
ed  abroad  among  the  elements,  when 
suddenly  they  were  all  electrified  by  a 
tremendous  clap  of  thunder ;  a  lum 
bering  crash  followed  instantaneously, 
shaking  the  building  to  its  very  founda 
tion — all  started  from  their  seats,  ima 
gining  it  the  shock  of  an  earthquake, 
or  that  old  Father  Redcap  was  corning 
among  them  in  all  his  terrors.  They 
listened  for  a  moment,  but  only  heard 
the  rain  pelting  against  the  windows, 
and  the  wind  howling  among  the  trees. 
The  explosion  was  soon  explained  by 
the  apparition  of  an  old  negro's  bald 
head  thrust  in  at  the  door,  his  white 


goggle  eyes  contrasting  with  his  jetty 
poll,  which  was  wet  with  rain,  and 
shone  like  a  bottle.  In  a  jargon  but 
half  intelligible,  he  announced  that  the 
kitchen  chimney  had  been  struck  with 
lightning. 

A  sullen  pause  of  the  storm,  which 
now  rose  and  sunk  in  gusts,  produced 
a  momentary  stillness.  In  this  interval, 
the  report  of  a  musket  was  heard,  and  a 
long  shout,  almost  like  a  yell,  resounded 
from  the  shore.  Every  one  crowded  to 
the  window.  Another  musket-shot  was 
heard,  and  another  long  shout,  that  min 
gled  wildly  with  a  rising  blast  of  wind. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  cry  came  up  from 
the  bosom  of  the  waters ;  for  though 
incessant  flashes  of  lightning  spread  a 
light  about  the  shore,  no  one  was  to  be 
seen. 

Suddenly  the  window  of  the  room 
overhead  was  opened,  and  a  loud  halloo 
uttered  by  the  mysterious  stranger.  Se 
veral  bailings  passed  from  one  party  to 
the  other,  but  in  a  language  which  none 
of  the  company  in  the  bar-room  could 
understand ;  and  presently  they  heard 
the  window  closed,  and  a  great  noise 
overhead,  as  if  all  the  furniture  were 
pulled  and  hauled  about  the  room.  The 
negro  servant  was  summoned,  and 
shortly  after  was  seen  assisting  the 
veteran  to  lug  the  ponderous  sea-chest 
down  stairs. 

The  landlord  was  in  amazement — 
"  What ! — you  are  not  going  on  the 
water  in  such  a  storm  ?" 

"  Storm !"  said  the  other  scornfully  ; 
"  do  you  call  such  a  sputter  of  weather 
a  storm  ?" 

"You'll  get  drenched  to  the  skin — 
you'll  catch  your  death !"  said  Peechy 
Prauw,  affectionately. 

"  Thunder  and  lightning  !"  exclaimed 
the  merman ;  "  don't  preach  about  wea 
ther  to  a  man  that  has  cruised  in  whirl 
winds  and  tornadoes !" 

The  obsequious  Peechy  was  again 
struck  dumb.  The  voice  from  the  wa 
ter  was  heard  once  more,  in  a  tone 
of  impatience.  The  bystanders  stared 
with  redoubled  awe  at  this  man  of 
storms,  who  seemed  to  have  come  up 
out  of  the  deep,  and  to  be  summoned 
back  to  it  again.  As,  with  the  assist 
ance  of  the  negro,  he  slowly  bore  his 


176 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 


ponderous  sea-chest  towards  the  shore, 
they  eyed  it  with  a  superstitious  feel 
ing,  half  doubting  whether  he  were  not 
really  about  to  embark  upon  it,  and 
launch  forth  upon  the  wild  waves.  They 
followed  him  at  a  distance  with  a  lantern. 

"  Douse  the  light !"  roared  the  hoarse 
I  voice  from   the  water — "  no  one  wants 
lights  here !" 

"  Thunder  and  lightning  !"  exclaimed 
the  veteran,  turning  short  upon  them ; 
"  back  to  the  house  with  you." 

Wolfert  and  his  companions  shrunk 
back  in  dismay.  Still  their  curiosity 
would  not  allow  them  entirely  to  with 
draw.  A  long  sheet  of  lightning  now 
flickered  across  the  waves,  and  disco 
vered  a  boat,  filled  with  men,  just  under 
a  rocky  point,  rising  and  sinking  with 
the  heaving  surges,  and  swashing  the 
water  at  every  heave.  It  was  with  dif 
ficulty  held  to  the  rocks  by  a  boat-hook, 
for  the  current  rushed  furiously  round 
the  point.  The  veteran  hoisted  one  end 
of  the  lumbering  sea-chest  on  the  gun 
wale  of  the  boat ;  he  seized  the  handle 
at  the  other  end  to  lift  it  in,  when  the 
motion  propelled  the  boat  from  the  shore; 
the  chest  slipped  off  from  the  gunwale, 
and  sinking  into  the  waves,  pulled  the 
veteran  headlong  after  it.  A  loud 
shriek  was  uttered  by  all  on  shore, 
and  a  volley  of  execrations,  by  those 
on  board — but  boat  and  man  were  hur 
ried  away  by  the  rushing  swiftness  of 
the  tide.  A  pitchy  darkness  succeeded  ; 
Wolfert  Webber,  indeed,  fancied  that  he 
distinguished  a  cry  for  help,  and  that  he 
beheld  the  drowning  man  beckoning  for 
assistance  ;  but  when  the  lightning  again 
gleamed  along  the  water,  all  was  void  ; 
neither  man  nor  boat  were  to  be  seen ; 
nothing  but  the  dashing  and  weltering  of 
the  waves  as  they  hurried  past. 

The  company  returned  to  the  tavern 
to  await  the  subsiding  of  the  storm. 
They  resumed  their  seats,  and  gazed  on 
each  other  with  dismay.  The  whole 
transaction  had  not  occupied  five  mi 
nutes,  and  not  a  dozen  words  had  been 
spoken.  When  they  looked  at  the  oaken 
chair,  they  could  scarcely  realize  the 
fact,  that  the  strange  being,  who  had  so 
lately  tenanted,  it,  full  of  life  and  Hercu 
lean  vigour,  should  already  be  a  corpse* 
There  was  the  very  glass  he  had  just 


drunk  from ;  there  lay  the  ashes  from 
the  pipe  which  he  had  smoked,  as  it 
were,  with  his  last  breath.  As  the 
worthy  burghers  pondered  on  these 
things,  they  felt  a  terrible  conviction  of 
the  uncertainty  of  existence,  and  each 
felt  as  if  the  ground  on  which  he  stood 
was  rendered  less  stable  by  this  awful 
example. 

As,  however,  the  most  of  the  company 
were  possessed  of  that  valuable  philoso 
phy  which  enables  a  man  to  bear  up 
with  fortitude  against  the  misfortunes  of 
his  neighbours,  they  soon  managed  to 
console  themselves  for  the  tragic  end  of 
the  veteran.  The  landlord  was  particu 
larly  happy  that  the  poor  dear  man  had 
paid  his  reckoning  before  he  went :  and 
made  a  kind  of  farewell  speech  on  the 
occasion.  "  He  came,"  said  he,  "  in  a 
storm,  and  he  went  in  a  storm — he 
came  in  the  night,  and  he  went  in  the 
night — he  came  nobody  knows  from 
whence,  and  he  has  gone  nobody  knows 
where.  For  aught  I  know,  he  has  gone 
to  sea  once  more  on  his  chest,  and  may 
land  to  bother  some  people  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world  !  Though  it's  a  thou 
sand  pities,"  added  he,  "  if  he  has  gone 
to  Davy  Jones's  locker,  that  he  had  not 
left  his  own  locker  behind  him." 

"  His  locker !  St.  Nicholas  preserve 
us!"  cried  Peechy  Prauw — "I'd  not 
have  had  that  sea-chest  in  the  house 
for  any  money  ;  I'll  warrant  he'd  come 
racketing  after  it  at  nights,  and  making 
a  haunted  house  of  the  inn  ;  and  as  to 
his  going  to  sea  in  his  chest,  I  recollect 
what  happened  to  Skipper  Onderdonk's 
ship,  on  his  voyage  from  Amsterdam. 
The  boatswain  died  during  a  storm,  so 
they  wrapped  him  up  in  a  sheet,  and 
put  him  in  his  own  sea-chest,  and  threw 
him  overboard ;  but  they  neglected,  in 
their  hurry-scurry,  to  say  prayers  over 
him ;  and  the  storm  raged  and  roared 
louder  than  ever,  and  they  saw  the  dead 
man  seated  in  his  chest,  with  his  shroud 
for  a  sail,  coming  hard  after  the  ship, 
and  the  sea  breaking  before  him  in  great 
sprays,  like  fire ;  and  there  they  kept 
scudding  day  after  day,  and  night  after 
night,  expecting  every  moment  to  go  to 
wreck ;  and  every  night  they  saw  the 
dead  boatswain,  in  his  sea-chest,  trying 
to  get  up  with  them,  and  they  heard  his 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


177 


whistle  above  the  blasts  of  wind,  and  he 
seemed  to  send  great  seas,  mountain 
high,  after  them,  that  would  have 
swamped  the  ship  if  they  had  not  put 
up  the  deadlights;  and  so  it  went-on 
till  they  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  fogs  off 
Newfoundland,  and  supposed  he  had 
veered  ship,  and  stood  for  Dead  Man's 
Isle.  So  much  for  burying  a  man  at 
sea,  without  saying  prayers  over  him." 

The  thundergust  which -had  hitherto 
detained  the  company  was  at  an  end. 
The  cuckoo-clock  in  the  hall  told  mid 
night  ;  every  one  pressed  to  depart,  for 
seldom  was  such  a  late  hour  of  the  night 
trespassed  on  by  these  quiet  burghers. 
As  they  sallied  forth,  they  found  the 
heavens  once  more  serene.  The  storm 
which  had  lately  obscured  them  had 
rolled  away,  and  lay  piled  up  in  fleecy 
masses  on  the  horizon,  lighted  up  by 
the  bright  crescent  of  the  moon,  which 
looked  like  a  little  silver  lamp  hung  up 
in  a  palace  of  clouds. 

The  dismal  occurrence  of  the  night, 
and  the  dismal  narrations  they  had 
made,  had  left  a  superstitious  feeling  in 
every  mind.  They  cast  a  fearful  glance 
at  the  spot  where  the  bucanier  had  dis 
appeared,  almost  expecting  to  see  him 
sailing  on  his  chest  in  the  cool  moon 
shine.  The  trembling  rays  glittered 
along  the  waters,  but  all  was  placid ; 
and  the  current,  dimpled  over  the  spot 
where  he  had  gone  down.  The  party 
huddled  together  in  a  little  crowd  as 
they  repaired  homewards,  particularly 
when  they  passed  a  lonely  field,  where 
a  man  had  been  murdered  ;  and  even  the 
sexton  who  had  to  complete  his  journey 
alone,  though  accustomed,  one  would 
think,  to  ghosts  and  goblins,  yet  went 
a  long  way  round,  rather  than  pass  by 
his  own  churchyard. 

Wolfert  Webber  had  now  carried  home 
a  fresh  stock  of  stories  and  notions  to 
ruminate  upon.  These  accounts  of  pots 
of  money  and  Spanish  treasures,  buried 
here  and  there  and  every  where  about 
the  rocks  and  bays  of  these  wild  shores, 
made  him  almost  dizzy.  "  Blessed  St. 
Nicholas  !"  ejaculated  he,  half  aloud,  "  is 
it  not  possible  to  come  upon  one  of  these 
golden  hoards,  and  to  make  one's  self 
rich  in  a  twinkling  1  How  hard  that  I 
must  go  on,  delving  and  delving,  day  in 


and  day  cut,  merely  to  make  a  morsel 
of  bread,  when  one  lucky  stroke  of  a 
spade  might  enable  me  to  ride  in  my 
carriage  for  the  rest  of  my  life !" 

As  he  turned  over  in  his  thoughts  all 
that  had  been  told  of  the  singular  adven 
ture  of  the  negro  fisherman,  his  imagina 
tion  gave  a  totally  different  complexion 
to  the  tale.  He  saw  in  the  gang  of  red 
caps  nothing  but  a  crew  of  pirates  bury 
ing  their  spoils,  and  his  cupidity  was 
once  more  awakened  by  the  possibility 
of  at  length  getting  on  the  traces  of  some 
of  this  lurking  wealth.  Indeed,  his  in 
fected  fancy  tinged  every  thing  with 
gold.  He  felt  like  the  greedy  inhabitant  of 
Bagdad,  when  his  eyes  had  been  greased 
with  the  magic  ointment  of  the  dervise, 
that  gave  him  to  see  all  the  treasures  of 
the  earth.  Caskets  of  buried  jewels, 
chests  of  ingots,  and  barrels  of  out 
landish  coins,  seemed  to  court  him  from 
their  concealments,  and  supplicate  him 
to  relieve  them  from  their  untimely 
graves. 

On  making  private  inquiries  about  the 
grounds  said  to  be  haunted  by  Father 
Redcap,  he  was  more  and  more  con 
firmed  in  his  surmise.  He  learned  that 
the  place  had  several  times  been  visited 
by  experienced  money-diggers,  who  had 
heard  Black  Sam's  story,  though  none  of 
them  had  met  with  success.  On  the  con 
trary,  they  had  always  been  dogged  with 
ill  luck  of  some  kind  or  other,  in  con 
sequence,  as  Wolfert  concluded,  of  not 
going  to  work  at  the  proper  time,  and 
with  the  proper  ceremonials.  The  last 
attempt  had  been  made  by  Cobus  Quack- 
enbos,  who  dug  for  a  whole  night,  and 
met  with  incredible  difficulty ;  for,  as 
fast  as  he  threw  one  shovelful  of  earth 
out  of  the  hole,  two  were  thrown  in  by 
invisible  hands.  He  succeeded  so  far, 
however,  as  to  uncover  an  iron  chest, 
when  there  was  a  terrible  roaring,  ramp 
ing,  and  raging  of  uncouth  figures  about 
the  hole,  and  at  length  a  shower  of  blows 
dealt  by  invisible  cudgels,  that  fairly  be 
laboured  him  off  of  the  forbidden  ground. 
This  Cobus  Quackenbos  had  declared  on 
his  deathbed,  so  that  there  could  not  be 
any  doubt  of  it.  He  was  a  man  that 
had  devoted  many  years  of  his  life  to 
money-digging,  and  it  was  thought  would 
have  ultimately  succeeded,  had  he  not 


178 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


died  recently  of  a  brain- fever  in  the 
almshouse. 

Wolfert  Webber  was  now  in  a  worry 
of  trepidation  and  impatience,  fearful  lest 
some  rival  adventurer  should  get  a  scent 
of  the  buried  gold.  He  determined  pri 
vately  to  seek  out  the  black  fisherman, 
and  get  him  to  serve  as  guide  to  the 
place  where  he  had  witnessed  the  mys 
terious  scene  of  interment.  Sam  was 
easily  found,  for  he  was  one  of  those  old 
habitual  beings  that  live  about  a  neigh 
bourhood  until  they  wear  themselves  a 
place  in  the  public  mind,  and  become,  in 
a  manner,  public  characters.  There  was 
not  an  unlucky  urchin  about  town  that 
did  not  know  Mud  Sam,  the  fisherman, 
and  think  that  he  had  a  right  to  play  his 
tricks  upon  the  old  negro.  Sam  had  led 
an  amphibious  life,  for  more  than  half  a 
century,  about  the  shores  of  the  bay  and 
the  fishing-grounds  of  the  Sound.  He 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  time  on 
and  in  the  water,  particularly  about  Hell- 
gate  ;  and  might  have  been  taken,  in  bad 
weather,  for  one  of  the  hobgoblins  that 
used  to  haunt  that  strait.  There  would 
he  be  seen  at  all  times,  and  in  all  wea 
thers  ;  sometimes  in  his  skiff  anchored 
among  the  eddies,  or  prowling  like  a 
shark  about  some  wreck,  where  the  fish 
are  supposed  to  be  most  abundant.  Some 
times  seated  on  a  rock,  from  hour  to 
hour,  looking,  in  the  mist  and  drizzle, 
like  a  solitary  heron  watching  for  its 
prey.  He  was  well  acquainted  with 
every  hole  and  corner  of  the  Sound,  from 
the  Wallabout  to  Hell-gate,  and  from 
Hell-gate  even  unto  the  Devil's  Stepping- 
stones  ;  and  it  was  even  affirmed  that  he 
knew  all  the  fish  in  the  river  by  their 
Christian  names. 

Wolfert  found  him  at  his  cabin,  which 
was  not  much  larger  than  a  tolerable 
dog-house.  It  was  rudely  constructed  of 
fragments  of  wrecks  and  drift-wood,  and 
built  on  the  rocky  shore,  at  the  foot  of 
the  old  fort,  just  about  what  at  present 
forms  the  point  of  the  Battery.  A 
"  most  ancient  and  fish-like  smell"  per 
vaded  the  place.  Oars,  paddles,  and 
fishing-rods  were  leaning  against  the 
wall  of  the  fort ;  a  net  was  spread  on  the 
sands  to  dry ;  a  skiff  was  drawn  up 
on  the  beach ;  and  at  the  door  of  his 
cabin  was  Mud  Sam  himself,  indulging 


in  the  true  negro  luxury  of  sleeping  in 
the  sunshine. 

Many  years    had  passed  away  since 

j  the  time  of  Sam's  youthful  adventure, 
and  the  snows  of  many  a  winter  had 
grizzled  the  knotty  wool  upon  his  head. 

j  He  perfectly  recollected  the  circum 
stances,  however,  for  he  had  often  been 
called  upon  to  relate  them,  though,  in 
his  version  of  the  story,  he  differed  in 
many  points  from  Peechy  Prauw ;  as  is 
not  unfrequently  the  case  with  authentic 
historians.  As  to  the  subsequent  re 
searches  of  money-diggers,  Sam  knew 
nothing  about  them,  they  were  matters 
quite  out  of  his  line ;  neither  did  the 
cautious  Wolfert  care  to  disturb  his 
thoughts  on  that  point.  His  only  wish 
was  to  secure  the  old  fisherman  as  a 
pilot  to  the  spot,  and  this  was  readily 
effected.  The  long  time  that  had  inter 
vened  since  his  nocturnal  adventure,  had 
effaced  all  Sam's  awe  of  the  place,  and 
the  promise  of  a  trifling  reward  roused  him 
at  once  from  his  sleep  and  his  sunshine. 
The  tide  was  adverse  to  making  the 
expedition  by  water,  and  Wolfert  was  too 
impatient  to  get  to  the  land  of  promise 
to  wait  for  its  turning ;  they  set  off  there 
fore  by  land.  A  walk  of  four  or  five 
miles  brought  them  to  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  which  at  that  time  covered  the 
greater  part  of  the  eastern  side  of  the 
island.  It  was  just  beyond  the  pleasant 
region  of  Bloomen-dael.  Here  they  struck 
into  a  long  lane,  straggling  among  trees 
and  bushes,  very  much  overgrown  with 
weeds  and  mullein  stalks,  as  if  but  sel 
dom  used,  and  so  completely  oversha 
dowed,  as  to  enjoy  but  a  kind  of  twilight. 
Wild  vines  entangled  the  trees,  and 
flaunted  in  their  faces ;  brambles  and 
briers  caught  their  clothes  as  they 
passed ;  the  garter-snake  glided  across 
their  path  ;  the  spotted  toad  hopped  and 
waddled  before  them ;  and  the  restless 
catbird  mewed  at  them  from  every 
thicket.  Had  Wolfert  Webber  been 
deeply  read  in  romantic  legend,  he  might 
have  fancied  himself  entering  upon  for 
bidden,  enchanted  ground  ;  or  that  these 
were  some  of  the  guardians  set  to  keep 
a  watch  upon  buried  treasure.  As  it 
was,  the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and  the 
wild  stories  connected  with  it,  had  their 
effect  upon  his  mind. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


179 


On  reaching  the  lower  end  of  the  lane, 
they  found  themselves  near  the  shore  of 
the  Sound,  in  a  kind  of  amphitheatre  sur 
rounded  by  forest-trees.  The  area  had 
once  been  a  grass-plot,  but  was  now 
shagged  with  briers  and  rank  weeds. 
At  one  end,  and  just  on  the  river  bank, 
was  a  ruined  building,  little  better  than 
a  heap  of  rubbish,  with  a  stack  of  chim 
neys  rising,  like  a  solitary  tower,  out  of 
the  centre;  the  current  of  the  Sound 
rushed  along  just  below  it,  with  wildly 
grown  trees  drooping  their  branches  into 
its  waves. 

Wolfert  had  not  a  doubt  that  this  was 
the  haunted  house  of  Father  Redcap, 
and  called  to  mind  the  story  of  Peechy 
Prauw.  The  evening  was  approaching, 
and  the  light,  falling  dubiously  among 
these  woody  places,  gave  a  melancholy 
tone  to  the  scene,  well  calculated  to  foster 
any  lurking  feeling  of  awe  or  supersti- 
tution.  The  nighthawk,  wheeling  about 
in  the  highest  regions  of  the  air,  emitted 
his  peevish,  boding  cry.  The  wood 
pecker  gave  a  lonely  tap  now  and  then 
on  some  hollow  tree,  and  the  fire-bird* 
streamed  by  them  with  his  deep-red 
plumage.  They  now  came  to  an  enclo 
sure  that  had  once  been  a  garden.  It 
extended  along  the  foot  of  a  rocky  ridge, 
but  it  was  little  better  than  a  wilderness 
of  weeds,  with  here  and  there  a  matted 
rosebush,  or  a  peach  or  plum  tree,  grown 
wild  and  ragged,  and  covered  with  moss. 
At  the  lower  end  of  the  garden  they 
passed  a  kind  of  vault  in  the  side  of  a 
bank,  facing  the  water.  It  had  the  look 
of  a  root-house.  The  door,  though  de 
cayed,  was  still  strong,  and  appeared  to 
have  been  recently  patched  up.  Wolfert 
pushed  it  open.  It  gave  a  harsh  grating 
upon  its  hinges,  and  striking  against 
something  like  a  box,  a  rattling  sound 
ensued,  and  a  scull  rolled  on  the  floor. 
Wolfert  drew  back  shuddering,  but  was 
reassured,  on  being  informed  by  the 
negro  that  this  was  a  family-vault  be 
longing  to  one  of  the  old  Dutch  families 
that  owned  this  estate ;  an  assertion 
which  was  corroborated  by  the  sight  of 
coffins  of  various  sizes  piled  within. 
Sam  had  been  familiar  with  all  these 
scenes  when  a  boy,  and  now  knew  that 

*  Orchard  oreole. 


he  could  not   be  far  from  the  place  of 
which  they  were  in  quest. 

They  now  made  their  way  to  the  wa 
ter's  edge,  scrambling  along  ledges  of 
rocks  that  overhung  the  waves,  and 
obliged  often  to  hold  by  shrubs  and 
grape-vines  to  avoid  slipping  into  the 
deep  and  hurried  stream.  At  length 
they  came  to  a  small  cove,  or  rather 
indent  of  the  shore.  It  was  protected 
by  steep  rocks,  and  overshadowed  by  a 
thick  copse  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  so  as 
to  be  sheltered  and  almost  concealed. 
The  beach  shelved  gradually  within  the 
cove,  but  the  current  swept,  deep  and 
black  and  rapid,  along  its  jutting  points. 

The  negro  paused  ;  raised  his  remnant 
of  a  hat,  and  scratched  his  grizzled  poll 
for  a  moment,  as  he  regarded  this  nook  : 
then  suddenly  clapping  his  hands,  he 
stepped  exultingly  forward,  and  pointed 
to  a  large  iron  ring,  stapled  firmly  in  the 
rock,  just  where  a  broad  shelf  of  stone 
furnished  a  commodious  landing-place. 
It  was  the  very  spot  where  the  red-caps 
had  landed.  Years  had  changed  the  more 
perishable  features  of  the  scene ;  but 
rock  and  iron  yield  slowly  to  the  influ 
ence  of  time.  On  looking  more  closely, 
Wolfert  remarked  three  crosses  cut  in 
the  rock  just  above  the  ring ;  which  had 
no  doubt  some  mysterious  signification. 

Old  Sam  now  readily  recognised  the 
overhanging  rock  under  which  his  skiff 
had  been  sheltered  during  the  thunder- 
gust.  To  follow  up  the  course  which 
the  midnight  gang  had  taken,  however, 
was  a  harder  task.  His  mind  had  been 
so  much  taken  up  on  that  eventful  occa 
sion  by  the  persons  of  the  drama,  as  to 
pay  but  little  attention  to  the  scenes  ; 
and  these  places  look  so  different  by 
night  and  day.  After  wandering  about 
for  some  time,  however,  they  came  to  an 
opening  among  the  trees,  which  Sam 
thought  resembled  the  place.  There  was 
a  ledge  of  rock  of  moderate  height,  like 
a  wall,  on  one  side,  which  he  thought 
might  be  the  very  ridge  from  whence  he 
had  overlooked  the  diggers.  Wolfert 
examined  it  narrowly,  and  at  length  dis 
covered  three  crosses,  similar  to  those 
above  the  iron  ring,  cut  deeply  into  the 
face  of  the  rock,  but  nearly  obliterated 
by  the  moss  that  had  grown  over  them. 
His  heart  leaped  with  joy,  for  he  doubted 


180 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


not  they  were  the  private  marks  of  the 
bucaniers.  All  now  that  remained  was 
to  ascertain  the  precise  spot  where  the 
treasure  lay  buried,  for  otherwise  he 
might  dig  at  random  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  the  crosses,  without  coming  upon 
the  spoils,  and  he  had  already  had  enough 
of  such  profitless  labour.  Here,  how 
ever,  the  old  negro  was  perfectly  at  a 
loss,  and  indeed  perplexed  by  a  variety 
of  opinions;  for  his  recollections  were 
all  confused.  Sometimes  he  declared  it 
must  have  been  at  the  foot  of  a  mulberry 
tree  hard  by ;  then  it  was  just  beside  a 
great  white  stone ;  then  it  must  have 
been  under  a  small  green  knoll,  a  short 
distance  from  the  ledge  of  rock ;  until  at 
length  Wolfert  became  as  bewildered  as 
himself. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  now 
spreading  themselves  over  the  woods,  and 
rock  and  tree  began  to  mingle  together. 
It  was  evidently  too  late  to  attempt  any 
thing  further  at  present;  and  indeed 
Wolfert  had  come  unprovided  with  im 
plements  to  prosecute  his  researches. 
Satisfied,  therefore,  with  having  ascer 
tained  the  place,  he  took  note  of  all  its 
landmarks  that  he  might  recognise  it 
again,  and  set  out  on  his  return  home 
wards  ;  resolved  to  prosecute  this  golden 
enterprise  without  delay. 

The  leading  anxiety,  which  had 
hitherto  absorbed  every  feeling,  being 
now  in  some  measure  appeased,  fancy 
began  to  wander,  and  to  conjure  up  a 
thousand  shapes  and  chimeras  as  he 
returned  through  this  haunted  region. 
Pirates  hanging  in  chains  seemed  to 
I  swing  from  every  tree,  and  he  almost 
expected  to  see  some  Spanish  Don,  with 
his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  rising 
'  slowly  out  of  the  ground,  and  shaking 
the  ghost  of  a  money-bag. 

Their  way  back  lay  through  the  deso 
late  garden,  and  Wolfert's  nerves  had 
arrived  at  so  sensitive  a  state,  that  the 
flitting  of  a  bird,  the  rustling  of  a  leaf, 
or  the  falling  of  a  nut,  was  enough  to 
startle  them.  As  they  entered  the  con 
fines  of  the  garden,  they  caught  sight  of 
a  figure  at  a  distance,  advancing  slowly 
up  one  of  the  walks,  and  bending  under 
the  weight  of  a  burthen.  They  paused, 
and  regarded  him  attentively.  He  wore 
what  appeared  to  be  a  woollen  cap,  and, 


still  more  alarming,  of  a  most  sanguinary 
red.  The  figure  moved  slowly  on,  as 
cended  the  bank,  and  stopped  at  the  very 
door  of  the  sepulchral  vault.  Just  be 
fore  entering  it,  he  looked  around.  What 
was  the  affright  of  Wolfert,  when  he  re 
cognized  the  grisly  visage  of  the  drowned 
bucanier !  He  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
horror.  The  figure  slowly  raised  his 
iron  fist,  and  shook  it  with  a  terrible 
menace. 

Wolfert  did  not  pause  to  see  any  more, 
but  hurried  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him,  nor  was  Sam  slow  in  follow 
ing  at  his  heels,  having  all  his  ancient 
terrors  revived.  Away  then  did  they 
scramble,  through  bush  and  brake,  hor 
ribly 'frightened  at  every  bramble  that 
tugged  at  their  skirts;  nor  did  they  pause 
to  breathe,  until  they  had  blundered  their 
way  through  this  perilous  wood,  and  had 
fairly  reached  the  high  road  to  the  city. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  Wolfert 
could  summon  courage  enough  to  prose 
cute  the  enterprise,  so  much  had  he  been 
dismayed  by  the  apparition,  whether 
living  or  dead,  of  the  grisly  bucanier. 
In  the  mean  time,  what  a  conflict  of  mind 
did  he  suffer !  He  neglected  all  his  con 
cerns  ;  was  moody  and  restless  all  day ; 
lost  his  appetite;  wandered  in  his  thoughts 
and  words,  and  committed  a  thousand 
blunders.  His  rest  was  broken ;  and 
when  he  fell  asleep,  the  nightmare,  in 
shape  of  a  huge  money-bag,  sat  squatted 
upon  his  breast.  He  babbled  about  in 
calculable  sums  ;  fancied  himself  engaged 
in  money-digging ;  threw  the  bedclothes 
right  and  left,  in  the  idea  that  he  was 
shovelling  awayj  the  dirt ;  groped  under 
the  bed  in  quest  of  the  treasure,  and  lug 
ged  forth,  as  he  supposed,  an  inestimable 
pot  of  gold. 

Dame  Webber  and  her  daughter  were 
in  despair  at  what  they  conceived  a  re 
turning  touch  of  insanity.  There  are 
two  family  oracles,  one  or  other  of  which 
Dutch  housewives  consult  in  all  cases  of 
great  doubt  and  perplexity — the  dominie 
and  the  doctor.  In  the  present  instance, 
they  repaired  to  the  doctor.  There  was 
at  that  time  a  little,  dark,  mouldy  man  of 
medicine,  famous  among  the  old  wives  of 
the  Manhattoes  for  his  skill,  not  only  in 
the  healing  art,  but  in  all  matters  of 
strange  and  mysterious  nature.  His 


-Fl 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


181 


name  was  Dr.  Knipperhausen,  but  he  was 
more  commonly  known  by  the  appella 
tion  of  the  High  German  doctor.*  To 
him  did  the  poor  woman  repair  for  coun 
sel  and  assistance  touching  the  mental 
vagaries  of  Wolfert  Webber. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  his 
little  study,  clad  in  his  dark  camlet  robe 
of  knowledge,  with  his  black  velvet  cap, 
after  the  manner  of  Boerhaave,  Van  Hel- 
mont,  and  other  medical  sages ;  a  pair  of 
green  spectacles  set  in  black  horn  upon 
his  clubbed  nose ;  and  poring  over  a 
German  folio  that  reflected  back  the 
darkness  of  his  physiognomy. 

The  doctor  listened  to  their  statement 
of  the  symptoms  of  Wolfert's  malady 
with  profound  attention ;  but  when  they 
came  to  mention  his  raving  about  buried 
money,  the  little  man  pricked  up  his  ears. 
Alas,  poor  women !  they  little  knew  the 
aid  they  had  called  in. 

Dr.  Knipperhausen  had  been  half  his 
life  engaged  in  seeking  the  short  cuts  to 
fortune,  in  quest  of  which  so  many  a 
long  lifetime  is  wasted.  He  had  passed 
some  years  of  his  youth  among  the  Harz 
mountains  of  Germany,  and  had  derived 
much  valuable  instruction  from  the 
miners,  touching  the  mode  of  seeking 
treasure  buried  in  the  earth.  He  had 
prosecuted  his  studies  also  under  a  tra 
velling  sage,  who  united  the  mysteries  of 
medicine  with  magic  and  legerdemain. 
His  mind,  therefore,  had  become  stored 
with  all  kinds  of  mystic  lore ;  he  had 
dabbled  a  little  in  astrology,  alchyrny, 
divination ;  knew  how  to  detect  stolen 
money,  and  to  tell  where  springs  of  water 
lay  hidden ;  in  a  word,  by  the  dark  na 
ture  of  his  knowledge,  he  had  acquired 
the  name  of  the  High  German  doctor, 
which  is  pretty  nearly  equivalent  to  that 
of  necromancer. 

The  doctor  had  often  heard  the  ru 
mours  of  treasure  being  buried  in  various 
parts  of  the  island,  and  had  long  been 
anxious  to  get  in  the  traces  of  it.  No 
sooner  were  Wolfert's  waking  and  sleep 
ing  vagaries  confided  to  him,  than  he 
beheld  in  them  the  confirmed  symptoms 
of  a  case  of  money-digging,  and  lost  no 
time  in  probing  it  to  the  bottom.  Wol 
fert  had  long  been  sorely  oppressed  in 

*  The  same,  no  doubt,  of  whom  mention  is  made 
in  the  history  of  Dolph  Heyliger. 

VOL.  II.  16 


mind  by  the  golden  secret,  and  as  a 
family  physician  is  a  kind  of  father  con 
fessor,  he  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  of 
unburthening  himself.  So  far  from 
curing,  the  doctor  caught  the  malady 
from  his  patient.  The  circumstances  un 
folded  to  him  awakened  all  his  cupidity  ; 
he  had  not  a  doubt  of  money  being  buried 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
mysterious  crosses,  and  offered  to  join 
Wolfert  in  the  search.  He  informed 
him  that  much  secrecy  and  caution  must 
be  observed  in  enterprises  of  the  kind ; 
that  money  is  only  to  be  digged  for  at 
night,  with  certain  forms  and  ceremonies, 
the  burning  of  drugs,  the  repeating  of 
mystic  words,  and  above  all,  that  the 
seekers  must  be  provided  with  a  divining- 
rod,  which  had  the  wonderful  property  of 
pointing  to  the  very  spot  on  the  surface 
of  the  earth  under  which  treasure  lay 
hidden.  As  the  doctor  had  given  much 
of  his  mind  to  these  matters,  he  charged 
himself  with  all  the  necessary  prepara 
tions,  and  as  the  quarter  of  the  moon  was 
propitious,  he  undertook  to  have  the  di 
vining-rod  ready  by  a  certain  night.* 

*  The  following  note  was  found  appended  to 
this  passage,  in  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Knicker 
bocker  : 

There  has  been  much  written  against  the  di 
vining-rod  by  those  light  minds  who  are  ever  ready 
to  scoff  at  the  mysteries  of  nature  ;  but  I  fully  join 
with  Dr.  Knipperhausen  in  giving  it  my  faith.  I 
shall  not  insist  upon  its  efficacy  in  discovering  the 
concealment  of  stolen  goods,  the  boundary-stones 
of  fields,  the  traces  of  robbers  and  murderers,  or 
even  the  existence  of  subterraneous  springs  and 
streams  of  water;  albeit  I  think  these  properties 
not  to  be  readily  discredited ;  but  of  its  potency  in 
discovering  veins  of  precious  metal,  and  hidden 
sums  of  money  and  jewels,  I  have  not  the  least 
doubt.  Some  said  that  the  rod  turned  only  in  the 
hands  of  persons  who  had  been  born  in  particular 
months  of  the  year;  hence  astrologers  had  recourse 
to  planetary  influence  when  they  would  procure  a 
talisman.  Others  declared  that  the  properties  of 
the  rod  were  either  an  effect  of  chance,  or  the 
fraud  of  the  holder,  or  the  work  of  the  devil.  Thus 
saith  the  reverend  Father  Gaspard  Sebett  in  his 
treatise  on  magic :  "  Propter  hfec  et  similia  argu- 
menta  audacter  ego  promisero  vim  conversivam 
virgulas  bifurcatae  nequaquam  naturalem  esse,  sed 
vel  casu  vel  fraude  virgulnm  tractantis  vel  ope  dia- 
boli,  etc."  Georgius  Agricola  also  was  of  opinion 
that  it  was  a  mere  delusion  of  the  devil  to  inveigle 
the  avaricious  and  unwary  into  his  clutches  ;  and 
in  his  treatise,  "  De  Re  Metallica,"  lays  particular 
stress  on  the  mysterious  words  pronounced  by 
those  persons  who  employed  the  divining-rod 
during  his  time.  But  I  make  not  a  doubt  that  the 
divining-rod  is  one  of  those  secrets  of  natural  magic, 
the  mystery  of  which  is  to  be  explained  by  the  sym 
pathies  existing  between  physical  things  operated 
upon  by  tlfc  planets,  and  rendered  efficacious  by 
the  strong  faith  of  the  individual.  Let  the  divining- 


: 


182 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Wolfert's  heart  leaped  with  joy  at 
having  met  with  so  learned  and  able  a 
coadjutor.  Every  thing  went  on  secretly 
but  swimmingly.  The  doctor  had  many 
consultations  with  his  patient,  and  the 
good  woman  of  the  household  lauded  the 
comforting  effect  of  his  visits.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  wonderful  divining-rod, 
that  great  key  to  nature's  secrets,  was 
duly  prepared.  The  doctor  had  thumbed 
over  all  his  books  of  knowledge  for  the 
occasion ;  and  the  black  fisherman  was 
engaged  to  take  him  in  his  skiff  to  the 
scene  of  enterprise ;  to  work  with  spade 
and  pickaxe  in  unearthing  the  treasure ; 
and  to  freight  his  bark  with  the  weighty 
spoils  they  were  certain  of  finding. 

At  length  the  appointed  night  arrived 
for  this  perilous  undertaking.  Before 
Wolfert  left  his  home,  he  counselled  his 
wife  and  daughter  to  go  to  bed,  and  feel 
no  alarm  if  he  should  not  return  during 
the  night.  Like  reasonable  women,  on 
being  told  not  to  feel  alarm,  they  fell  im 
mediately  into  a  panic.  They  saw  at 
once  by  his  manner  that  something  un 
usual  was  in  agitation;  all  their  fears 
about  the  unsettled  state  of  his  mind  were 
revived  with  tenfold  force;  they  hung 
about  him,  entreating  him  not  to  expose 
himself  to  the  night  air,  but  all  in  vain. 
When  once  Wolfert  was  mounted  on  his 
hobby,  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  him 
out  of  the  saddle.  It  was  a  clear  star 
light  night,  when  he  issued  out  of  the 
portal  of  the  Webber  palace.  He  wore 
a  large  flapped  hat,  tied  under  the  chin 
with  a  handkerchief  of  his  daughter's  to 
secure  him  from  the  night  damp ;  while 
Dame  Webber  threw  her  long  red  cloak 
about  his  shoulders,  and  fastened  it  round 
his  neck. 

The  doctor  had  been  no  less  carefully 
armed  and  accoutred  by  his  housekeeper, 
the  vigilant  Frau  Ilsy,  and  sallied  forth 
in  his  camlet  robe  by  way  of  surcoat  ; 
his  black  velvet  cap  under  his  cocked 
hat ;  a  thick  clasped  book  under  his  arm  ; 
a  basket  of  drugs  and  dried  herbs  in  one 

rod  be  properly  gathered  at  the  proper  time  of  the 
moon,  cut  into  the  proper  form,  used  with  the  ne 
cessary  ceremonies,  and  with  a  perfect  faith  in  its 
efficacy,  and  I  can  confidently  recommend  it  to  my 
fellow-citizens  as  an  infallible  means  of  discovering 
the  various  places  on  the  island  of  the  Manhattoes, 
where  treasure  hath  been  buried  in  the  olden  time, 

D.K. 


hand,  and  in  the  other  the  miraculous 
rod  of  divination. 

The  great  church  clock  struck  ten  as 
Wolfert  and  the  doctor  passed  by  the 
churchyard,  and  the  watchman  bawled, 
in  a  hoarse  voice,  a  long  and  doleful 
"  All's  well !"  A  deep  sleep  had  already 
fallen  upon  this  primitive  little  burgh. 
Nothing  disturbed  this  awful  silence,  ex 
cepting  now  and  then  the  bark  of  some 
profligate,  night- walking  dog,  or  the 
serenade  of  some  romantic  cat. 

It  is  true  Wolfert  fancied  more  than 
once  that  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  stealthy 
footfall  at  a  distance  behind  them ;  but 
it  might  have  been  merely  the  sound  of 
their  own  steps  echoing  along  the  quiet 
street.  He  thought  also,  at  one  time, 
that  he  saw  a  tall  figure  skulking  after 
them,  stopping  when  they  stopped,  and 
moving  on  as  they  proceeded ;  but  the 
dim  and  uncertain  lamplight  threw  such 
vague  gleams  and  shadows,  that  this 
might  all  have  been  mere  fancy. 

They  found  the  old  fisherman  waiting 
for  them,  smoking  his  pipe  in  the  stern 
of  his  skiff,  which  was  moored  just  in 
front  of  his  little  cabin.  A  pickaxe  and 
spade  were  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  with  a  dark  lantern,  and  a  stone 
bottle  of  good  Dutch  courage,  in  which 
honest  Sam,  no  doubt,  put  even  more 
faith  than  Dr.  Knipperhausen  in  his 
drugs. 

Thus,  then,  did  these  three  worthies 
embark  in  their  cockle-shell  of  a  skiff 
upon  this  nocturnal  expedition,  with  a 
wisdom  and  valour  equalled  only  by  the 
three  wise  men  of  Gotham,  who  adven 
tured  to  sea  in  a  bowl.  The  tide  was 
rising,  and  running  rapidly  up  the  Sound. 
The  current  bore  them  along  almost 
without  the  aid  of  an  oar.  The  profile  of 
the  town  lay  all  in  shadow.  Here  and 
there  a  light  feebly  glimmered  from  some 
sick  chamber,  or  from  the  cabin-window 
of  some  vessel  at  anchor  in  the  stream. 
Not  a  cloud  obscured  the  deep  starry 
firmament,  the  lights  of  which  wavered 
on  the  surface  of  the  placid  river ;  and  a 
shooting  meteor,  streaking  its  pale  course 
in  the  very  direction  they  were  taking, 
was  interpreted  by  the  doctor  into  a  most 
propitious  omen. 

In  a  little  while  they  glided  by  the 
point  of  Corlear's  Hook,  with  the  rural 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


183 


inn,  which  had  been  the  scene  of  such 
night  adventures.  The  family  had  re 
tired  to  rest,  and  the  house  was  dark  and 
still.  Wolfert  felt  a  chill  pass  over  him 
as  they  passed  the  point  where  the-  bu- 
canier  had  disappeared.  He  pointed  it 
out  to  Dr.  Knipperhausen.  While  re 
garding  it,  they  thought  they  saw  a  boat 
actually  lurking  at  the  very  place ;  but 
the  shore  cast  such  a  shadow  over  the 
border  of  the  water,  that  they  could  dis 
cern  nothing  distinctly.  They  had  not 
proceeded  far,  when  they  heard  the  low 
sound  of  distant  oars,  as  if  cautiously 
pulled.  Sam  plied  his  oars  with  redou 
bled  vigour,  and  knowing  all  the  eddies 
and  currents  of  the  stream,  soon  left  their 
followers,  if  such  they  were,  far  astern. 
In  a  little  while  they  stretched  across 
Turtle  Bay  and  Kip's  Bay,  then  shrouded 
themselves  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
Manhattan  shore,  and  glided  swiftly 
along,  secure  from  observation.  At 
length  the  negro  shot  his  skiff  into  a 
little  cove,  darkly  embowered  by  trees, 
and  made  it  fast  to  the  well-known  iron 
ring. 

They  now  landed,  and  lighting  the 
lantern,  gathered  their  various  imple 
ments,  and  proceeded  slowly  through  the 
bushes.  Every  sound  startled  them,  even 
that  of  their  own  footsteps  among  the 
dry  leaves;  and  the  hooting  of  a  screech 
owl  from  the  shattered  chimney  of  the 
neighbouring  ruin  made  their  blood  run 
cold. 

In  spite  of  all  Wolfert's  caution  in 
taking  note  of  the  landmarks,  it  was 
some  time  before  they  could  find  the 
open  place  among  the  trees,  where  the 
treasure  was  supposed  to  be  buried.  At 
length  they  came  to  the  ledge  of  rock, 
and  on  examining  its  surface  by  the  aid 
of  the  lantern,  Wolfert  recognised  the 
three  mystic  crosses.  Their  hearts  beat 
quick,  for  the  momentous  trial  was  at 
hand  that  was  to  determine  their  hopes. 

The  lantern  was  now  held  by  Wolfert 
Webber,  while  the  doctor  produced  the 
divining-rod.  It  was  a  forked  twig,  one 
end  of  which  was  grasped  firmly  in  each 
hand  ;  while  the  centre,  forming  the 
stem,  pointed  perpendicularly  upwards. 
The  doctor  moved  this  wand  about, 
within  a  certain  distance  of  the  earth, 
from  place  to  place,  but  for  some  time 


without  any  effect;  while  Wolfert  kept 
the  light  of  the  lantern  turned  full  upon 
it,  and  watched  it  with  the  most  breath 
less  interest.  At  length  the  rod  began 
slowly  to  turn.  The  doctor  grasped  it 
with  greater  earnestness,  his  hands  trem 
bling  with  the  agitation  of  his  mind.  The 
wand  continued  to  turn  gradually,  until 
at  length  the  stem  had  reversed  its  posi 
tion,  and  pointed  perpendicularly  down 
ward,  and  remained  pointing  to  one  spot 
as  fixedly  as  the  needle  to  the  pole. 

"  This  is  the  spot !"  said  the  doctor  in 
an  almost  inaudible  tone. 

Wolfert's  heart  was  in  his  throat. 

"  Shall  I  dig  ?"  said  the  negro,  grasp 
ing  the  spade. 

"  Potstausends,  no  !"  replied  the  little 
doctor  hastily.  He  now  ordered  his 
companions  to  keep  close  by  him,  and 
to  maintain  the  most  inflexible  silence; 
that  certain  precautions  must  be  taken, 
and  ceremonies  used,  to  prevent  the  evil 
spirits  which  kept  about  buried  treasure 
from  doing  them  any  harm. 

He  then  drew  a  circle  about  the  place, 
enough  to  include  the  whole  party.  He 
next  gathered  dry  twigs  and  leaves,  and 
made  a  fire,  upon  which  he  threw  certain 
drugs  and  dried  herbs,  which  he  had 
brought  in  his  basket.  A  thick  smoke 
arose,  diffusing  its  potent  odour,  savour 
ing  marvellously  of  brimstone  and  assa- 
foetida,  which,  however  grateful  it  might 
be  to  the  olfactory  nerves  of  spirits, 
nearly  strangled  poor  Wolfert,  and  pro 
duced  a  fit  of  coughing  and  wheezing 
that  made  the  whole  grove  resound.  Dr. 
Knipperhausen  then' unclasped  the  volume 
which  he  had  brought  under  his  arm, 
which  was  printed  in  red  and  black 
characters  in  German  text.  While  Wol 
fert  held  the  lantern,  the  doctor,  by  the 
aid  of  his  spectacles,  read  off  several 
forms  of  conjuration  in  Latin  and  Ger 
man.  He  then  ordered  Sam  to  seize  the 
pickaxe  and  proceed  to  work.  The 
close-bound  soil  gave  obstinate  signs  of 
not  having  been  disturbed  for  many  a 
year.  After  having  picked  his  way 
through  the  surface,  Sam  came  to  a  bed 
of  sand  and  gravel,  which  he  threw 
briskly  to  right  and  left  with  the  spade. 

"Hark!"  said  Wolfert,  who  fancied 
he  heard  a  trampling  among  the  dry 
leaves,  and  a  rustling  through  the  bushes. 


184 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Sam  paused  for  a  moment,  and  they  lis 
tened — no  footstep  was  near.  The  bat 
flitted  by  them  in  silence ;  a  bird,  roused 
from  its  roost  by  the  light  which  glared 
up  among  the  trees,  flew  circling  about 
the  flame.  In  the  profound  stillness  of 
the  woodland  they  could  distinguish  the 
current  rippling  along  the  rocky  shore, 
and  the  distant  murmuring  and  roaring 
of  Hell-gate. 

The  negro  continued  his  labours,  and 
had  already  digged  a  considerable  hole. 
The  doctor  stood  on  the  edge,  reading 
formulae,  every  now  and  then,  from  his 
black-letter  volume,  or  throwing  more 
drugs  and  herbs  upon  the  fire,  while 
Wolfert  bent  anxiously  over  the  pit, 
watching  every  stroke  of  the  spade. 
Any  one  witnessing  the  scene,  thus 
lighted  up  by  fire,  lantern,  and  the  re 
flection  of  Wolfert's  red  mantle,  might 
have  mistaken  the  little  doctor  for  some 
foul  magician,  busied  in  his  incantations, 
and  the  grizzly-headed  negro  for  some 
swart  goblin  obedient  to  his  commands. 

At  length  the  spade  of  the  old  fisher 
man  struck  upon  something  that  sounded 
hollow ;  the  sound  vibrated  to  Wolfert's 
heart.  He  struck  his  spade  again — 

"  'Tis  a  chest,"  said  Sam. 

"  Full  of  gold,  I'll  warrant  it !"  cried 
Wolfert,  clasping  his  hands  with  rapture. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words 
when  a  sound  from  above  caught  his 
ear.  He  cast  up  his  eyes,  and  lo !  by 
the  expiring  light  of  the  fire,  he  beheld, 
just  over  the  disk  of  the  rock,  what  ap 
peared  to  be  the  grim  visage  of  the 
drowned  bucanier,  grinning  hideously 
upon  him. 

Wolfert  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  let  fall 
the  lantern.  His  panic  communicated 
itself  to  his  companions.  The  negro 
leaped  out  of  the  hole ;  the  doctor  drop 
ped  his  book  and  basket,  and  began  to 
pray  in  German.  All  was  horror  and 
confusion.  The  fire  was  scattered  about, 
the  lantern  extinguished.  In  their  hurry- 
scurry,  they  ran  against  and  confounded 
one  another.  They  fancied  a  legion  of 
hobgoblins  let  loose  upon  them,  and  that 
they  saw,  by  the  fitful  gleams  of  the 
scattered  embers,  strange  figures  in  red 
caps,  gibbering  and  ramping  around  them. 
The  doctor  ran  one  way,  the  negro 
another,  and  Wolfert  made  for  the  water 


side.  As  he  plunged,  struggling  onwards 
through  bush  and  brake,  he  heard  the 
tread  of  some  one  in  pursuit.  He  scram 
bled  frantickly  forward.  The  footsteps 
gained  upon  him.  He  felt  himself  grasped 
by  his  cloak,  when  suddenly  his  pursuer 
was  attacked  in  turn.  A  fierce  fight  and 
struggle  ensued.  A  pistol  was  discharged 
that  lit  up  rock  and  bush  for  a  second, 
and  showed  two  figures  grappling  to 
gether — all  was  then  darker  than  ever. 
The  contest  continued ;  the  combatants 
clenched  each  other,  and  panted  and 
groaned,  and  rolled  among  the  rocks. 
There  was  snarling  and  growling  as  of  a 
cur,  mingled  with  curses,  in  which  Wol- 
fort  fancied  he  could  recognise  the  voice 
of  the  bucanier.  He  would  fain  have 
fled,  but  he  was  on  the  brink  of  a  preci 
pice,  and  could  go  no  farther.  Again 
the  parties  were  on  their  feet;  again 
there  was  a  tugging  and  struggling,  as  if 
strength  alone  could  decide  the  combat, 
until  one  was  precipitated  from  the  brow 
of  the  cliff,  and  sent  headlong  into  the 
deep  stream  that  whirled  below.  Wolfert 
heard  the  plunge,  and  a  kind  of  stran 
gling,  bubbling  murmur;  but  the  dark 
ness  of  the  night  hid  every  thing  from 
him,  and  the  swiftness  of  the  current 
swept  every  thing  instantly  out  of  hear 
ing. 

One  of  the  combatants  was  disposed 
of,  but  whether  friend  or  foe  Wolfert 
could  not  tell,  or  whether  they  might  not 
both  be  foes.  He  heard  the  survivor 
approach,  and  terror  revived.  He  saw, 
where  the  profile  of  the  rocks  rose  against 
the  horizon,  a  human  form  advancing. 
He  could  not  be  mistaken — it  must  be 
the  bucanier.  Whither  should  he  fly? 
a  precipice  was  on  one  side,  a  murderer 
on  the  other.  The  enemy  approached — 
he  was  close  at  hand.  Wolfert  attempted 
to  let  himself  down  the  face  of  the  cliff*. 
His  cloak  caught  in  a  thorn  that  grew 
on  the  edge  :  he  was  jerked  from  off  his 
feet,  and  held  dangling  in  the  air,  half 
choked  by  the  string  with  which  his  care 
ful  wife  had  fastened  the  garment  round 
his  neck.  Wolfert  thought  his  last  mo 
ment  was  arrived  ;  already  he  had  com 
mitted  his  soul  to  St.  Nicholas,  when  the 
string  broke,  and  he  tumbled  down  the 
bank,  bumping  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
bush  to  bush,  and  leaving  the  red  cloak 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


185 


fluttering,  like  a  bloody  banner,  in  the 


air. 


It  was  a  long  while  before  Wolfert 
came  to  himself.  When  he  opened  his 
eyes,  the  ruddy  streaks  of  morning  were 
already  shooting  up  the  sky.  He  found 
himself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boat, 
grievously  battered.  He  attempted  to  sit 
up,  but  was  too  sore  and  stiff  to  move. 
A  voice  requested  him,  in  friendly  ac 
cents,  to  lie  still.  He  turned  his  eyes 
towards  the  speaker — it  was  Dirk  Wal- 
dron.  He  had  dogged  the  party  at  the 
earnest  request  of  Dame  Webber  and  her 
daughter,  who,  with  the  laudable  curio 
sity  of  their  sex,  had  pried  into  the  secret 
consultations  of  Wolfert  and  the  doctor. 
Dirk  had  been  completely  distanced  in 
following  the  light  skiff  of  the  fisherman, 
and  had  just  come  in  time  to  rescue  the 
poor  money-digger  from  his  pursuer. 

Thus  ended  this  perilous  enterprise. 
The  doctor  and  Black  Sam  severally 
found  their  way  back  to  the  Manhattoes, 
each  having  some  dreadful  tale  of  peril 
to  relate.  As  to  poor  Wolfert,  instead  of 
returning  in  triumph,  laden  with  bags  of 
gold,  he  was  borne  home  on  a  shutter, 
followed  by  a  rabble  rout  of  curious 
urchins. 

His  wife  and  daughter  saw  the  dismal 
pageant  from  a  distance,  and  alarmed 
the  neighbourhood  with  their  cries ;  they 
thought  the  poor  man  had  suddenly  set 
tled  the  great  debt  of  nature  in  one  of  his 
wayward  moods.  Finding  him,  however, 
still  living,  they  had  him  speedily  to  bed, 
and  a  jury  of  old  matrons  of  the  neigh 
bourhood  assembled  to  determine  how  he 
should  be  doctored. 

The  whole  town  was  in  a  buzz  with 
the  story  of  the  money-diggers.  Many 
repaired  to  the  scene  of  the  previous 
night's  adventures;  but  though  they 
found  the  very  place  of  digging,  they 
discovered  nothing  that  compensated 
them  for  their  trouble.  Some  say  they 
found  the  fragments  of  an  oaken  chest, 
and  an  iron  potlid,  which  savoured 
strongly  of  hidden  money,  and  that  in 
the  old  family  vault  there  were  traces  of 
bales  and  boxes,  but  this  is  all  very 
dubious. 

In  fact,  the  secret  of  all  this  story  has 
never  to  this  day  been  discovered.  Whe 
ther  any  treasure  were  ever  actually 


buried  at  that  place ;  whether,  if  so,  it 
were  carried  off  at  night  by  those  who 
had  buried  it;  or  whether  it  still  remains 
there  under  the  guardianship  of  gnomes 
and  spirits,  until  it  shall  be  properly 
sought  for,  is  all  matter  of  conjecture. 
For  my  part,  I  incline  to  the  latter  opi 
nion,  and  make  no  doubt  that  great  sums 
lie  buried,  both  there  and  in  many  other 
parts  of  this  island  and  its  neighbour 
hood,  ever  since  the  times  of  the  buca- 
niers  and  the  Dutch  colonists ;  and  I 
would  earnestly  recommend  the  search 
after  them  to  such  of  my  fellow-citizens 
as  are  not  engaged  in  any  other  specu 
lations.  There  were  many  conjectures 
formed,  also,  as  to  who  and  what  was 
the  strange  man  of  the  seas  who  had 
domineered  over  the  little  fraternity  at 
Corlear's  Hook  for  a  time,  disappeared 
so  strangely,  and  re-appeared  so  fear 
fully. 

Some  supposed  him  a  smuggler,  sta 
tioned  at  that  place  to  assist  his  com 
rades  in  landing  their  goods  among  the 
rocky  coves  of  the  island.  Others,  that 
he  was  one  of  the  ancient  comrades, 
either  of  Kidd  or  Bradish,  returned  to 
convey  treasures  formerly  hidden  in  the 
vicinity.  The  only  circumstance  that 
throws  any  thing  like  a  vague  light  on 
this  mysterious  matter,  is  a  report  which 
prevailed  of  a  strange  foreign-built  shal 
lop,  with  much  the  look  of  a  picaroon, 
having  been  seen  hovering  about  the 
Sound  for  several  days  without  landing 
or  reporting  herself,  though  boats  were 
seen  going  to  and  from  her  at  night ; 
and  that  she  was  seen  standing  out  of 
the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  in  the  gray  of 
the  dawn,  after  the  catastrophe  of  the 
money-diggers. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  another 
report,  also,  which  I  confess  is  rather 
apocryphal,  of  the  bucanier,  who  was 
supposed  to  have  been  drowned,  being 
seen  before  daybreak  with  a  lantern  in 
his  hand,  seated  astride  his  great  sea- 
chest,  and  sailing  through  Hell-gate, 
which  just  then  began  to  roar  and  bellow 
with  redoubled  fury. 

While  all  the  gossip  world  was  thus 
filled  with  talk  and  rumour,  poor  Wol 
fert  lay  sick  and  sorrowful  in  his  bed, 
bruised  in  body,  and  sorely  beaten  down 
in  mind.  His  wife  and  daughter  did  all 

16* 


186 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


they  could  to  bind  up  his  wounds,  both 
corporal  and  spiritual.  The  good  old 
dame  never  stirred  from  his  bed-side, 
where  she  sat  knitting  from  morning  till 
night ;  while  his  daughter  busied  herself 
about  him  with  the  fondest  care.  Nor 
did  they  lack  assistance  from  abroad. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  desertion 
of  friends  in  distress,  they  had  no  com 
plaint  of  the  kind  to  make ;  not  an  old 
wife  of  the  neighbourhood  but  abandoned 
her  work  to  crowd  to  the  mansion  of 
Wolfert  Webber,  inquire  after  his  health, 
and  the  particulars  of  his  story.  Not 
one  came,  moreover,  without  her  little 
pipkin  of  pennyroyal,  sage-balm,  or  other 
herb-tea,  delighted  at  an  opportunity  of 
signalizing  her  kindness  and  her  doctor- 
ship.  What  drenchings  did  not  the  poor 
Wolfert  undergo !  and  all  in  vain.  It 
was  a  moving  sight  to  behold  him  wasting 
away  day  by  day ;  growing  thinner  and 
thinner,  and  ghastlier  and  ghastlier;  and 
staring  with  rueful  visage  from  under  an 
old  patchwork  counterpane,  upon  the  jury 
of  matrons  kindly  assembled  to  sigh  and 
groan,  and  look  unhappy  around  him. 

Dirk  Waldron  was  the  only  being  that 
seemed  to  shed  a  ray  of  sunshine  into 
this  house  of  mourning.  He  came  in 
with  cheery  look  and  manly  spirit,  and 
tried  to  reanimate  the  expiring  heart  of 
the  poor  money-digger;  but  it  was  all  in 
vain.  Wolfert  was  completely  done  over. 
If  any  thing  was  wanting  to  complete  his 
despair,  it  was  a  notice  served  upon  him, 
in  the  midst  of  his  distress,  that  the  cor 
poration  were  about  to  run  a  new  street 
through  the  very  centre  of  his  cabbage- 
garden.  He  now  saw  nothing  before 
him  but  poverty  and  ruin — his  last  re 
liance,  the  garden  of  his  forefathers,  was 
to  be  laid  waste — and  what  then  was  to 
become  of  his  poor  wife  and  child  ?  His 
eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  followed 
the  dutiful  Amy  out  of  the  room  one 
morning.  Dirk  Waldron  was  seated 
beside  him  ;  Wolfert  grasped  his  hand, 
pointed  after  his  daughter,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  his  illness,  broke  the 
silence  he  had  maintained. 

,"  I  am  going,"  said  he,  shaking  his 
head  feebly;  "and  when  I  am  gone — 
my  poor  daughter — " 

"  Leave  her  to  me,  father !"  said  Dirk, 
manfully;  "  I'll  take  care  of  her !" 


Wolfert  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the 
cheery,  strapping  youngster,  and  saw 
there  was  none  better  able  to  take  care 
of  a  woman. 

"  Enough,"  said  he,  "  she  is  yours ! — 
and  now  fetch  me  a  lawyer — let  me 
make  my  will  and  die." 

The  lawyer  was  brought,  a  dapper, 
bustling,  round-headed  little  man — Roor- 
bach  (or  Rollebuck,  as  it  was  pronounced) 
by  name.  At  the  sight  of  him  the  wo 
men  broke  into  loud  lamentations,  for 
they  looked  upon  the  signing  of  a  will 
as  the  signing  of  a  death-warrant. 
Wolfert  made  a  feeble  motion  for  them 
to  be  silent.  Poor  Amy  buried  her  face 
and  her  grief  in  the  bed-curtain  ;  Dame 
Webber  resumed  her  knitting  to  hide  her 
distress,  which  betrayed  itself,  however, 
in  a  pellucid  tear  which  trickled  silently 
down,  and  hung  at  the  end  of  her  peaked 
nose ;  while  the  cat,  the  only  uncon 
cerned  member  of  the  family,  played 
with  the  good  dame's  ball  of  worsted,  as 
it  rolled  about  the  floor. 

Wolfert  lay  on  his  back,  his  nightcap 
drawn  over  hi,s  forehead,  his  eyes  closed, 
his  whole  visage  the  picture  of  death.  He 
begged  the  lawyer  to  be  brief,  for  he  felt 
his  end  approaching,  and  that  he  had  no 
time  to  lose.  The  lawyer  nibbed  his  pen, 
spread  out  his  paper,  and  prepared  to 
write. 

"  I  give  and  bequeath,"  said  Wolfert, 
faintly,  "  my  small  farm — " 

"  What!  all?"  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

Wolfert  half  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  upon  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes — all,"  said  he. 

"  What !  all  that  great  patch  of  land 
with  cabbages  and  sunflowers,  which  the 
corporation  is  just  going  to  run  a  main 
street  through  ?" 

"The  same,"  said  Wolfert,  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  and  sinking  back  upon  his 
pillow. 

"  I  wish  him  joy  that  inherits  it!"  said 
the  little  lawyer,  chuckling  and  rubbing 
his  hands  involuntarily. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Wolfert, 
again  opening  his  eyes. 

"  That  he'll  be  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  the  place  !"  cried  little  Rollebuck. 

The  expiring  Wolfert  seemed  to  step 
back  from  the  threshold  of  existence ; 
his  eyes  again  lighted  up;  he  raised 


a--- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


187 


himself  in  his  bed,  shoved  back  his 
worsted  red  nightcap,  and  stared  broadly 
at  the  lawyer. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  he. 

"  Faith,  but  I  do  !"  rejoined  the  other, 
y  Why,  when  that  great  field,  and  that 
huge  meadow,  come  to  be  laid  out  in 
streets,  and  cut  up  into  snug  building- 
lots — why,  whoever  owns  it  need  not 
pull  off  his  hat  to  the  patroon  !" 

"Say  you  so?"  cried  Wolfert,  half 
thrusting  one  leg  out  of  bed  ;  "  why,  then, 
I  think  I'll  not  make  my  will  yet !" 

To  the  surprise  of  every  body,  the 
dying  man  actually  recovered.  The 
vital  spark,  which  had  glimmered  faintly 
in  the  socket,  received  fresh  fuel  from 
the  oil  of  gladness  which  the  little  law 
yer  poured  into  his  soul.  It  once  more 
burnt  up  into  a  flame.  Give  physic  to 
the  heart,  ye  who.  would  revive  the  body 
of  a  spirit-broken  man  !  In  a  few  days 
Wolfert  left  his  room  ;  in  a  few  days 
more  his  table  was  covered  with  deeds, 
plans  of  streets,  and  building-lots.  Little 
Rollebuck  was  constantly  with  him,  his 
right-hand  man  and  adviser,  and  instead 
of  making  his  will,  assisted  in  the  more 
agreeable  task  of  making  his  fortune. 

In  fact,  Wolfert  Webber  was  one  of 
those  many  worthy  Dutch  burghers  of 
the  Manhattoes,  whose  fortunes  have 
been  made  in  a  manner  in  spite  of  them 
selves  ;  who  have  tenaciously  held  on  to 
their  hereditary  acres,  raising  turnips 
and  cabbages  about  the  skirts  of  the  city, 
hardly  able  to  make  both  ends  meet,  until 
the  corporation  has  cruelly  driven  streets 
through  their  abodes,  and  they  have  sud 
denly  awakened  out  of  their  lethargy,  and 
to  their  astonishment  found  themselves 
rich  men ! 

Before  many  months  had  elapsed,  a 
great  bustling  street  passed  through  the 
very  centre  of  the  Webber  garden,  just 
where  Wolfert  had  dreamed  of  finding  a 


treasure.  His  golden  dream  was  accom 
plished.  He  did  indeed  find  an  unlooked- 
for  source  of  wealth ;  for  when  his 
paternal  lands  were  distributed  into 
building-lots,  and  rented  out  to  safe 
tenants,  instead  of  producing  a  paltry 
crop  of  cabbages,  they  returned  him  an 
abundant  crop  of  rents  ;  insomuch  that 
on  quarter-day  it  was  a  goodly  sight  to 
see  his  tenants  knocking  at  his  door 
from  morning  till  night,  each  with  a  little 
round-bellied  bag  of  money,  the  golden 
produce  of  the  soil. 

The  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers 
was  still  kept  up ;  but  instead  of  being  a 
little  yellow-fronted  Dutch  house  in  a 
garden,  it  now  stood  boldly  in  the  midst 
of  a  street,  the  grand  house  of  the  neigh 
bourhood;  for  Wolfert  enlarged  it  with 
a  wing  on  each  side,  and  a  cupola  or  tea 
room  on  top,  where  he  might  climb  up 
and  smoke  his  pipe  in  hot  weather ;  and 
in  the  course  of  time  the  whole  mansion 
was  overrun  by  the  chubby-faced  progeny 
of  Amy  Webber  and  Dirk  Waldron. 

As  Wolfert  waxed  old,  and  rich,  and 
corpulent,  he  also  set  up  a  great  ginger 
bread-coloured  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  black  Flanders  mares,  with  tails  that 
swept  the  ground  ;  and  to  commemorate 
the  origin  of  his  greatness,  he  had  for 
his  crest  a  full-blown  cabbage  painted 
on  the  panels  with  the  pithy  motto 
^(Ues  Ztopf,  that  is  to  say,  ALL  HEAD, 
meaning  thereby,  that  he  had  risen  by 
sheer  head-work. 

To  fill  the  measure  of  his  greatness, 
in  the  fulness  of  time  the  renowned  Ramm 
Rapelye  slept  with  his  fathers,  and  Wol 
fert  Webber  succeeded  to  the  leather- 
bottomed  arm-chair,  in  the  inn-parlour 
at  Corlear's  Hook,  where  he  long  reigned, 
greatly  honoured  and  respected,  inso 
much  that  he  was  never  known  to  tell  a 
story  without  its  being  believed,  nor  to 
utter  a  joke  without  its  being  laughed  at. 


END  OF  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


==« 


CHRONICLE 


OF  THE 


CONQUEST    OF    GRANADA. 


BY  FRAY  ANTONIO  AGAPIDA. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LEA    AND    BLANCHARD. 
1840. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836, 

By  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York, 


C.  SHERMAN  AND  CO.  PRINTERS. 


THE 


CONQUEST    OF    GRANADA. 


INTRODUCTION. 

ALTHOUGH  the  following  chronicle 
bears  the  name  of  the  venerable  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  it  is  more  properly 
a  superstructure  reared  upon  the  frag 
ments  which  remain  of  his  work.  It 
may  be  asked,  who  is  this  same  Agapida, 
who  is  cited  with  such  deference,  yet 
whose  name  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  of 
the  catalogues  of  Spanish  authors  ?  The 
question  is  hard  to  answer :  he  appears 
to  have  been  one  of  the  many  indefati 
gable  writers,  who  have  filled  the  libra 
ries  of  the  convents  and  cathedrals  of 
Spain  with  their  tomes,  without  ever 
dreaming  of  bringing  their  labours  to 
the  press.  He  evidently  was  deeply  and 
accurately  informed  of  the  particulars  of 
the  wars  between  his  countrymen  and 
the  Moors,  a  tract  of  history  but  too 
much  overgrown  with  the  weeds  of  fable. 
His  glowing  zeal,  also,  in  the  cause  of 
the  Catholic  faith,  entitles  him  to  be  held 
up  as  a  model  of  the  good  old  orthodox 
chroniclers,  who  recorded,  with  such 
pious  exultation,  the  united  triumphs  of 
the  cross  and  the  sword.  It  is  deeply  to 
be  regretted,  therefore,  that  his  manu 
scripts,  deposited  in  the  libraries  of 
various  convents,  have  been  dispersed 
during  the  late  convulsions  in  Spain,  so 
that  nothing  is  now  to  be  met  of  them 
but  disjointed  fragments.  These,  how 
ever,  are  too  precious  to  be  suffered  to 
fall  into  oblivion,  as  they  contain  many 
curious  facts  not  to  be  found  in  any  other 
historian.  In  the  following  work,  there 
fore,  the  manuscripts  of  the  worthy  Fray 
Antonio  will  be  adopted,  whenever  they 


exist  entire,  but  will  be  filled  up,  extend 
ed,  illustrated,  and  corroborated,  by  cita 
tions  from  various  authors,  both  Spanish 
and  Arabian,  who  have  treated  of  the 
subject.  The  manuscripts  themselves 
are  carefully  preserved  in  the  library  of 
the  Escurial. 

Before  entering  upon  the  history,  it 
may  be  as  well  to  notice  the  opinions  of 
certain  of  the  most  learned  and  devout 
historiographers  of  former  times  relative 
to  this  war*  Marinus  Siculus,  historian 
to  Charles  the  Fifth,  pronounces  it  a  war 
to  avenge  the  ancient  injuries  received  by 
the  Christians  from  the  Moors,  to  recover 
the  kingdom  of  Granada,  and  to  extend 
the  name  and  honour  of  the  Christian 
religion.* 

Estevan  de  Garibay,  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  among  the  Spanish  his 
torians,  regards  the  war  as  a  special  act 
of  divine  clemency  towards  the  Moors ; 
to  the  end  that  those  barbarians  and 
infidels,  who  had  dragged  out  so  many 
centuries  under  the  diabolical  oppression 
of  the  absurd  sect  of  Mahomet,  should 
at  length  be  reduced  to  the  Christian 
faith.f 

Padre  Mariana,  also,  a  venerable 
Jesuit,  and  the  most  renowned  historian 
of  Spain,  considers  the  past  domination 
of  the  Moors  as  a  scourge  inflicted  on 
the  Spanish  nation  for  its  iniquities  ;  but 
the  triumphant  war  with  Granada  as  the 
reward  of  Heaven,  for  its  great  act  of 
propitiation  in  establishing  the  glorious 

*  Lucio  Marino  Siculo,  Cosas  Memorabiles  do 
Espaiia,  lib.  xx. 

t  Garibay,  Compend.  Hist.  Espafia,  lib.  xviii. 
c.  22. 


192 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


tribunal  of  the  Inquisition !  "  No  sooner," 
says  the  worthy  father,  "  was  this  holy 
office  opened  in  Spain,  than  there  in 
stantly  shone  forth  a  resplendent  light. 
Then  it  was,  that,  through  divine  favour, 
the  nation  increased  in  power,  and  be 
came  competent  to  overthrow  and  tram 
ple  down  the  domination  of  the  Moors."* 
Having  thus  cited  high  and  venerable 
authority  for  considering  this  war  in  the 
light  of  one  of  those  pious  enterprises 
denominated  crusades,  we  trust  we  have 
said  enough  to  engage  the  Christian 
reader  to  follow  us  into  the  field,  and 
to  stand  by  us  to  the  very  issue  of  the 
contest. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  and  the  tribute  which 
it  paid  to  the  Castilian  crown. 

THE  history  of  those  desperate  and 
bloody  wars,  observes  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  which  have  filled  the  world 
with  rumour  and  astonishment,  and  have 
determined  the  fate  of  mighty  empires, 
has  ever  been  considered  as  a  theme 
worthy  of  the  pen  of  the  philosopher 
and  the  study  of  the  sage.  What  then 
must  be  the  history  of  a  holy  war,  or 
rather,  a  pious  crusade,  waged  by  the 
most  catholic  of  sovereigns,  for  the 
restoration  of  the  light  of  the  true  faith 
to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  but  benighted 
regions  of  the  globe  1  Listen,  then, 
while  from  the  solitude  of  my  cell  I  nar 
rate  the  events  of  the  conquest  of  Grana 
da,  where  Christian  knight  and  turbaned 
infidel  disputed,  hand  to  hand,  every  inch 
of  the  fair  land  of  Andalusia,  until  the 
crescent,  that  symbol  of  heathenish 
abomination,  was  cast  into  the  dust,  and 
the  blessed  cross,  the  tree  of  our  redemp 
tion,  erected  in  its  stead. 

Upwards  of  eight  hundred  years  were 
past  and  gone  since  the  Arabian  invaders 
sealed  the  perdition  of  Spain,  by  the  de 
feat  of  Don  Roderick,  the  last  of  her 
Gothic  kings.  From  the  period  of  that 
disastrous  event,  kingdom  after  kingdom 
had  been  gradually  recovered  by  the 
Christian  princes,  until  the  single,  but 
powerful  territory  of  Granada  alone 

*  Mariana,  Hist.  Esparia,  lib.  xxv.  c.  1. 


remained  under  the  domination  of  the 
Moors. 

This  renowned  kingdom  was  situate  in 
the  southern  part  of  Spain,  bordering  on 
the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  defended  on 
the  land  side  by  lofty  and  rugged  moun 
tains,  locking  up  within  their  embraces 
deep,  rich,  and  verdant  valleys,  where 
the  sterility  of  the  surrounding  heights 
was  repaid  by  prodigal  fertility. 

The  city  of  Granada  lay  in  the  centre 
of  the  kingdom,  sheltered  as  it  were  in 
the  lap  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  chain  of 
snowy  mountains.  It  covered  two  lofty 
hills,  and  a  deep  valley  that  divides  them, 
through  which  flows  the  river  Darro. 
One  of  these  hills  was  crowned  by  the 
royal  palace  and  fortress  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  capable  of  containing  forty  thousand 
men  within  its  walls  and  towers.  There 
is  a  Moorish  tradition,  that  the  king  who 
built  this  mighty  pile  was  skilled  in  the 
occult  sciences,  and  furnished  himself 
with  gold  and  silver  for  the  purpose  by 
means  of  alchymy.*  Certainly  never 
was  there  an  edifice  accomplished  in  a 
superior  style  of  barbaric  magnificence  ; 
and  the  stranger  who,  even  at  the  pre 
sent  day,  wanders  among  its  silent  and 
deserted  courts  and  ruined  halls,  gazes 
with  astonishment  at  its  gilded  and  fretted 
domes  and  luxurious  decorations,  still 
retaining  their  brilliancy  and  beauty,  in 
defiance  of  the  ravages  of  time. 

Opposite  to  the  hill  on  which  stood  the 
Alhambra  was  its  rival  hill,  on  the  sum 
mit  of  which  was  a  spacious  plain, 
covered  with  houses,  and  crowded  with 
inhabitants.  It  was  commanded  by  a 
fortress  called  the  Alcazaba.  The  de 
clivities  and  skirts  of  these  hills  were 
covered  with  houses  to  the  number  of 
seventy  thousand,  separated  by  narrow 
streets  and  small  squares,  according  to 
the  custom  of  Moorish  cities.  The 
houses  had  interior  courts  and  gardens, 
refreshed  by  fountains  and  running 
streams,  and  set  out  with  oranges, 
citrons,  and  pomegranates ;  so  that,  as 
the  edifices  of  the  city  rose  above  each 
other  on  the  sides  of  the  hill,  they  pre 
sented  a  mingled  appearance  of  city  and 
grove,  delightful  to  the  eye.  The  whole 
was  surrounded  by  high  walls,  three 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx,  c.  42. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


193 


leagues  in  circuit,  with  twelve  gates,  and 
fortified  by  a  thousand  and  thirty  towers. 
The  elevation  of  the  city,  and  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  crowned 
with  perpetual  snows,  tempered  the  fervid 
rays  of  summer ;  and  thus,  while  other 
cities  were  panting  with  the  sultry  and 
stifling  heat  of  the  dogdays,  the  most 
salubrious  breezes  played  through  the 
marble  halls  of  Granada. 

The  glory  of  the  city,  however,  was 
its  vega,  or  plain,  which  spread  out  to  a 
circumference  of  thirty-seven  leagues, 
surrounded  by  lofty  mountains.  It  was 
a  vast  garden  of  delight,  refreshed  by 
numerous  fountains,  and  by  the  silver 
windings  of  the  Xenil.  The  labour  and 
ingenuity  of  the  Moors  had  diverted  the 
waters  of  this  river  into  thousands  of 
rills  and  streams,  and  diffused  them  over 
the  whole  surface  of  the  plain.  Indeed, 
they  had  wrought  up  this  happy  region 
•to  a  degree  of  wonderful  prosperity,  and 
took  a  pride  in  decorating  it,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  favourite  mistress.  The  hills 
were  clothed  with  orchards  and  vine 
yards,  the  valleys  embroidered  with  gar 
dens,  and  the  wide  plains  covered  with 
waving  grain.  Here  were  seen  in  pro 
fusion,  the  orange,  the  citron,  the  fig,  and 
pomegranate,  with  large  plantations  of 
mulberry  trees,  from  which  was  produced 
the  finest  of  silk.  The  vine  clambered 
from  tree  to  tree,  the  grapes  hung  in  rich 
clusters  about  the  peasant's  cottage,  and 
the  groves  were  rejoiced  by  the  perpetual 
song  of  the  nightingale.  In  a  word,  so 
beautiful  was  the  earth,  so  pure  the  air, 
and  so  serene  the  sky  of  this  delicious 
region,  that  the  Moors  imagined  the 
paradise  of  their  prophet  to  be  situate  in 
that  part  of  heaven  which  overhung  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.* 

This  rich  and  populous  territory  had 
been  left  in  quiet  possession  of  the  infi 
dels,  on  condition  of  an  annual  tribute  to 
the  sovereign  of  Castile  and  Leon  of  two 
thousand  doblas  or  pistoles  of  gold,  and 
sixteen  hundred  Christian  captives,  or,  in 
default  of  captives,  an  equal  number  of 
Moors  to  be  surrendered  as  slaves ;  all  to 
be  delivered  in  the  city  of  Cordova. f 

*  Juan  Botero  Benes,  Relaciones  Universales  del 
Mundo. 


t  Garibay,  Compend.  lib.  iv.  c.  25. 


17 


At  the  era  at  which  this  chronicle 
commences,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  of 
glorious  and  happy  memory,  reigned 
over  the  united  kingdoms  of  Castile, 
Leon  and  Arragon,  and  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  sat  on  the  throne  of  Gra 
nada. 

This  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  suc 
ceeded  to  his  father  Ismael  in  1465, 
while  Henry  IV.,  brother  and  immediate 
predecessor  of  Queen  Isabella,  was  king 
of  Castile  and  Leon.  He  was  of  the 
illustrious  lineage  of  Mohammed  Aben 
Alamar,  the  first  Moorish  king  of  Grana 
da,  and  was  the  most  potent  of  his  line. 
He  had,  in  fact,  augmented  in  power  in 
consequence  of  the  fall  of  other  Moorish 
kingdoms,  which  had  been  conquered  by 
the  Christians.  Many  cities  and  strong 
places  of  the  kingdoms  which  lay  con 
tiguous  to  Granada  had  refused  to  submit 
to  Christian  vassalage,  and  had  sheltered 
themselves  under  the  protection  of  Muley 
Aben  Hassan.  His  territories  had  thus 
increased  in  wealth,  extent,  and  popula 
tion,  beyond  all  former  example ;  and 
contained  fourteen  cities,  and  ninety- 
seven  fortified  towns,  besides  numerous 
unwalled  towns  and  villages,  defended  by 
formidable  castles.  The  spirit  of  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  swelled  with  his  posses 
sions. 

The  tribute  of  money  and  captives  had 
been  regularly  paid  by  his  father  Ismael, 
and  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had,  on  one  oc 
casion,  attended  personally  in  Cordova  al 
the  payment.  He  had  witnessed  the 
taunts  and  sneers  of  the  haughty  Casti- 
lians ;  and  so  indignant  was  the  proud 
son  of  Afric  at  what-  he  considered  a 
degradation  of  his  race,  that  his  blood 
boiled,  whenever  he  recollected  the  hu 
miliating  scene. 

When  he  came  to  the  throne  he  ceased 
all  payment  of  the  tribute,  and  it  was 
sufficient  to  put  him  in  a  transport  of  rage 
only  to  mention  it.  "  He  was  a  fierce 
and  warlike  infidel,"  says  the  catholic 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  ;  "  his  bitterness 
against  the  holy  Christian  faith  had 
been  signalized  in  battle  during  the  life 
time  of  his  father,  and  the  same  dia 
bolical  spirit  of  hostility  was  apparent 
in  his  ceasing  to  pay  this  most  righteous 
tribute." 


194 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


CHAPTER  II. 

How  the  Catholic  sovereigns  sent  to  demand  ar 
rears  of  tribute  from  the  Moor,  and  how  the 
Moor  replied. 

IN  the  year  1478,  a  Spanish  cavalier, 
of  powerful  frame  and  haughty  demea 
nour,  arrived  at  the  gates  of  Granada  as 
ambassador  from  the  Catholic  monarchs, 
to  demand  the  arrear  of  tribute.  His 
name  was  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  a  zealous 
and  devout  knight,  full  of  ardour  for  the 
faith  and  loyalty  for  the  crown.  He  was 
gallantly  mounted,  armed  at  all  points, 
and  followed  by  a  moderate  but  well-ap 
pointed  retinue. 

The  Moorish  inhabitants  looked  jea 
lously  at  this  small  but  proud  array  of 
Spanish  chivalry,  as  it  paraded,  with  that 
stateliness  possessed  only  by  Spanish  ca 
valiers,  through  the  renewed  gate  of  El 
vira.  They  were  struck  with  the  stern 
and  lofty  demeanour  of  Don  Juan  de 
Vera,  and  his  sinewy  frame,  which  show 
ed  him  formed  for  hardy  deeds  of  arms  ; 
and  they  supposed  he  had  come  in  search 
of  distinction,  by  defying  the  Moorish 
knights  in  open  tourney,  or  in  the  famous 
tilt  with  reeds  for  which  they  were  so 
renowned.  For  it  was  still  the  custom 
of  the  knights  of  either  nation  to  mingle 
in  these  courteous  and  chivalrous  con 
tests,  during  the  intervals  of  war.  When 
they  learned,  however,  that  he  was  come 
to  demand  the  tribute  so  abhorrent  to  the 
ears  of  the  fiery  monarch,  they  observed, 
that  it  required  a  warrior  of  his  apparent 
nerve  to  execute  such  an  embassy. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  received  the  cava 
lier  in  state,  seated  on  a  magnificent  divan, 
and  surrounded  by  the  officers  of  his 
court,  in  the  hall  of  ambassadors,  one  of 
the  most  sumptuous  apartments  of  the 
Alhambra.  When  De  Vera  had  deliver 
ed  his  message,  a  haughty  and  bitter 
smile  curled  the  lip  of  the  fierce  monarch. 
"  Tell  your  sovereigns,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  kings  of  Granada,  who  used  to  pay 
tribute  in  money  to  the  Castilian  crown, 
are  dead.  Our  mint  at  present  coins  no 
thing  but  blades  of  cimeters  and  heads  of 
lances."* 

The  defiance  couched  in  this  proud 
reply  was  heard  with  stern  and  lofty 

*  Garibay,  Compend.  lib.  xl.  c.  29.  Conde,  Hist, 
de  los  Arabes,  p.  iv.  c.  34. 


courtesy  by  Don  Juan  de  Vera ;  for  he 
was  a  bold  soldier,  and  a  devout  hater  of 
the  infidels,  and  he  saw  iron  war  in  the 
words  of  the  Moorish  monarch.  He  re 
tired  from  the  audience-chamber  with 
stately  and  ceremonious  gravity,  being 
master  of  all  points  of  etiquette.  As  he 
passed  through  the  Court  of  Lions,  and 
paused  to  regard  its  celebrated  fountain, 
he  fell  into  a  discourse  with  the  Moorish 
courtiers  on  certain  mysteries  of  the 
Christian  faith.  The  arguments  advanced 
by  these  infidels,  says  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida,  awakened  the  pious  indignation  of 
this  most  Christian  knight  and  discreet 
ambassador,  but  still  he  restrained  him 
self  within  the  limits  of  lofty  gravity, 
leaning  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword,  and 
looking  down  with  ineffable  scorn  upon 
the  weak  casuists  around  him.  The  quick 
and  subtle  Arabian  witlings  redoubled 
their  light  attacks  upon  that  stately  Spa 
niard,  and  thought  they  had  completely 
foiled  him  in  the  contest ;  but  the  stern 
Juan  de  Vera  had  an  argument  in  re 
serve,  for  which  they  were  but  little  pre 
pared  ;  for,  on  one  of  them,  of  the  race  of 
the  Abencerrages,  daring  to  question, 
with  a  sneer,  the  immaculate  conception 
of  the  blessed  Virgin,  the  Catholic  knight 
could  no  longer  restrain  his  ire.  Ele 
vating  his  voice  of  a  sudden,  he  told  the 
infidel  he  lied,  and  raising  his  arm  at  the 
same  time,  he  smote  him  on  the  head  with 
his  sheathed  sword. 

In  an  instant  the  Court  of  Lions  glis 
tened  with  the  flash  of  arms,  and  its  foun 
tains  would  have  been  dyed  with  blood, 
had  not  Muley  Aben  Hassan  overheard 
the  tumult,  and  forbade  all  appeal  to  force, 
pronouncing  the  person  of  the  ambassa 
dor  sacred,  while  within  his  territories. 
The  Abencerrage  treasured  up  the  re 
membrance  of  the  insult  until  an  hour  of 
vengeance  should  arrive,  and  the  ambas 
sador  prayed  our  blessed  Lady  to  grant 
him  an  opportunity  of  proving  her  imma 
culate  conception  on  the  head  of  this  tur- 
baned  infidel.* 

Notwithstanding  this  occurrence,  Don 

*  The  curate  of  Los  Palacios  also  records  this 
anecdote,  but  mentions  it  as  happening  on  a  subse 
quent  occasion,  when  Don  Juan  de  Vera  was  sent 
to  negotiate  for  certain  Christian  captives.  There 
appears  every  reason,  however,  to  consider  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida  correct  in  the  period  to  which  he 
refers  it. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


195 


Juan  de  Vera  was  treated  with  great  dis 
tinction  by  Muley  Aben  Hassan  ;  but  no 
thing  could  make  him  unbend  from  his 
stern  and  stately  reserve.  Before  his  de 
parture,  a  cimeter  was  sent  to  him  by  "the 
king  ;  the  blade  of  the  finest  Damascus 
steel,  the  hilt  of  agate,  enriched  with 
precious  stones,  and  the  guard  of  gold. 
De  Vera  drew  it,  and  smiled  grimly  as 
he  noticed  the  admirable  temper  of  the 
blade.  "  His  majesty  has  given  me  a 
trenchant  weapon,"  said  he :  "I  trust  a 
time  will  come,  when  I  may  show  him 
that  I  know  how  to  use  his  royal  present." 
The  reply  was  considered  as  a  compli 
ment,  of  course ;  the  bystanders  little 
knew  the  bitter  hostility  that  lay  couched 
beneath. 

Don  Juan  de  Vera  and  his  companions, 
during  his  brief  sojourn  at  Granada, 
scanned  the  force  and  situation  of  the 
Moor  with  the  eyes  of  practised  warriors. 
They  saw,  that  he  was  well  prepared 
for  hostilities.  His  walls  and  towers 
were  of  vast  strength,  in  complete  repair, 
and  mounted  with  lombards  and  other 
heavy  ordnance.  His  magazines  were 
well  stored  with  all  the  munitions  of  war : 

I  he  had  a  mighty  host  of  foot-soldiers,  to 
gether  with  squadrons  of  cavalry,  ready 

I  to  scour  the  country,  and  carry  on  either 
defensive  or  predatory  warfare.  The 
Christian  warriors  noted  these  things 
without  dismay ;  their  hearts  rather 
glowed  with  emulation  at  the  thoughts 
of  encountering  so  worthy  a  foe.  As 
they  slowly  pranced  through  the  streets 
of  Granada  on  their  departure,  they  look 
ed  round  with  eagerness  on  its  stately 
palaces  and  sumptuous  mosques ;  on  its 
alcayceria  or  bazar,  crowded  with  silks 
and  cloth  of  silver  and  gold,  with  jewels 
and  precious  stones,  and  other  rich  mer 
chandise,  the  luxuries  of  every  clime ; 
and  they  longed  for  the  time,  when  all 
this  wealth  should  be  the  spoil  of  the 
soldiers  of  the  faith,  and  when  each  tramp 
of  their  steeds  might  be  fetlock-deep  in 
the  blood  and  carnage  of  the  infidels. 

Don  Juan  de  Vera  and  his  little  band 
pursued  their  way  slowly  through  the 
country  to  the  Christian  frontier.  Every 
town  was  strongly  fortified.  The  vega 
was  studded  with  towers  of  refuge  for  the 
peasantry ;  every  pass  of  the  mountain 
had  its  castle  of  defence,  every  lofty  heignt 


its  watch-tower.  As  the  Christian  cava 
liers  passed  under  the  walls  of  the  for 
tresses,  lances  and  cimeters  flashed  from 
their  battlements,  and  the  turbaned  sen 
tinels  seemed  to  dart  from  their  dark  eyes 
glances  of  hatred  and  defiance.  It  was 
evident,  that  a  war  with  this  kingdom 
must  be  one  of  doughty  peril  and  valiant 
enterprise  ;  a  war  of  posts,  where  every 
step  must  be  gained  by  toil  and  blood 
shed,  and  maintained  with  the  utmost 
difficulty.  The  warrior  spirit  of  the  ca 
valiers  kindled  with  the  thought,  and  they 
were  impatient  for  hostilities ;  "  not," 
says  Antonio  Agapida,  "  from  any  thirst 
for  rapine  and  revenge,  but  from  that 
pure  and  holy  indignation,  which  every 
Spanish  knight  entertained  at  beholding 
this  beautiful  dominion  of  his  ancestors 
defiled  by  the  footsteps  of  infidel  usurpers. 
It  was  impossible,"  he  adds,  "  to  contem 
plate  this  delicious  country,  and  not  long 
to  see  it  restored  to  the  dominion  of  the 
true  faith,  and  the  sway  of  the  Christian 
monarchs." 

CHAPTER  HI. 

How  the  Moor  determined  to  strike  the  first  blow 
in  the  war. 

THE  defiance,  thus  hurled  at  the  Cas- 
tilian  sovereigns  by  the  fiery  Moorish 
king,  would  at  once  have  been  answered 
by  the  thunder  of  their  artillery,  but  they 
were  embroiled  at  that  time  in  a  war  with 
Portugal,  and  in  contests  with  their  own 
factious  nobles.  The  truce,  therefore, 
which  had  existed  for  many  years  between 
the  nations,  was  suffered  to  continue  ;  the 
wary  Ferdinand  reserving  the  refusal  to 
pay  tribute  as  a  fair  ground  for  war, 
whenever  the  favourable  moment  to  wage 
it  should  arrive. 

In  the  course  of  three  years  the  war 
with  Portugal  terminated,  and  the  factions 
of  the  Spanish  nobles  were  for  the  most 
part  quelled.  The  Castilian  sovereigns 
now  turned  their  thoughts  to  what,  from 
the  time  of  the  union  of  their  crowns,  had 
been  the  great  object  of  their  ambition, 
the  conquest  of  Granada,  and  the  com 
plete  extirpation  of  the  Moorish  power 
from  Spain.  Ferdinand,  whose  pious 
zeal  was  quickened  by  motives  of  tern- 
poral  policy,  looked  with  a  craving  eye 
at  the  rich  territory  of  the  Moor,  studded 


196 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


with  innumerable  towns  and  cities.  He 
determined  to  carry  on  the  war  with  cau 
tious  and  persevering  patience,  taking 
town  after  town,  and  fortress  after  for 
tress,  and  gradually  plucking  away  all 
the  supports,  before  he  attempted  the 
Moorish  capital.  "  I  will  pick  out  the 
seeds  one  by  one  of  this  pomegranate," 
said  the  wary  Ferdinand.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  aware  of  the 
hostile  intentions  of  the  Catholic  monarch, 
but  felt  confident  in  his  means  of  resist 
ing  them.  He  had  amassed  great  wealth 
during  a  tranquil  reign  ;  he  had  strength 
ened  the  defences  of  his  kingdom,  and 
had  drawn  large  bodies  of  auxiliary 
troops  from  Barbary,  besides  making 
arrangements  with  the  African  princes 
to  assist  him  with  supplies  in  case  of 
emergency.  His  subjects  were  fierce  of 
spirit,  stout  of  heart,  and  valiant  of  hand. 
Inured  to  the  exercise  of  war,  they  could 
fight  skilfully  on  foot,  but  above  all  were 
dexterous  horsemen,  whether  heavily 
armed  and  fully  appointed,  or  lightly 
mounted  a  la  gineta^  with  simply  lance 
and  target.  They  were  patient  of  fatigue, 
hunger,  thirst,  and  nakedness ;  prompt 
for  war  at  the  first  summons  of  their 
king,  and  tenacious  in  defence  of  their 
towns  and  possessions. 

Thus  amply  provided  for  war,  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  determined  to  be  before 
hand  with  the  politic  Ferdinand,  and  to 
be  the  first  to  strike  a  blow.  In  the  truce 
which  existed  between  them  there  was  a 
singular  clause,  permitting  either  party 
to  make  sudden  inroads  and  assaults 
upon  towns  and  fortresses,  provided  they 
were  done  furtively  and  by  stratagem, 
without  display  of  banners,  or  sound  of 
trumpet,  or  regular  encampment,  and  that 
they  did  not  last  above  three  days.f  This 
gave  rise  to  frequent  enterprises  of  a 
hardy  and  adventurous  character,  in 
which  castles  and  strong  holds  were 
taken  by  surprise,  and  carried  sword  in 
hand.  A  long  time  had  elapsed,  how 
ever,  without  any  outrage  of  the  kind  on 
the  part  of  the  Moors,  and  the  Christian 
towns  on  the  frontier  had  all,  in  conse 
quence,  fallen  into  a  state  of  the  most 
negligent  security. 

*  Granada  is  the  Spanish  term  for  pomegranate, 
t  Zurita,  Annales  de  Arragon,  1.  xx.  c.  41.    Ma 
riana,  Hist,  de  Espana.l.  xxv.  c.  1. 


Muley  Aben  Hassan  cast  his  eyes 
round  to  select  his  object  of  attack,  when 
information  was  brought  him  that  the 
fortress  of  Zahara  was  but  feebly  garri 
soned  and  scantily  supplied,  and  that  its 
alcayde  was  careless  of  his  charge.  This 
important  post  was  on  the  frontier,  be 
tween  Ronda  and  Medina  Sidonia,  and 
was  built  on  the  crest  of  a  rocky  moun 
tain,  with  a  strong  castle  perched  above 
it,  upon  a  cliff  so  high  that  it  was  said  to 
be  above  the  flight  of  birds  or  drift  of 
clouds.  The  streets,  and  many  of  the 
houses,  were  mere  excavations,  wrought 
out  of  the  living  rock.  The  town  had 
but  one  gate,  opening  to  the  west,  and 
defended  by  towers  and  bulwarks.  The 
only  ascent  to  this  cragged  fortress  was 
by  roads  cut  in  the  rock,  and  so  rugged 
as  in  many  places  to  resemble  broken 
stairs.  Such  was  the  situation  of  the 
mountain  fortress  of  Zahara,  which  seem 
ed  to  set  all  attack  at  defiance,  insomuch 
that  it  had  become  so  proverbial  through 
out  Spain,  that  a  woman  of  forbidding 
and  inaccessible  virtue  was  called  a 
Zaharena.  But  the  strongest  fortress  and 
sternest  virtue  have  their  weak  points, 
and  require  unremitting  vigilance  to 
guard  them ;  let  warrior  and  dame  take 
warning  from  the  fate  of  Zahara* 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Expedition  of  Muley   Aben  Hassan   against  the 
fortress  of  Zahara. 

IT  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one 
thousand  four  hundred  and  eighty-one, 
and  but  a  night  or  two  after  the  festival 
of  the  most  blessed  Nativity,  that  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  made  his  famous  attack 
upon  Zahara.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
place  were  sunk  in  profound  sleep ;  the 
very  sentinel  had  deserted  his  post,  and 
sought  shelter  from  a  tempest,  which  had 
raged  for  three  nights  in  succession  ;  for 
it  appeared  but  little  probable,  that  an 
enemy  would  be  abroad  during  such  an 
uproar  of  the  elements.  But  evil  spirits 
work  best  during  a  storm,  observes  the 
worthy  Antonio  Agapida ;  and  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  found  such  a  season  most 
suitable  for  his  diabolical  purposes.  In 
the  midst  of  the  night  an  uproar  arose 
within  the  walls  of  Zahara,  more  awful 
than  the  raging  of  the  storm.  A  fearful 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


197 


alarm-cry,  "  The  Moor  !  the  Moor  !"  re 
sounded  through  the  streets,  mingled  with 
the  clash  of  arms,  the  shriek  of  anguish, 
and  the  shout  of  victory.  Muley  AJben 
Hassan,  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  force, 
had  hurried  from  Granada,  and  passed 
unobserved  through  the  mountains  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  tempest.  When  the 
storm  pelted  the  sentinel  from  his  post, 
and  howled  round  tower  and  battlement, 
the  Moors  had  planted  their  scaling-lad 
ders,  and  mounted  securely  into  both 
town  and  castle.  The  garrison  was  un 
suspicious  of  danger  until  battle  and 
massacre  burst  forth  within  its  very 
walls.  It  seemed  to  the  affrighted  in 
habitants,  as  if  the  fiends  of  the  air 
had  come  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind, 
and  possessed  themselves  of  tower  and 
turret.  The  war-cry  resounded  on  every 
side,  shout  answering  shout,  above,  be 
low,  on  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  in 
the  streets  of  the  town ;  the  foe  was  in 
all  parts,  wrapped  ki  obscurity,  but  acting 
m  concert  by  the  aid  of  preconcerted  sig 
nals.  Starting  from  sleep,  the  soldiers 

|  were  intercepted  and  cut  down  as  they 
rushed  from  their  quarters,  or  if  they 
escaped,  they  knew  not  where  to  assem 
ble  or  where  to  strike.  Wherever  lights 
appeared,  the  flashing  cimeter  was  at  its 
deadly  work,  and  all  who  attempted  re 
sistance  fell  beneath  its  edge. 

In  a  little  while  the  struggle  was  at  an 
end.  Those  who  were  not  slain  took 
refuge  in  the  secret  places  of  their  houses, 
or  gave  themselves  up  as  captives.  The 
clash  of  arms  ceased,  and  the  storm  con 
tinued  its  howling,  mingled  with  the  oc 
casional  shout  of  the  Moorish  soldiery, 
roaming  in  search  of  plunder.  While 
the  inhabitants  were  trembling  for  their 
fate,  a  trumpet  resounded  through  the 
streets,  summoning  them  all  to  assemble, 

I  unarmed,  in  the  public  square.  Here 
they  were  surrounded  by  soldiery,  and 
strictly  guarded  until  daybreak.  When 
the  day  dawned,  it  was  piteous  to  be 
hold  this  once  prosperous  community, 
which  had  lain  down  to  rest  in  peaceful 
security,  now  crowded  together,  without 
distinction  of  age,  or  rank,  or  sex,  and 
almost  without  raiment  during  the  seve 
rity  of  a  wintry  storm.  The  fierce  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all 
their  prayers  and  remonstrances,  and 


ordered  them  to  be  conducted  captives  to 
Granada.  Leaving  a  strong  garrison  in 
both  town  and  castle,  with  orders  to  put 
them  in  a  complete  state  of  defence,  he 
returned  flushed  with  victory  to  his  capi 
tal,  entering  it  at  the  head  of  his  troops, 
laden  with  spoil,  and  bearing  in  triumph 
the  banners  and  pennons  taken  at  Zahara. 

While  preparations  were  making  for 
jousts  and  other  festivities  in  honour  of 
this  victory  over  the  Christians,  the  cap 
tives  of  Zahara  arrived ;  a  wretched  train 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  worn  out 
with  fatigue  and  haggard  with  despair, 
and  driven  like  cattle  into  the  city  gates 
by  a  detachment  of  Moorish  soldiery. 

Deep  were  the  grief  and  indignation 
of  the  people  of  Granada  at  this  cruel 
scene.  Old  men,  who  had  experienced 
the  calamities  of  warfare,  anticipated 
coming,  troubles.  Mothers  clasped  their 
infants  to  their  breasts,  as  they  beheld 
the  hapless  females  of  Zahara,  with  their 
children  expiring  in  their  arms.  On  every 
side  the  accents  of  pity  for  the  sufferers 
were  mingled  with  execrations  of  the 
barbarity  of  the  king.  The  preparations 
for  festivity  were  neglected,  and  the 
viands,  which  were  to  have  feasted  the 
conquerors,  were  distributed  among  the 
captives. 

The  nobles  and  alfaquis,  however,  re 
paired  to  the  Alhambra  to  congratulate 
the  king :  for  whatever  storm  may  rage 
in  the  lower  regions  of  society,  rarely 
do  any  clouds,  but  clouds  of  incense, 
rise  to  the  awful  eminence  of  the  throne. 
In  this  instance,  however,  a  voice  rose 
from  the  midst  of  the  obsequious  crowd, 
that  burst  like  thunder  upon  the  ears  of 
Aben  Hassan.  "  Wo  !  wo !  wo  !  to  Gra 
nada  !"  exclaimed  the  voice,  "  its  hour 
of  desolation  approaches  !  The  ruins  of 
Zahara  will  fall  upon  our  heads:  my 
spirit  tells  me,  that  the  end  of  our  empire 
is  at  hand !"  All  shrunk  back  aghast, 
and  left  the  denouncer  of  wo  standing 
alone  in  the  centre  of  the  hall.  He  was 
an  ancient  and  hoary  man,  in  the  rude 
attire  of  a  dervise.  Age  had  withered  his 
form  without  quenching  the  fire  of  his 
spirit,  which  glared  in  baleful  lustre  from 
his  eyes.  He  was,  say  the  Arabian  his 
torians,  one  of  those  holy  men  termed 
santons,  who  pass  their  lives  in  hermi 
tages,  in  fasting,  meditation,  and  prayer, 

17* 


198 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


until  they  attain  to  the  purity  of  saints, 
and  the  foresight  of  prophets.  "  He 
was,"  says  the  indignant  Fray  Anto 
nio  Agapida,  "  a  son  of  Belial,  one  of 
those  fanatic  infidels  possessed  of  the 
devil,  who  are  sometimes  permitted  to 
predict  the  truth  to  their  followers,  but 
with  the  proviso,  that  their  predictions 
shall  be  of  no  avail." 

The  voice  of  the  santon  resounded 
through  the  lofty  hall  of  the  Alhambra, 
and  struck  silence  and  awe  into  the 
crowd  of  courtly  sycophants.  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  alone  was  unmoved.  He 
eyed  the  hoary  anchoret  with  scorn  as 
he  stood  dauntless  before  him,  and  treated 
his  predictions  as  the  raving  of  a  maniac. 
The  santon  rushed  from  the  royal  pre 
sence,  and  descending  into  the  city,  hur 
ried  through  its  streets  and  squares  with 
frantic  gesticulations.  His  voice  was 
heard  in  every  part  in  awful  denuncia 
tion.  "  The  peace  is  broken,  the  exter 
minating  war  is  commenced.  Wo  !  wo  ! 
wo  !  to  Granada  !  its  fall  is  at  hand  ! 
desolation  shall  dwell"  in  its  palaces,  its 
strong  men  shall  fall  beneath  the  sword, 
its  children  and  maidens  shall  be  led  into 
captivity  !  Zahara  is  but  a  type  of  Gra 
nada  !" 

Terror  seized  upon  the  populace  ;  for 
they  considered  these  ravings  as  the 
inspirations  of  prophecy.  They  hid  them 
selves  in  their  dwellings,  as  in  a  time 
of  general  mourning ;  or,  if  they  went 
abroad,  it  was  to  gather  together  in  knots 
in  the  streets  and  squares,  to  alarm  each 
other  with  dismal  forebodings,  and  to 
curse  the  rashness  and  cruelty  of  the 
fierce  Aben  Hassan. 

The  Moorish  monarch  heeded  not  their 
murmurs.  Knowing  that  his  exploit  must 
draw  upon  him  the  vengeance  of  the 
Christians,  he  now  threw  off  all  reserve, 
and  made  attempts  to  surprise  Castellar 
|  and  Olvera,  though  without  success.  He 
sent  alfaquis  also  to  the  Barbary  powers, 
informing  them  that  the  sword  was  drawn, 
and  inviting  them  to  aid  in  maintaining 
the  kingdom  of  Granada,  and  the  religion 
of  Mahomet,  against  the  violence  of  un 
believers. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Expedition  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  against  Alhama. 

GREAT  was  the  indignation  of  King 
Ferdinand,  when  he  heard  of  the  storm 
ing  of  Zahara,  more  especially  as  it 
anticipated  his  intention  of  giving  the 
first  blow  in  this  eventful  war.  He  va 
lued  himself  upon  his  deep  and  prudent 
policy;  and  there  is  nothing  which  politic 
monarchs  can  less  forgive,  than  thus 
being  forestalled  by  an  adversary.  He 
immediately  issued  orders  to  all  the  ade- 
lantados  and  alcaydes  of  the  frontiers  to 
maintain  the  utmost  vigilance  at  their 
several  posts,  and  to  prepare  to  carry  fire 
and  sword  into  the  territories  of  the 
Moors ;  while  he  despatched  friars  of 
different  orders,  to  stir  up  the  chivalry 
of  Christendom  to  take  part  in  this  holy 
crusade  against  the  infidels. 

Among  the  many  valiant  cavaliers  who 
rallied  round  the  throne  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  one  of  the  most  eminent  in  rank 
and  renowned  in  arms  was  Don  Roderigo 
Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis  of  Cadiz.  As 
he  was  the  distinguished  champion  of 
this  holy  war,  and  commanded  in  most 
of  its  enterprises  and  battles,  it  is  meet 
that  some  particular  account  should  be 
given  of  him.  He  was  born  in  1443,  of 
the  valiant  lineage  of  the  Ponces,  and 
from  his  earliest  youth  had  rendered 
himself  illustrious  in  the  field.  He  was 
of  the  middle  stature,  with  a  muscular 
and  powerful  frame,  capable  of  great 
exertion  and  fatigue.  His  hair  and  beard 
were  red  and  curled,  his  countenance  was 
open  and  magnanimous,  of  a  ruddy  com 
plexion,  and  slightly  marked  with  the 
smallpox.  He  was  temperate,  chaste, 
valorous,  vigilant ;  a  just  and  generous 
master  to  his  vassals  ;  frank  and  noble 
in  his  deportment  towards  his  equals ; 
loving  and  faithful  to  his  friends  ;  fierce 
and  terrible,  yet  magnanimous,  to  his 
enemies.  He  was  considered  the  mirror 
of  chivalry  of  his  times,  and  compared 
by  cotemporary  historians  to  the  immor 
tal  Cid. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  had  vast  pos 
sessions  in  the  most  fertile  parts  of  Anda 
lusia,  including  many  towns  and  castles; 
and  could  lead  forth  an  army  into  the 
field  from  his  own  vassals  and  depen 
dents.  On  receiving  the  orders  of  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


199 


king,  he  burned  to  signalize  himself  by 
some  sudden  incursion  into  the  kingdom 
of  Granada,  that  should  give  a  brilliant 
commencement  to  the  war,  and  console 
!  the  sovereigns  for  the  insult  they  had 
received  on  the  capture  of  Zahara.  As 
|  his  estates  lay  near  the  Moorish  frontiers, 
I  and  were  subject  to  sudden  inroads,  he 
had  always  in  his  pay  numbers  of  ada- 
lides,  or  scouts  and  guides,  many  of  them 
converted  Moors.  These  he  sent  out  in 
all  directions,  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  enemy,  and  to  procure  all  kinds  of 
information  important  to  the  security  of 
the  frontier.  One  of  these  spies  come  to 
him  one  day  in  his  town  of  Marchena, 
and  informed  him,  that  the  Moorish  town 
of  Alhama  was  slightly  garrisoned  and 
negligently  guarded,  and  might  be  taken 
by  surprise.  This  was  a  large,  wealthy, 
and  populous  place,  within  a  few  leagues 
of  Granada.  It  was  situate  on  a  rocky 
height,  nearly  surrounded  by  a  river, 
and  defended  by  a  fortress,  to  which 
there  was  no  access  but  by  a  steep  and 
cragged  ascent.  The  strength  of  its  situ 
ation,  and  its  being  embosomed  in  the 
centre  of  the  kingdom,  had  produced  the 
careless  security  which  now  invited  at 
tack. 

To  ascertain  fully  the  state  of  the 
fortress,  the  marquis  secretly  despatched 
thither  a  veteran  soldier  who  was  highly 
in  his  confidence.  His  name  was  Or 
tega  de  Prado  ;  a  man  of  great  activity, 
shrewdness,  and  valour,  and  captain  of 
escaladores,  or  those  employed  to  scale 
the  walls  of  fortresses  in  time  of  attack. 
Ortega  approached  Alhama  one  moon 
less  night,  and  paced  along  its  walls  with 
noiseless  step,  laying  his  ear  occasionally 
to  the  ground  or  to  the  wall.  Every 
time  he  distinguished  the  measured  tread 
of  a  sentinel,  and  now  and  then  the 
challenge  of  the  night-watch  going  its 
rounds.  Finding  the  town  thus  guarded, 
he  clambered  to  the  castle.  There  all 
was  silent :  as  he  ranged  its  lofty  battle 
ments,  between  him  and  the  sky,  he  saw 
no  sentinel  on  duty.  He  noticed  certain 
places  where  the  wall  might  be  ascended  ! 
by  scaling-ladders ;  and  having  marked  j 
the  hour  of  relieving  guard,  and  made  all  i 
necessary  observations,  he  retired  with-  i 
out  being  discovered. 

Ortega  returned  to  Marchena,  and  as-  I 


sured  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  of  the  prac 
ticability  of  scaling  the  castle  of  Alhama, 
and  taking  it  by  surprise.  The  marquis 
had  a  secret  conference  with  Don  Pedro 
Henriquez,  adelantado  of  Andalusia,  Don 
Diego  de  Merlo,  commander  of  Seville, 
and  Sancho  de  Avila,  alcayde  of  Car- 
mona,  who  all  agreed  to  aid  him  with 
their  forces.  On  an.  appointed  day  the 
several  commanders  assembled  at  Mar 
chena  with  their  troops  and  retainers. 
None  but  the  leaders  knew  the  object  or 
destination  of  the  enterprise,  but  it  was 
enough  to  rouse  the  Andalusian  spirit  to 
know  that  a  foray  was  intended  into  the 
country  of  their  old  enemies  the  Moors. 
Secrecy  and  celerity  were  necessary  for 
success.  They  set  out  promptly,  with 
three  thousand  genetes  or  light  cavalry, 
and  four  thousand  infantry.  They  chose 
a  route  but  little  travelled,  by  the  way 
of  Antequera,  passing  with  great  labour 
through  rugged  and  solitary  denies  of 
the  sierra  or  chain  of  mountains  of 
Alzerifa,  and  left  all  their  baggage  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Yeguas,  to  be 
brought  after  them.  Their  march  was 
principally  in  the  night :  all  day  they 
remained  quiet ;  no  noise  was  suffered 
in  their  camp,  and  no  fires  were  made, 
lest  the  smoke  should  betray  them.  On 
the  third  day  they  resumed  their  march 
as  the  evening  darkened,  and  forcing 
themselves  forward  at  as  quick  a  pace 
as  the  rugged  and  dangerous  mountain 
roads  would  permit,  they  descended  to 
wards  midnight  into  a  small  deep  valley, 
only  half  a  league  from  Alhama.  Here 
they  made  a  halt,  fatigued  by  this  forced 
marched  during  a  long  dark  evening  to 
wards  the  end  of  February. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  now  explained 
to  the  troops  the  object  of  the  expedition. 
He  told  them,  it  was  for  the  glory  of  the 
most  holy  faith,  and  to  avenge  the  wrongs 
of  their  countrymen  of  Zahara  ;  and  that 
the  rich  town  of  Alhama,  full  of  wealthy 
spoil,  was  the  place  to  be  attacked.  The 
troops  were  roused  to  new  ardour  by 
these  words,  and  desired  to  be  led  forth 
with  to  the  assault.  They  arrived  close 
to  Alhama  about  two  hours  before  day 
break.  Here  the  army  remained  in  am 
bush,  while  three  hundred  men  were 
despatched  to  scale  the  walls  and  take 
possession  of  the  castle.  They  were 


200 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


picked  men,  many  of  them  alcaydes  and 
officers,  men  who  preferred  death  to  dis 
honour.  This  gallant  band  was  guided 
by  the  escalador,  Ortega  de  Prado,  at 
the  head  of  thirty  men  with  scaling- 
ladders.  They  clambered  the  ascent  to 
the  castle  in  silence,  and  arrived  under 
the  dark  shadow  of  its  towers  without 
being  discovered.  Not  a  light  was  to  be 
seen,  not  a  sound  to  be  heard ;  the  whole 
place  was  wrapped  in  profound  repose. 

Fixing  their  ladders,  they  ascended 
cautiously  and  with  noiseless  steps.  Or 
tega  was  the  first  that  mounted  upon  the 
battlements,  followed  by  one  Martin  Ga- 
lindo,  a  youthful  squire,  full  of  spirit  and 
eager  for  distinction.  Moving  stealthily 
along  the  parapet  to  the  portal  of  the 
citadel,  they  came  upon  the  sentinel  by 
surprise.  Ortega  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  brandished  a  dagger  before  his 
eyes,  and  ordered  him  to  point  the  way 
to  the  guard-room.  The  infidel  obeyed, 
and  was  instantly  despatched,  to  prevent 
his  giving  any  alarm.  The  guard-room 
was  a  scene  rather  of  massacre  than 
combat.  Some  of  the  soldiery  were 
killed  while  sleeping,  others  were  cut 
down  almost  without  resistance,  bewil 
dered  by  so  unexpected  an  assault :  all 
were  despatched,  for  the  scaling  party 
was  too  small  to  make  prisoners  or  to 
spare.  The  alarm  spread  throughout 
the  castle:  but  by  this  time  the  three 
hundred  picked  men  had  mounted  the 
battlements.  The  garrison,  startled  from 
sleep,  found  the  enemy  already  masters 
of  the  towers.  Some  of  the  Moors  were 
cut  down  at  once,  others  fought  despe 
rately  from  room  to  room,  and  the  whole 
castle  resounded  with  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  cries  of  the  combatants,  and  the 
groans  of  the  wounded.  The  army  in  am 
bush,  finding  by  the  uproar  that  the  castle 
was  surprised,  now  rushed  from  their  con 
cealment,  and  approached  the  walls  with 
loud  shouts  and  sound  of  kettledrums 
and  trumpets,  to  increase  the  confusion 
and  dismay  of  the  garrison.  A  violent 
conflict  took  place  in  the  court  of  the 
castle,  where  several  of  the  scaling  party 
sought  to  throw  open  the  gates  to  admit 
their  countrymen.  Here  fell  two  valiant 
alcaydes,  Nicholas  de  Roja  and  Sancho 
de  Avila,  but  they  fell  honourably,  upon 
a  heap  of  slain.  At  length  Ortega  de 


Prado  succeeded  in  throwing  open  a 
postern,  through  which  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  the  adelantado  of  Andalusia,  and 
Don  Diego  de  Merlo  entered  with  a  host 
of  followers,  and  the  citadel  remained  in 
full  possession  of  the  Christians. 

As  the  Spanish  cavaliers  were  ranging 
from  room  to  room,  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
entering  an  apartment  of  superior  rich 
ness  to  the  rest,  beheld,  by  the  light  of  a 
silver  lamp,  a  beautiful  Moorish  female, 
the  wife  of  the  alcayde  of  the  castle, 
whose  husband  was  absent,  attending  a 
wedding-feast  at  Velez  Malaga.  She 
would  have  fled  at  the  sight  of  a  Christian 
warrior  in  her  apartment,  but,  entangled 
in  the  covering  of  the  bed,  she  fell  at  the 
feet  of  the  marquis,  imploring  mercy. 
The  Christian  cavalier,  who  had  a  soul 
full  of  honour  and  courtesy  towards  the 
sex,  raised  her  from  the  earth,  and  en 
deavoured  to  allay  her  fears ;  but  they 
were  increased  at  the  sight  of  her  female 
attendants,  pursued  into  the  room  by 
the  Spanish  soldiery.  The  marquis  re 
proached  his  soldiers  with  their  unmanly 
conduct,  and  reminded  them,  that  they 
made  war  upon  men,  not  on  defenceless 
women.  Having  soothed  the  terrors  of 
the  females  by  the  promise  of  honourable 
protection,  he  appointed  a  trusty  guard 
to  watch  over  the  security  of  their  apart 
ment. 

The  castle  was  now  taken,  but  the 
town  below  it  was  in  arms.  It  was 
broad  day,  and  the  people,  recovered 
from  their  panic,  were  enabled  to  see 
and  estimate  the  force  of  the  enemy. 
The  inhabitants  were  chiefly  merchants 
and  trades-people ;  but  the  Moors  all 
possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  use  of 
weapons,  and  were  of  brave  and  warlike 
spirit.  They  confided  in  the  strength  of 
their  walls,  and  the  certainty  of  speedy 
relief  from  Granada,  which  was  but 
about  eight  leagues  distant.  Manning 
the  battlements  and  towers,  they  dis 
charged  showers  of  stones  and  arrows, 
whenever  the  part  of  the  Christian  army 
without  the  walls  attempted  to  approach. 
They  barricadoed  the  entrances  of  their 
streets  also,  which  opened  towards  the 
castle,  stationing  men  expert  at  the  cross 
bow  and  arquebuse.  These  kept  up  a 
constant  fire  upon  the  gate  of  the  castle, 
so  that  no  one  could  sally  forth  without 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


201 


being  instantly  wounded  or  killed.  Two 
valiant  cavaliers,  who  attempted  to  lead 
forth  a  party  in  defiance  of  this  fatal 
tempest,  were  shot  dead  at  the  very 
portal. 

The  Christians  now  found  themselves 
in  a  situation  of  great  peril.  Reinforce 
ments  must  soon  arrive  to  the  enemy 
from  Granada.  Unless,  therefore,  they 
gained  possession  of  the  town  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  they  were  likely  to  be 
surrounded  and  beleaguered,  and  with 
scarcely  any  provisions  in  the  castle. 
Some  observed,  that,  even  if  they  took 
the  town,  they  should  not  be  able  to  keep 
possession  of  it.  They  proposed,  there 
fore,  to  make  booty  of  every  thing  valu 
able,  to  sack  the  castle,  set  it  on  fire,  and 
make  good  their  retreat  to  Seville. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was  of  different 
counsel.  "  God  has  given  the  citadel 
into  Christian  hands,"  said  he,  "  he  will 
no  doubt  strengthen  them  to  maintain  it. 
We  have  gained  the  place  with  difficulty 
and  bloodshed ;  it  would  be  a  stain  upon 
our  honour  to  abandon  it  through  fear  of 
imaginary  dangers."  The  adelantado 
and  Don  Diego  de  Merlo  joined  in  his 
opinion ;  but,  without  their  earnest  and 
united  remonstrances,  the  place  would 
have  been  abandoned ;  so  exhausted  were 
the  troops  by  forced  marches  and  hard 
fighting,  and  so  apprehensive  of  the  ap 
proach  of  the  Moors  of  Granada. 

The  strength  and  spirits  of  the  party 
within  the  castle  were  in  some  degree 
restored  by  the  provisions  which  they 
found.  The  Christian  army  beneath  the 
town,  being  also  refreshed  by  a  morning 
repast,  advanced  vigorously  to  the  attack 
of  the  walls.  They  planted  their  scaling- 
ladders,  and  swarming  up,  fought  fiercely 
with  the  Moorish  soldiery  upon  the  ram 
parts. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  seeing  that  the  gate  of  the  castle 
which  opened  towards  the  city  was  com 
pletely  commanded  by  the  artillery  of 
the  enemy,  ordered  a  large  breach  to  be 
made  in  the  wall,  through  which  he 
might  lead  his  troops  to  the  attack,  ani 
mating  them  in  this  perilous  moment  by 
assuring  them,  that  the  place  should  be 
given  up  to  plunder,  and  its  inhabitants 
made  captives. 

The  breach  being  made,  the  marquis 


put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and 
entered  sword  in  hand.  A  simultaneous 
attack  was  made  by  the  Christians  in 
every  part,  by  the  ramparts,  by  the  gate, 
by  the  roofs  and  walls  which  connected 
the  castle  with  the  town.  The  Moors 
fought  valiantly  in  their  streets,  from 
their  windows,  and  from  the  tops  of  their 
houses.  They  were  not  equal  to  the 
Christians  in  bodily  strength ;  for  they 
were  for  the  most  part  peaceful  men,  of 
industrious  callings,  and  enervated  by 
the  frequent  use  of  the  warm  bath ;  but 
they  were  superior  in  number,  and  un 
conquerable  in  spirit ;  old  and  young, 
strong  and  weak,  fought  with  the  same 
desperation. .  The  Moors  fought  for  pro 
perty,  for  liberty,  for  life.  They  fought 
at  their  thresholds  and  their  hearths, 
with  the  shrieks  of  their  wives  and 
children  ringing  in  their  ears,  and  they 
fought  in  hope,  that  each  moment  would 
bring  aid  from  Granada.  They  regarded 
neither  their  own  wounds  nor  the  deaths 
of  their  companions,  but  continued  fight 
ing  until  they  fell ;  and  seemed  as  if, 
when  they  could  no  longer  contend,  they 
would  block  up  the  thresholds  of  their 
beloved  homes  with  their  mangled  bodies. 
The  Christians  fought  for  glory,  for  re 
venge,  for  the  holy  faith,  and  for  the 
spoil  of  these  wealthy  infidels.  Success 
would  place  a  rich  town  at  their  mercy, 
failure  would  deliver  them  into  the  hands 
of  the  tyrant  of  Granada. 

The  contest  raged  from  morning  until 
night,  when  the  Moors  began  to  yield. 
Retreating  to  a  large  mosque  near  the 
walls,  they  kept  up  so  galling  a  fire  from 
it  with  lances,  cross-bows,  and  arque 
buses,  that  for  some  the  Christians  dared 
not  approach.  Covering  themselves  at 
length,  with  bucklers  and  mantelets,*  to 
protect  them  from  the  deadly  shower, 
they  made  their  way  to  the  mosque,  and 
set  fire  to  the  doors.  When  the  smoke 
and  flames  rolled  in  upon  them,  the 
Moors  gave  all  up  as  lost.  Many  rushed 
forth  desperately  upon  the  enemy,  but 
were  immediately  slain ;  the  rest  sur 
rendered. 

The  struggle  was  now  at  an  end  ;  the 
town  remained  at  the  mercy  of  the 

*  Mantelet  is  a  movable  parapet,  made  of  thick 
planks,  to  protect  troops  when  advancing  to  sap 
or  assault  a  walled  place. 


202 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Christians ;  and  the  inhabitants,  both 
male  and  female,  became  slaves  of  those 
who  made  them  prisoners.  Some  few 
escaped  by  a  mine  or  subterranean  way 
which  led  to  the  river,  and  concealed 
themselves,  their  wives  and  children,  in 
caves  and  secret  places ;  but  in  three  or 
four  days  were  compelled  to  surrender 
themselves  through  hunger. 

The  town  was  given  up  to  plunder,  and 
the  booty  was  immense.  There  were 
found  prodigious  quantities  of  gold,  and 
silver,  and  jewels,  and  rich  silks,  and 
costly  stuffs  of  all  kinds,  together  with 
horses  and  beeves,  and  abundance  of 
grain,  and  oil,  and  honey,  and  all  other 
productions  of  this  fruitful  kingdom  ;  for 
in  Alhama  were  collected  the  royal  rents 
and  tributes  of  the  surrounding  country  : 
it  was  the  richest  town  in  the  Moorish 
territory,  and  from  its  great  strength  and 
its  peculiar  situation  was  called  the  key 
to  Granada. 

Great  waste  and  devastation  were  com 
mitted  by  the  Spanish  soldiery ;  for, 
thinking  it  would  be  impossible  to  keep 
possession  of  the  place,  they  began  to  de 
molish  whatever  they  could  not  takeaway. 
Immense  jars  of  oil  were  destroyed, 
costly  furniture  shattered  to  pieces,  and 
magazines  of  grain  broken  open,  and 
their  contents  scattered  to  the  winds. 
Many  Christian  captives,  who  had  been 
taken  at  Zahara,  were  found  buried  in  a 
Moorish  dungeon,  and  were  triumphantly 
restored  to  light  and  liberty ;  and  a  rene- 
gado  Spaniard,  who  had  often  served  as 
guide  to  the  Moors  in  their  incursions 
into  the  Christian  territories,  was  hanged 
on  the  highest  part  of  the  battlements, 
for  the  edification  of  the  army. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

How  the  people  of  Granada  were  affected  on 
hearing  of  the  capture  of  Alhama,  and  how  the 
Moorish  king  sallied  forth  to  regain  it. 

A  MOORISH  horseman  had  spurred 
across  the  vega,  nor  did  he  rein  his 
painting  steed  until  he  alighted  at  the 
gate  of  the  Alhambra.  He  brought 
tidings  to  Muley  Aben  Hassan  of  the 
attack  upon  Alhama.  "  The  Chris 
tians,"  said  he,  "  are  in  the  land.  They 
came  upon  us,  we  know  not  whence  or 
how  ;  and  scaled  the  walls  of  the  castle 
in  the  night.  There  has  been  dreadful 


fighting  and  carnage  on  its  towers  and 
courts ;  and  when  I  spurred  my  steed 
from  the  gate  of  Alhama,  the  castle  was 
in  possession  of  the  unbelievers." 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  felt  for  a  moment 
as  if  swift  retribution  had  come  upon  him 
for  the  woes  he  had  inflicted  upon 
Zahara.  Still  he  flattered  himself,  that 
this  had  only  been  some  transient  inroad 
of  a  party  of  marauders,  intent  upon 
plunder ;  and  that  a  little  succour  thrown 
into  the  town  would  be  sufficient  to  expel 
them  from  the  castle,  and  drive  them 
from  the  land.  He  ordered  out,  there 
fore,  a  thousand  of  his  chosen  cavalry, 
and  sent  them  in  all  speed  to  the  assist 
ance  of  Alhama.  They  arrived  before 
its  walls  the  morning  after  its  capture. 
The  Christian  standards  floated  upon  the 
towers,  and  a  body  of  cavalry  poured 
forth  from  its  gates,  and  came  wheeling 
down  into  the  plain  to  receive  them. 

The  Moorish  horsemen  turned  the 
reins  of  their  steeds,  and  galloped  back 
for  Granada.  They  entered  its  gates  in 
tumultuous  confusion,  spreading  terror 
and  lamentation  by  their  tidings.  "  Al 
hama  is  fallen  !  Alhama  is  fallen !"  ex 
claimed  they ;  "the  Christians  garrison 
its  walls ;  the  key  of  Granada  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy  !" 

When  the  people  heard  these  words, 
they  remembered  the  denunciation  of  the 
santon  :  his  prediction  seemed  still  to  re 
sound  in  every  ear,  and  its  fulfilment  to 
be  at  hand.  Nothing  was  heard  through 
out  the  city  but  sighs  and  wailings. 
"  Wo  is  me,  Alhama !"  was  in  every 
mouth,  and  this  ejaculation  of  deep  sorrow 
and  doleful  foreboding  came  to  be  the 
burden  of  a  plaintive  ballad,  which  re 
mains  to  the  present  day.* 

Many  aged  men,  who  had  taken  refuge 
in  Granada  from  other  Moorish  do 
minions  which  had  fallen  into  the  power 
of  the  Christians,  now  groaned  in  despair 
at  the  thought,  that  war  was  to  follow 
them  into  this  last  retreat,  to  lay  waste 
this  pleasant  land,  and  to  bring  trouble 
and  sorrow  upon  their  declining  years. 
The  women  were  more  loud  and  vehe 
ment  in  their  grief,  for  they  beheld  the 

*  The  mournful  little  Spanish  romance  of  Ay  de 
mi,  Alhama  !  is  supposed  to  be  of  Moorish  origin, 
|  and  to  embody  the  grief  of  the  people  of  Granada 
i  on  this  occasion. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


203 


evils  impending  over  their  children,  and 
what  can  restrain  the  agony  of  a  mo 
ther's  heart  ?  Many  of  them  made  their 
way  through  the  halls  of  the  Alhambra, 
into  the  presence  of  the  king,  weeping, 
and  wailing,  and  tearing  their  hair. 
"  Accursed  be  the  day,"  cried  they, 
"  when  the  flarne  of  war  was  kindled  by 
thee  in  our  land  !  May  the  holy  prophet 
bear  witness  before  Allah,  that  we  and 
our  children  are  innocent  of  this  act ! 
Upon  thy  head,  and  upon  the  heads  of 
thy  posterity,  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
rest  the  sin  of  the  desolation  of  Zahara."* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  remained  un 
moved  amidst  all  this  storm :  his  heart 
was  hardened,  observes  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  like  that  of  Pharaoh,  to  the  end 
that,  through  his  blind  violence  and  rage, 
he  might  produce  the  deliverance  of  the 
land  from  its  heathen  bondage.  In  fact, 
he  was  a  bold  and  fearless  warrior,  and 
trusted  soon  to  make  this  blow  recoil 
upon  the  head  of  the  enemy.  He  had 
ascertained,  that  the  captors  of  Alhama 
were  but  a  handful;  they  were  in  the 
centre  of  his  dominions,  within  a  short 
distance  of  his  capital.  They  were  de 
ficient  in  munitions  of  war,  and  provi 
sions  for  sustaining  a  siege.  By  a  rapid 
movement  he  might  surround  them  with 
a  powerful  army,  cut  off  all  aid  from  their 
countrymen,  and  entrap  them  in  the  for 
tress  they  had  taken. 

To  think  was  to  act,  with  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  ;  but  he  was  prone  to  act  with 
too  much  precipitation.  He  immediately 
set  forth  in  person,  with  three  thousand 
horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot,  and,  in  his 
eagerness  to  arrive  at  the  scene  of  action, 
would  not  wait  to  provide  artillery  and 
the  various  engines  required  in  a  siege. 
"  The  multitude  of  my  forces,"  said  he, 
confidently,  "  will  be  sufficient  to  over 
whelm  the  enemy." 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who  thus  held 
possession  of  Alhama,  had  a  chosen 
friend  and  faithful  companion  in  arms, 
among  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
Christian  chivalry.  This  was  Don 
Alonso  de  Cordova,  senior  and  lord  of 
the  house  of  Aguilar,  and  brother  of 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  afterwards  re 
nowned  as  the  grand  captain  of  Spain. 

*  Garibay,  lib.  xl.  c.  29. 


As  yet  Alonso  de  Aguilar  was  the  glory 
of  his  name  and  race ;  for  his  brother 
was  but  young  in  arms.  He  was  one  of 
the  most  hardy,  valiant,  and  enterprising 
Spanish  knights,  and  foremost  in  all 
service  of  a  perilous  and  adventurous 
nature.  He  had  not  been  at  hand  to 
accompany  his  friend  Ponce  de  Leon, 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  in  his  inroad  into  the 
Moorish  territory  ;  but  he  hastily  assem 
bled  a  number  of  retainers,  horse  and 
foot,  and  pressed  forward  to  join  the 
enterprise.  Arriving  at  the  river  Feguas, 
he  found  the  baggage  of  the  army  still 
upon  its  banks,  and  took  charge  of  it  to 
carry  it  to  Alhama.  The  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  heard  of  the  approach  of  his 
friend,  whose  march  was  slow,  in  con 
sequence  of  being  encumbered  by  the 
baggage.  He  was  within  but  a  few 
leagues  of  Alhama,  when  scouts  came 
hurrying  into  the  place  with  intelligence 
that  the  Moorish  king  was  at  hand  with 
a  powerful  army.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz 
was  filled  with  alarm,  lest  De  Aguilar 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
Forgetting  his  own  danger,  and  thinking 
only  of  that  of  his  friend,  he  despatched 
a  well-mounted  messenger  to  ride  full 
speed  and  warn  him  not  to  approach. 

The  first  determination  of  Alonso  de 
Aguilar,  when  he  heard  that  the  Moorish 
king  was  at  hand,  was  to  take  a  strong 
position  in  the  mountains,  and  await  his 
coming.  The  madness  of  an  attempt 
with  his  handful  of  men  to  oppose  an 
immense  army  was  represented  to  him 
with  such  force,  as  to  induce  him  to 
abandon  the  idea.  He  then  thought  of 
throwing  himself  into  Alhama,  to  share 
the  fortunes  of  his  friend.  But  it  was  now 
too  late.  The  Moor  would  infallibly 
intercept  him,  and  he  should  only  give 
the  marquis  the  additional  distress  of 
beholding  him  captured  beneath  his 
walls.  It  was  even  urged  upon  him,  that 
he  had  no  time  for  delay,  if  he  would 
consult  his  own  safety,  which  could  only 
be  insured  by  an  immediate  retreat  into 
the  Christian  territory.  This  last  opinion 
was  confirmed  by  the  return  of  scouts, 
who  brought  information,  that  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  had  received  notice  of  his 
movements,  and  was  rapidly  advancing 
in  quest  of  him.  It  was  with  infinite 
reluctance  that  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar 


204 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


yielded  to  these  united  and  powerful 
reasons.  Proudly  and  sullenly  he  drew 
off  his  forces,  laden  with  the  baggage 
of  the  army,  and  made  an  unwilling 
retreat  towards  Antequera.  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  pursued  him  for  some  distance 
through  the  mountains,  but  soon  gave  up 
the  chase,  and  turned  with  his  forces 
upon  Alhama. 

As  the  army  approached  the  town, 
they  beheld  the  fields  strewn  with  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  countrymen,  who 
had  fallen  in  defence  of  the  place,  and 
had  been  cast  forth  and  left  unburied  by 
the  Christians.  There  they  lay,  mangled 
and  exposed  to  every  indignity,  while 
droves  of  half-famished  dogs  were  prey 
ing  upon  them,  and  fighting  and  howling 
over  their  hideous  repast.*  Furious  at 
the  sight,  the  Moors,  in  the  first  tran 
sports  of  their  rage,  attacked  these  ra 
venous  animals,  and  their  next  measure 
was  to  vent  their  fury  upon  the  Chris 
tians.  They  rushed  like  madmen  to  the 
walls,  applied  scaling-ladders  in  all  parts, 
without  waiting  for  the  necessary  mante 
lets  and  other  protections,  thinking,  by 
attacking  suddenly  and  at  various  points, 
to  distract  the  enemy,  and  overcome  them 
by  the  force  of  numbers. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  with  his  con 
federate  commanders  distributed  them 
selves  along  the  walls,  to  direct  and 
animate  their  men  in  the  defence.  The 
Moors,  in  their  blind  fury,  often  assailed 
the  most  difficult  and  dangerous  places. 
Darts,  stones,  and  all  kinds  of  missiles 
were  hurled  down  upon  their  unprotected 
heads.  As  fast  as  they  mounted  they 
were  cut  down,  or  dashed  from  the 
battlements,  their  ladders  overturned, 
and  all  who  were  on  them  precipitated 
headlong  below. 

Muley  Aben  Hassen  stormed  with 
passion  at  the  sight :  he  sent  detachment 
after  detachment  to  scale  the  walls  ;  but 
in  vain  :  they  were  like  waves  rushing 
upon  a  rock  only  to  dash  themselves  to 
pieces.  The  Moors  lay  in  heaps  beneath 
the  walls,  and  among  them  many  of  the 
bravest  cavaliers  of  Granada.  The 
Christians,  also,  sallied  frequently  from 
the  gates,  and  made  great  havoc  in  the 
irregular  multitude  of  assailants.  On 

*  Pulgar.  Cronica. 


one  of  these  occasions  the  party  was 
commanded  by  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  the 
same  pious  and  high-handed  knight  who 
had  borne  the  embassy  to  Muley  Aben 
Hassen  demanding  tribute.  As  this 
doughty  cavalier,  after  a  career  of  car 
nage,  was  slowly  retreating  to  the  gate, 
he  heard  a  voice  calling  after  him  in 
furious  accents.  "  Turn  back  !  turn 
back  !"  cried  the  voice  :  "  thou  who  canst 
insult  in  hall,  prove  that  thou  canst 
combat  in  the  field."  Don  Juan  de  Vera 
turned,  and  beheld  the  same  Abencerrage 
whom  he  had  struck  with  his  sword  in 
the  Alhambra,  for  scoffing  at  the  imma 
culate  conception  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 
All  his  holy  zeal  and  pious  indignation 
rekindled  at  the  sight :  he  put  lance  in 
rest,  and  spurred  his  steed,  to  finish  this 
doctrinal  dispute.  Don  Juan  was  a  potent 
and  irresistible  arguer  with  his  weapon  ; 
and  he  was  aided,  says  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  by  the  peculiar  virtue  of  his 
cause.  At  the  very  first  encounter,  his 
lance  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Moor,  and 
hurled  him  to  the  earth,  never  more  to 
utter  word  or  breath.  Thus,  continues 
the  worthy  friar,  did  this  scoffing  in 
fidel  receive  a  well-merited  punishment 
through  the  very  organ  with  which  he 
had  offended,  and  thus  was  the  immacu 
late  conception  miraculously  vindicated 
from  his  foul  aspersions. 

The  vigorous  and  successful  defence 
of  the  Christians  now  made  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  sensible  of  his  error,  in  hurrying 
from  Granada  without  the  proper  engines 
for  a  siege.  Destitute  of  all  means  to 
batter  the  fortifications,  the  town  re 
mained  uninjured,  defying  the  mighty 
army  which  raged  in  vain  before  it. 
Incensed  at  being  thus  foiled,  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  gave  orders  to  undermine 
the  walls.  The  Moors  advanced  with 
shouts  to  the  attempt.  They  were  re 
ceived  with  a  deadly  fire  from  the  ram 
parts,  which  drove  them  from  their 
works.  Repeatedly  were  they  repulsed, 
and  repeatedly  did  they  return  to  the 
charge.  The  Christians  not  merely 
galled  them  from  the  battlements,  but 
issued  forth  and  cut  them  down  in  the 
excavations  they  were  attempting  to 
form.  The  contest  lasted  a  whole  day, 
and  by  evening  two  thousand  Moors  were 
either  killed  or  wounded. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


205 


Muley  Aben  Hassan  now  abandoned 
all  hope  of  carrying  the  place  by  assault ; 
and  attempted  to  distress  it  into  terms, 
by  turning  the  channel  of  the  river  which 
runs  by  its  walls.  On  this  stream  the 
inhabitants  depended  for  their  supply  of 
water,  the  place  being  destitute  of  foun 
tains  and  cisterns,  from  which  circum 
stance  it  is  called  Alhama  la  seea,  or 
"  the  dry." 

A  desperate  conflict  ensued  on  the 
banks  of  the  river ;  the  Moors  endea 
vouring  to  plant  palisadoes  in  its  bed,  to 
divert  the  stream,  and  the  Christians 
striving  to  prevent  them.  The  Spanish 
commanders  exposed  themselves  to  the 
utmost  danger  to  animate  their  men, 
who  were  repeatedly  driven  back  into 
the  town.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was 
often  up  to  his  knees  in  the  stream, 
fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  Moors. 
The  water  ran  red  with  blood,  and  was 
encumbered  with  dead  bodies.  At  length 
the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the  Moors 
gave  them  the  advantage,  and  they  suc 
ceeded  in  diverting  the  greater  part  of 
the  water.  The  Christians  had  to  strug 
gle  severely  to  supply  themselves  from 
the  feeble  rill  which  remained.  They 
sallied  to  the  river  by  a  subterraneous 
passage ;  but  the  Moorish  cross-bowmen 
stationed  themselves  on  the  opposite 
bank,  keeping  up  a  heavy  fire  upon  the 
Christians,  whenever  they  attempted  to 
fill  their  vessels  from  the  scanty  and 
turbid  stream.  One  party  of  the  Chris 
tians  had  therefore  to  fight,  while  an 
other  drew  water.  At  all  hours  of  day 
and  night  this  deadly  strife  was  main 
tained,  until  it  seemed  as  if  every  drop 
of  water  were  purchased  with  a  drop  of 
blood. 

In  the  mean  time  the  sufferings  in  the 
town  became  intense.  None  but  the 
soldiery  and  their  horses  were  allowed 
the  precious  beverage  so  dearly  earned, 
and  even  that  in  quantities  that  only 
tantalized  their  wants.  The  wounded, 
who  could  not  sally  to  procure  it,  were 
almost  destitute ;  while  the  unhappy 
prisoners,  shut  up  in  the  mosques,  were 
reduced  to  frightful  extremities.  Many 
perished  raving  mad,  fancying  them 
selves  swimming  in  boundless  seas,  yet 
unable  to  assuage  their  thirst.  Many 
of  the  soldiers  lay  parched  and  panting 

VOL.  II.  18 


along  the  battlements,  no  longer  able  to  j 
draw  a  bowstring  or  hurl  a  stone,  while  | 
above   five    thousand    Moors,   stationed 
upon  a  rocky  height  which  overlooked 
part  of  the  town,  kept  up  a  galling  fire 
into  it  with  slings  and  cross-bows ;    so 
that  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was  obliged 
to  heighten  the  battlements  by  using  the 
doors  from  the  private  dwellings. 

The  Christian  cavaliers,  exposed  to 
this  extreme  peril,  and  in  imminent 
danger  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  despatched  fleet  messengers  to 
Seville  and  Cordova,  entreating  the  chi 
valry  of  Andalusia  to  hasten  to  their 
aid.  They  sent  likewise  to  implore  as 
sistance  from  the  king  and  queen,  who 
at  that  time  held  their  court  in  Medina 
del  Campo.  In  the  midst  of  their  dis 
tress,  a  tank,  or  cistern  of  water,  was 
fortunately  discovered  in  the  city,  which 
gave  temporary  relief  to  their  sufferings. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

How  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  and  the  chi 
valry  of  Andalusia  hastened  to  the  relief  of 
Alhama. 

THE  perilous  situation  of  the  Chris 
tian  cavaliers,  pent  up  and  beleaguered 
within  the  walls  of  Alhama,  spread  ter 
ror  among  their  friends,  and  anxiety 
throughout  all  Andalusia.  Nothing, 
however,  could  equal  the  anguish  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Cadiz,  the  wife  of 
the  gallant  Rodrigo  Ponce  de  Leon.  In 
her  deep  distress  she  looked  round  for 
some  powerful  noble,  who  had  the  means 
of  rousing  the  country  to  the  assistance 
of  her  husband.  No  one  appeared  more 
competent  for  the  purpose  than  Don  Juan 
de  Guzman,  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sido 
nia.  He  was  one  of  the  most  wealthy 
and  puissant  grandees  of  Spain ;  his  pos 
sessions  extended  over  some  of  the  most 
fertile  parts  of  Andalusia,  embracing 
towns  and  seaports,  and  numerous  vil 
lages.  Here  he  reigned  in  feudal  state 
like  a  petty  sovereign,  and  could  at  any 
time  bring  into  the  field  an  immense 
force  of  vassals  and  retainers.  The 
Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz,  however,  were  at  this 
time  deadly  foes.  An  hereditary  feud 
existed  between  them,  that  had  often 
arisen  to  bloodshed  and  war ;  for  as  yet 


206 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


the  -fierce  contests  between  the  proud 
and  puissant  Spanish  nobles  had  not 
been  completely  quelled  by  the  power 
of  the  crown,  and  in  this  respect  they 
exerted  a  right  of  sovereignty,  in  lead 
ing  their  vassals  against  each  other  in 
open  field. 

The  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  would 
have  appeared  to  many  the  very  last 
person  to  whom  to  apply  for  aid  of  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz ;  but  the  marchioness 
judged  of  him  by  the  standard  of  her 
own  high  and  generous  mind.  She 
knew  him  to  be  a  gallant  and  courteous 
knight,  and  had  already  experienced  the 
magnanimity  of  his  spirit,  having  been 
relieved  by  him  when  besieged  by  the 
Moors  in  her  husband's  fortress  of  Arcos. 
To  the  duke,  therefore,  she  applied  in  this 
moment  of  sudden  calamity,  imploring 
him  to  furnish  succour  to  her  husband. 
The  event  showed  how  well  noble  spirits 
understand  each  other.  No  sooner  did 
the  duke  receive  this  appeal  from  the 
wife  of  his  enemy,  than  he  generously 
forgot  all  feeling  of  animosity,  and  deter 
mined  to  go  in  person  to  his  succour. 
He  immediately  despatched  a  courteous 
letter  to  the  marchioness,  assuring  her, 
that,  in  consideration  of  the  request  of 
so  honourable  and  estimable  a  lady,  and 
to  rescue  from  peril  so  valiant  a  cavalier 
as  her  husband,  whose  loss  would  be 
great,  not  only  to  Spain,  but  to  all 
Christendom,  he  would  forego  the  re 
collection  of  all  past  grievances,  and 
hasten  to  his  relief  with  all  the  forces 
he  could  raise. 

The  duke  wrote  at  the  same  time  to 
the  alcaydes  of  his  towns  and  fortresses, 
ordering  them  to  join  him  forthwith  at 
Seville,  with  all  the-  force  they  could 
spare  from  their  garrisons.  He  called 
on  all  the  chivalry  of  Andalusia  to  make 
common  cause  in  the  rescue  of  those 
Christian  cavaliers,  and  he  offered  large 
pay  to  all  volunteers  who  would  resort 
to  him  with  horses,  armour,  and  pro 
visions.  Thus  all  who  could  be  incited 
by  honour,  religion,  patriotism,  or  thirst 
of  gain,  were  induced  to  hasten  to  his 
standard ;  and  he  took  the  field  with  an 
army  of  five  thousand  horse  and  fifty 
thousand  foot.*  Many  cavaliers  of  dis- 

*  Cronica  de  los  Duques  de  Medina  Sidonia,  por 
Pedro  de  Medina.  MS. 


tinguished  name  accompanied  him  in  this 
generous  enterprise.  Amongst  these  was 
the  redoubtable  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  the 
chosen  friend  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
and  with  him  his  younger  brother,  Gon- 
salvo  Fernandez  de  Cordova,  afterwards 
renowned  as  the  grand  captain ;  Don 
Rodrigo  Givon,  also,  master  of  the  or 
der  of  Calatrava  ;  together  with  Martin 
Alonso  de  Montemayor,  and  the  Mar 
quis  de  Villena,  esteemed  the  best  lance 
in  Spain.  It  was  a  gallant  and  splendid 
army,  comprising  the  power  of  Spanish 
chivalry,  and  poured  forth  in  brilliant 
array  from  the  gates  of  Seville,  bearing 
the  great  standard  of  that  ancient  and 
renowned  city. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  at  Medina 
del  Campo  when  tidings  came  of  the 
capture  of  Alhama.  The  king  was  at 
mass  when  he  received  the  news,  and 
ordered  Te  Demn  to  be  chanted  for  this 
signal  triumph  of  the  holy  faith.  When 
the  first  flush  of  triumph  had  subsided, 
and  the  king  learned  the  imminent  peril 
of  the  valorous  Ponce  de  Leon  and  his 
companions,  and  the  great  danger  there 
was  that  this  stronghold  might  again  be 
wrested  from  their  grasp,  he  resolved  to 
hurry  in  person  to  the  scene  of  action. 
So  pressing  appeared  to  him  the  emer 
gency,  that  he  barely  gave  himself  time 
to  take  a  hasty  repast  while  horses  were 
providing,  and  then  departed  at  furious 
speed  for  Andalusia,  leaving  a  request  for 
the  queen  to  follow  him.*  He  was  attend 
ed  by  Don  Beltran  de  la  Cueva,  Duke  of 
Albuquerque ;  Don  Inigo  Lopez  de  Men- 
doza,  Count  of  Tendilla  ;  and  Don  Pedro 
Manriquez,  Count  of  Trevmo,  with  a  few 
more  cavaliers  of  prowess  and  distinction. 
He  travelled  by  forced  journeys,  fre 
quently  changing  his  JLded  horses,  being 
eager  to  arrive  in  time  to  take  command 
of  the  Andalusian  chivalry.  When  he 
came  within  five  leagues  of  Cordova, 
the  Duke  of  Albuquerque  remonstrated 
with  him  upon  entering  with  such  incau 
tious  haste  into  the  enemy's  country, 
He  represented  to  him,  that  there  were 
troops  enough  assembled  to  succour  Al 
hama,  and  that  it  was  not  for  him  to 
adventure  his  royal  person  in  doing 
what  could  be  done  by  his  subjects, 

*  Illescas,  Hist.  Pontifical. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


207 


especially  as  he  had  such  valiant  and 
experienced  captains  to  act  for  him. 
"  Besides,  sire,"  added  the  duke,  "  your 
majesty  should  bethink  you,  that  the 
troops  about  to  take  the  field  are  mere 
men  of  Andalusia ;  whereas  your  illus 
trious  predecessors  never  made  an  inroad 
into  the  territory  of  the  Moors,  without 
being  accompanied  by  a  powerful  force 
of  the  staunch  and  iron  warriors  of  Old 
Castile." 

"  Duke,"  replied  the  king,  "  your 
counsel  might  have  been  good  had  I  not 
have  departed  from  Medina  with  the 
avowed  determination  of  succouring  these 
cavaliers  in  person.  I  am  now  near  the 
end  of  my  journey,  and  it  would  be  be 
neath  my  dignity  to  change  my  intention, 
before  even  I  had  met  with  an  impedi 
ment.  I  shall  take  the  troops  of  this 
country  who  are  assembled,  without 
waiting  for  those  of  Castile,  and,  with 
the  aid  of  God,  shall  prosecute  my  jour 
ney."* 

As  King  Ferdinand  approached  Cor 
dova,  the  principal  inhabitants  came  forth 
to  receive  him.  Learning,  however,  that 
the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  was  already 
on  the  march,  and  pressing  forward  into 
the  territory  of  the  Moors,  the  king  was 
all  on  fire  to  overtake  him,  and  to  lead 
in  person  the  succour  to  Alhama.  With 
out  entering  Cordova,  therefore,  he  ex 
changed  his  weary  horses  for  those  of 
the  inhabitants  who  had  come  to  meet 
him,  and  pressed  forward  for  the  army. 
He  despatched  fleet  couriers  in  advance, 
requesting  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia 
to  await  his  coming,  that  he  might  take 
command  of  the  forces. 

Neither  the  duke  nor  his  companions 
in  arms,  however,  felt  inclined  to  pause 
in  their  generous  expedition,  and  gratify 
the  inclination  of  the  king.  They  sent 
back  missives,  representing  that  they 
were  far  within  the  enemy's  frontiers, 
and  it  was  dangerous  either  to  pause  or 
to  turn  back.  They  had  likewise  re 
ceived  pressing  entreaties  from  the  be 
sieged  to  hasten  their  speed,  setting  forth 
their  great  sufferings,  and  their  hourly 
peril  of  being  overwhelmed  by  the  enemy. 

The  king  was  at  Ponton  del  Maestre 
when  he  received  these  missives.  So  in- 

*  Pulgar,  Cronica,  p.  iii,  c.  3. 


flamed  was  he  with  zeal  for  the  success 
of  this  enterprise,  that  he  would  have 
penetrated  into  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
with  the  handful  of  cavaliers  who  accom 
panied  him ;  but  they  represented  the 
rashness  of  such  a  journey,  through  the 
mountainous  defiles  of  a  hostile  country 
thickly  beset  with  towns  and  castles. 
With  some  difficulty,  therefore,  he  was 
dissuaded  from  his  inclination,  and  pre 
vailed  upon  to  await  tidings  from  the 
army,  in  the  frontier  city  of  Antequera. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Sequel  of  the  events  at  Alhama. 

WHILE  all  Andalusia  was  thus  in  arms, 
and  pouring  its  chivalry  through  the 
mountain  passes  of  the  Moorish  frontier, 
the  garrison  of  Alhama  was  reduced  to 
great  extremity,  and  in  danger  of  sinking 
under  its  sufferings  before  the  promised 
succour  could  arrive.  The  intolerable 
thirst  that  prevailed  in  consequence  of 
the  scarcity  of  water,  the  incessant  watch 
that  had  to  be  maintained  over  the  vast 
force  of  enemies  without,  and  the  great 
number  of  prisoners  within,  and  the 
wounds  which  almost  every  soldier  had 
received  in  the  incessant  skirmishes  and 
assaults,  had  worn  grievously  both  flesh 
and  spirit.  The  noble  Ponce  de  Leon, 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  still  animated  the  sol 
diery,  however  by  word  and  example, 
sharing  every  hardship,  and  being  fore 


most  in  every  danger ; 


that 


a  good  commander  is  the  vital  spirit  of 
an  army. 

When  Muley  Aben  Hassan  heard  of 
the  vast  force  that  was  approaching 
under  the  command  of  the  Duke  of  Me 
dina  Sidonia,  and  that  Ferdinand  was 
coming  in  person  with  additional  troops, 
he  perceived  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost : 
Alhama  must  be  carried  by  one  powerful 
attack,  or  abandoned  entirely  to  the 
Christians. 

A  number  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  some 
of  the  bravest  youth  of  Granada,  knowing 
the  wishes  of  the  king,  proposed  to  un 
dertake  a  desperate  enterprise,  which,  if 
successful,  must  put  Alhama  in  his  power. 
Early  one  morning,  when  it  was  scarcely 
the  gray  of  the  dawn,  about  the  time  of 
changing  the  watch,  these  cavaliers  ap 
proached  the  town,  at  a  place  considered 


208 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


inaccessible  from  the  steepness  of  the 
rocks  on  which  the  wall  was  founded ; 
which  it  was  supposed  elevated  the  battle 
ments  beyond  the  reach  of  the  longest 
scaling-ladders.  The  Moorish  knights, 
aided  by  a  number  of  the  strongest  and 
most  active  escaladors,  mounted  these 
rocks,  and  applied  the  ladders  without 
being  discovered ;  for,  to  divert  attention 
from  them,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  made  a 
false  attack  upon  the  town  in  another 
quarter. 

The  scaling  party  mounted  with  diffi 
culty,  and  in  small  numbers ;  the  sen 
tinel  was  killed  at  his  post,  and  seventy 
of  the  Moors  made  their  way  into  the 
streets  before  an  alarm  was  given.  The 
guards  rushed  to  the  walls,  to  stop  the 
hostile  throng  that  was  still  pouring  in. 
A  sharp  conflict,  hand  to  hand,  and 
man  to  man,  took  place  on  the  battle 
ments,  and  many  on  both  sides  fell.  The 
Moors,  whether  wounded  or  slain,  were 
thrown  headlong  without  the  walls,  the 
scaling-ladders  were  overturned,  and 
those  who  were  mounting  were  dashed 
upon  the  rocks,  and  from  thence  tumbled 
upon  the  plain.  Thus  in  a  little  while 
the  ramparts  were  cleared  by  Christian 
prowess,  led  on  by  that  valiant  knight 
Don  Alonso  Ponce  the  uncle,  and  that 
brave  esquire  Pedro  Pineda,  nephew  of 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz. 

The  walls  being  cleared,  these  two 
kindred  cavaliers  now  hastened  with 
their  forces  in  pursuit  of  the  seventy 
Moors,  who  had  gained  an  entrance  into 
the  town.  The  main  part  of  the  garrison 
being  engaged  at  a  distance,  resisting  the 
feigned  attack  of  the  Moorish  king,  this 
fierce  band  of  infidels  had  ranged  the 
streets  almost  without  opposition,  and 
were  making  their  way  to  the  gates,  to 
throw  them  open  to  the  army.*  They 
were  chosen  men  from  among  the  Moor 
ish  forces,  several  of  them  gallant  knights 
of  the  proudest  families  of  Granada. 
Their  footsteps  through  the  city  were  in 
a  manner  printed  in  blood,  and  they  were 
tracked  by  the  bodies  of  those  they  had 
killed  and  wounded.  They  had  attained 
the  gate  ;  most  of  the  guard  had  fallen 
beneath  their  cimeters ;  a  moment  more 
and  Alhama  would  have  been  thrown 
open  to  the  enemy. 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx,  cap.  43. 


Just  at  this  juncture,  Don  Alonso 
Ponce  and  Pedro  de  Pineda  reached  the 
spot  with  their  forces.  The  Moors  had 
the  enemy  in  front  and  rear :  they  placed 
themselves  back  to  back,  with  their, ban 
ner  in  the  centre.  In  this  way  they 
fought  with  desperate  and  deadly  deter 
mination,  making  a  rampart  around 
them  with  the  slain.  More  Christian 
troops  arrived,  and  hemmed  them  in, 
but  still  they  fought,  without  asking  for 
quarter.  As  their  numbers  decreased, 
they  serried  their  circle  still  closer,  de 
fending  their  banner  from  assault,  and 
the  last  Moor  died  at  his  post,  grasping 
the  standard  of  the  Prophet.  This 
standard  was  displayed  from  the  walls, 
and  the  turbaned  heads  of  the  Moors 
were  thrown  down  to  the  besiegers.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  tore  his  beard 
with  rage  at  the  failure  of  this  attempt, 
and  at  the  death  of  so  many  of  his  chosen 
cavaliers.  He  saw  that  all  further  effort 
was  in  vain.  His  scouts  brought  word, 
that  they  had  seen  from  the  heights  the 
long  columns  and  flaunting  banners  of  the 
Christian  army  approaching  through  the 
mountains.  To  linger  would  be  to  place 
himself  between  two  bodies  of  the  enemy. 
Breaking  up  his  camp,  therefore,  in  all 
haste,  he  gave  up  the  siege  of  Alhama, 
and  hastened  back  to  Granada ;  and  the 
last  clash  of  his  cymbals  scarce  died 
upon  the  ear  from  the  distant  hills,  be 
fore  the  standard  of  the  Duke  of  Medina 
Sidonia  was  seen  emerging  in  another 
direction  from  the  defiles  of  the  moun 
tains. 

When  the  Christians  in  Alhama  be 
held  their  enemies  retreating  on  one  side, 
and  their  friends  advancing  on  the  other, 
they  uttered  shouts  of  joy  and  hymns  of 
thanksgiving;  for  it  was  as  a  sudden 
relief  from  present  death.  Harassed 
by  several  weeks  of  incessant  vigil  and 
fighting,  suffering  from  scarcity  of  pro 
visions  and  almost  continual  thirst,  they 
resembled  skeletons  rather  than  living 
men.  It  was  a  noble  and  gracious  sight, 
to  behold  the  meeting  of  those  two  an 
cient  foes,  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
and  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz.  When  the 

*  Pedro  Pineda  received  the  honour  of  knight 
hood  from  the  hand  of  King  Ferdinand  for  his 
valour  on  this  occasion.  (Alonso  Ponce  was  al 
ready  a  knierht.)  See  Zuiiiga,  Annals  of  Seville, 
hb.  xii.  an.  1482. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


209 


marquis  beheld  his  magnanimous  de 
liverer  approaching,  he  melted  into  tears: 
all  past  animosities  only  gave  the  greater 
poignancy  to  present  feelings  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  :  they  clasped  each  other 
in  their  arms,  and,  from  that  time  for 
ward,  were  true  and  cordial  friends. 

While  this  generous  scene  took  place 
between  the  commanders,  a  sordid  con 
test  arose  among  their  troops.  The 
soldiers,  who  had  come  to  the  rescue, 
claimed  a  portion  of  the  spoils  of  Al- 
hama ;  and  so  violent  was  the  dispute, 
that  both  parties  seized  their  arms.  The 
Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  interfered  and 
settled  the  question  with  his  character 
istic  magnanimity.  He  declared,  that 
the  spoil  belonged  to  those  who  had  cap 
tured  the  city.  "  We  have  taken  the 
field,"  said  he,  "  only  for  honour,  for  re 
ligion,  and  for  the  rescue  of  our  country 
men  and  fellow  Christians ;  and  the 
success  of  our  enterprise  is  a  sufficient 
and  glorious  reward.  If  we  desire  booty, 
there  are  sufficient  Moorish  cities  yet  to 
be  taken  to  enrich  us  all."  The  soldiers 
were  convinced  by  the  frank  and  chival 
rous  reasoning  of  the  duke  ;  they  replied 
to  his  speech  by  acclamations,  and  the 
transient  broil  was  happily  appeased. 

The  Marchioness  of  £!adiz,  with  the 
forethought  of  a  loving  wife,  had  des 
patched  her  major-domo  with  the  army, 
with  a  large  supply  of  provisions.  Tables 
were  immediately  spread  beneath  the 
tents,  where  the  marquis  gave  a  banquet 
to  the  duke  and  the  cavaliers  who  had 
accompanied  him,  and  nothing  but  hila 
rity  prevailed  in  this  late  scene  of  suffer 
ing  and  death. 

A  garrison  of  fresh  troops  was  left  in 
Alhama,  and  the  veterans,  who  had  so 
valiantly  captured  and  maintained  it,  re 
turned  to  their  homes  burdened  with 
precious  booty.  The  marquis  and  duke, 
with  their  confederate  cavaliers,  repaired 
to  Antequera,  where  they  were  received 
with  great  distinction  by  the  king,l^o 
honoured  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  with  sig 
nal  marks  of  favour.  The  duke  then 
accompanied  his  late  enemy,  but  now 
most  zealous  and  grateful  friend,  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  to  his  town  of  Mar- 
chena,  where  he  received  the  reward  of 
his  generous  conduct  in  the  thanks  and 
blessings  of  the  marchioness.  The  mar- 


ti: 


quis  gave  a  sumptuous  entertainment  in 
honour  of  his  guest ;  for  a  day  and  night 
his  palace  was  thrown  open,  and  was 
the  scene  of  continual  revel  and  festivity. 
When  the  duke  departed  for  his  estates 
at  St.  Lucar,  the  marquis  attended  him 
for  some  distance  on  his  journey,  and 
when  they  separated,  it  was  as  the  part 
ing  scene  of  brothers.  Such  was  the 
noble  spectacle  exhibited  to  the  chivalry 
of  Spain  by  these  two  illustrious  rivals. 
Each  reaped  universal  renown  from  the 
part  he  had  performed  in  the  campaign  : 
the  marquis,  from  having  surprised  and 
captured  one  of  the  most  important  and 
formidable  fortresses  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  the  duke  from  having  sub 
dued  his  deadliest  foe  by  a  great  act  of 
magnanimity. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Events  at  Granada,  and  rise  of  the  Moorish  king 
Boabdil  el  Chico. 

THE  Moorish  king  Aben  Hassan  re 
turned,  baffled  and  disappointed,  from 
before  the  walls  of  Alhama,  and  was 
received  with  groans  and  smothered  ex 
ecrations  by  the  people  of  Granada.  The 
prediction  of  the  santon  was  in  every 
mouth,  and  appeared  to  be  rapidly  fulfil 
ling  ;  for  the  enemy  was  already  strongly 
fortified  in  Alhama,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  kingdom.  The  disaffection,  which 
broke  out  in  murmurs  among  the  common 
people,  fermented  more  secretly  and 
dangerously  among  the  nobles.  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  was  of  a  fierce  and  cruel 
nature  ;  his  reign  had  been  marked  with 
tyranny  and  bloodshed,  and  many  chiefs 
of  the  family  of  the  Abencerrages,  the 
noblest  lineage  among  the  Moors,  had 
fallen  victims  to  his  p<fticy  or  vengeance. 
A  deep  plot  was  now  formed  to  put  an 
end  to  his  oppressions,  and  dispossess 
him  of  the  throne.  The  situation  of  the 
royal  household  favoured  the  conspiracy. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan,  though  cruel,  was 
uxorious;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  many 
wives,  and  was  prone  to  be  managed 
by  them  by  turns.  He  had  two  queens, 
in  particular,  whom  he  had  chosen  from 
affection.  One,  named  Ayxa,  was  a 
Moorish  female ;  she  was  likewise  termed 
in  Arabic  La  Horra,  or  "  the  chaste," 
from  the  spotless  purity  of  her  character. 

18* 


210 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


While  yet  in  the  prime  of  her  beauty, 
she  bore  a  son  to  Aben  Hassan,  the  ex 
pected  heir  to  his  throne.  The  name  of 
this  prince  was  Mahomet  Abdalla,  or,  as 
he  has  more  generally  been  termed 
among  historians,  Boabdil.  At  his  birth 
the  astrologers,  according  to  custom, 
cast  his  horoscope  :  they  were  seized  with 
fear  and  trembling  when  they  beheld  the 
fatal  portents  revealed  to  their  science. 
"  Alia  achbar !  God  is  great !"  exclaimed 
they:  "  he  alone  controls  the  fate  of  em 
pires  :  it  is  written  in  the  heavens,  that 
this  prince  shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of 
Granada,  but  that  the  downfall  of  the 
kingdom  shall  be  accomplished  during 
his  reign."  From  this  time  the  prince 
was  ever  regarded  with  aversion  by  his 
father,  and  the  series  of  persecutions 
which  he  suffered,  and  the  dark  predic 
tion  which  hung  over  him  from  his  in 
fancy,  procured  him  the  surname  of  El 
Zogoybi,  or  "  the  unfortunate."  He  is 
more  commonly  known  by  the  appella 
tion  of  El  Chico,  "  the  younger,"  to  dis 
tinguish  him  from  an  usurping  uncle. 

The  other  favourite  queen  of  Aben 
Hassan  was  named  Fatima,  to  which 
the  Moors  added  the  appellation  of  La 
Zoroya,  or  "  the  light  of  the  dawn," 
from  her  effulgent  beauty.  She  was  a 
Christian  by  birth,  the  daughter  of  the 
'commander  Sancho  Ximenes  de  Solis, 
and  had  been  taken  captive  in  her  tender 
youth.* 

The  king,  who  was  well  stricken  in 
years  at  the  time,  became  enamoured  of 
the  blooming  Christian  maid.  He  made 
her  his  sultana ;  and,  like  most  old  men 
who  marry  in  their  dotage,  resigned 
himself  to  her  management.  Zoroya 
became  the  mother  of  two  princes ;  and 
her  anxiety  for  their  advancement  seem 
ed  to  extinguish  every  other  natural 
feeling  in  her  breast.  She  was  as  ambi 
tious  as  she  was  beautiful,  and  her  ruling 
desire  became,  to  see  one  of  her  sons 
seated  upon  the  throne  of  Granada. 

For  this  purpose  she  made  use  of  all 
her  arts,  and  of  the  complete  ascendancy 
she  had  over  the  mind  of  her  cruel  hus 
band,  to  undermine  his  other  children  in 
his  affections,  and  to  fill  him  with  jeal 
ousies  of  their  designs.  Muley  Aben 

*  Cronica  del  Gran  Cardenal,  c.  71. 


Hassan  was  so  wrought  upon  by  her 
machinations,  that  he  publicly  put  seve 
ral  of  his  sons  to  death  at  the  celebrated 
fountain  of  lions,  in  the  court  of  the 
Alhambra; 'a  place  signalized  in  Moorish 
history  as  the  scene  of  many  sanguinary 
deeds. 

The  next  measure  of  Zoroya  was 
against  her  rival  sultana,  the  virtuous 
Ayxa.  She  was  past  the  bloom  of  her 
beauty,  and  had  ceased  to  be  attractive 
in  the  eyes  of  her  husband.  He  was 
easily  persuaded  to  repudiate  her,  and  to 
confine  her  and  her  son  in  the  tower  of 
Comares,  one  of  the  principal  towers  of 
the  Alhambra.  As  Boabdil  increased  in 
years,  Zoroya  beheld  in  him  a  formida 
ble  obstacle  to  the  pretensions  of  her 
sons ;  for  he  was  universally  considered 
heir-apparent  to  the  throne.  The  jeal 
ousies,  suspicions,  and  alarms  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father  were  again  excited  ; 
he  was  reminded,  too,  of  the  prediction, 
that  fixed  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom  during 
the  reign  of  this  prince.  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  impiously  set  the  stars  at  defiance. 
"  The  sword  of  the  executioner,"  said  he, 
"  shall  prove  the  falsehood  of  these  lying 
horoscopes,  and  shall  silence  the  ambition 
of  Boabdil,  as  it  has  the  presumption  of 
his  brothers." 

The  sultana  Ayxa  was  secretly  ap 
prised  of  the  cruel  design  of  the  old 
monarch.  She  was  a  woman  of  talents 
and  courage,  and  by  means  of  her  female 
attendants  concerted  a  plan  for  the  escape 
of  her  son.  A  faithful  servant  was  in 
structed  to  wait  below  the  Alhambra,  in 
the  dead  of  the  night,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Darro,  with  a  fleet  Arabian 
courser.  The  sultana,  when  the  castle 
was  in  a  state  of  deep  repose,  tied 
together  the  shawls  and  scarfs  of  herself 
and  her  female  attendants,  and  lowered 
the  youthful  prince  from  the  tower  of 
Comares.*  He  made  his  way  in  safety 
down  the  steep  rocky  hill  to  the  banks  of 
the  Darro,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the 
Arabian  courser,  was  thus  spirited  off  to 
the  city  of  Guadix  in  the  Alpuxarres. 
Here  he  lay  for  some  time  concealed, 
until,  gaining  adherents,  he  fortified  him 
self  in  the  place,  and  set  the  machinations 
of  his  tyrant  father  at  defiance.  Such 

*  Salazar,  Cronica  del  Gran  Cardenal,  c.  71. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


211 


was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  royal  house 
hold  of  Granada,  when  Muley  Abcn  Has 
san  returned  foiled  from  his  expedition 
against  Alhama.  The  faction  which  had 
been  secretly  formed  among  the  nobles, 
determined  to  depose  the  old  king  Aben 
Hassan,  and  to  elevate  his  son  Boabdil 
to  the  throne.  They  concerted  their 
measures  with  the  latter,  and  an  oppor 
tunity  soon  presented  to  put  them  in 
practice.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  a 
royal  country  palace,  called  Alexares,  in 
the  vicinity  of  Granada,  to  which  he 
resorted  occasionally,  to  recreate  his 
mind  during  this  time  of  perplexity.  He 
had  been  passing  one  day  among  its 
bowers,  when,  on  returning  to  the  capi 
tal,  he  found  the  gates  closed  against 
him,  and  his  son  Mohammed  Abdalla, 
otherwise  called  Boabdil,  proclaimed 
king.  "  Alia  achbar  !  God  is  great !" 
exclaimed  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  :  "  it 
is  in  vain  to  contend  against  what  is 
written  in  the  book  of  fate.  It  was  pre 
destined  that  my  son  should  sit  upon  the 
throne.  Alia  forfend  the  rest  of  the  pre 
diction  !"  The  old  monarch  knew  the 
inflammable  nature  of  the  Moors,  and 
that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  check 
any  sudden  blaze  of  popular  passion. 
"  A  little  while,"  said  he,  "  and  this 
rash  flame  will  burn  itself  out ;  and  the 
people,  when  cool,  will  listen  to  reason." 
So  he  turned  his  steed  from  the  gate,  and 
repaired  to  the  city  of  Baza,  where  he 
was  received  with  great  demonstrations 
of  loyalty.  He  was  not  a  man  to  give 
up  his  throne  without  a  struggle.  A 
large  part  of  the  kingdom  still  remained 
faithful  to  him  ;  he  trusted  that  the  con 
spiracy  in  the  capital  was  but  transient 
and  partial,  and  that  by  suddenly  making 
his  appearance  in  its  streets,  at  the  head 
of  a  moderate  force,  he  should  awe  the 
people  again  into  allegiance.  He  took 
his  measures  with  that  combination  of 
dexterity  and  daring  which  formed  his 
character,  and  arrived  one  night  under 
the  walls  of  Granada  with  five  hundred 
chosen  followers.  Scaling  the  walls  of 
the  Alhambra,  he  threw  himself,  with 
sanguinary  fury,  into  its  silent  courts. 
The  sleeping  inmates  were  roused  from 
their  repose  only  to  fall  by  the  extermi 
nating  cimeter.  The  rage  of  Aben  Has 
san  spared  neither  age,  nor  rank,  nor 


sex  ;  the  halls  resounded  with  shrieks 
and  yells,  and  the  fountains  ran  red  with 
blood.  The  alcayde,  Aben  Comixcr, 
retreated  to  a  strong  tower,  with  a  few 
of  the  garrison  and  inhabitants.  The 
furious  Aben  Hassan  did  not  lose  time 
in  pursuing  him :  he  was  anxious  to 
secure  the  city,  and  to  wreak  his  ven 
geance  on  its  rebellious  inhabitants. 
Descending  with  his  bloody  band  into 
the  streets,  he  cut  down  the  defenceless 
inhabitants,  as,  startled  from  their  sleep, 
they  rushed  forth,  to  learn  the  cause  of 
the  alarm.  The  city  was  soon  com 
pletely  roused  ;  the  people  flew  to  arms  ; 
lights  blazed  in  every  street,  revealing 
the  scanty  numbers  of  this  band  that 
had  been  dealing  such  fatal  vengeance 
in  the  dark.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had 
been  mistaken  in  his  conjectures.  The 
great  mass  of  the  people,  incensed  by 
his  tyranny,  were  zealous  in  favour  of 
his  son.  A  violent  but  transient  conflict 
took  place  in  the  streets  and  squares  ; 
many  of  the  followers  of  Aben  Hassan 
were  slain,  the  rest  driven  out  of  the  city, 
and  the  old  monarch,  with  the  remnant 
of  his  band,  retreated  to  his  loyal  city  of 
Malaga. 

Such  was  the  commencement  of  those 
great  internal  feuds  and  divisions,  which 
hastened  the  downfall  of  Granada.  The 
Moors  became  separated  into  two  hostile 
factions,  headed  by  the  father  and  the 
son,  and  several  bloody  encounters  took 
place  between  them ;  yet  they  never 
failed  to  act  with  all  their  separate  force 
against  the  Christians,  as  a  common 
enemy,  whenever  an  opportunity  oc 
curred. 

CHAPTER  X. 
Royal  expedition  against  Loxa. 

KING  FERDINAND  held  a  council  of 
war  at  Cordova,  where  it  was  deliberated 
what  was  to  be  done  with  Alhama.  Most 
of  the  council  advised  that  it  should  be 
demolished,  inasmuch  as,  being  in  the 
centre  of  the  Moorish  kingdom,  it  would 
be  at  all  times  liable  to  attack,  and  could 
only  be  maintained  by  a  powerful  garri 
son,  and  at  vast  expense.  Queen  Isabella 
arrived  at  Cordova  in  the  midst  of  these 
deliberations,  and  listened  to  them  with 
surprise  and  impatience.  "  What !"  said 


212 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


she,  "  shall  we  destroy  the  first  fruits  of 
our  victories'?  shall  we  abandon  the  first 
place  we  have  wrested  from  the  Moors  1 
Never  let  us  suffer  such  an  idea  to  occu 
py  our  minds.  It  would  give  new  cou 
rage  to  the  enemy ;  arguing  fear  or 
feebleness  in  our  councils.  You  talk  of 
the  toil  and  expense  of  maintaining  Alha- 
ma.  Did  we  doubt,  on  undertaking  this 
war,  that  it  was  to  be  a  war  of  infinite 
cost,  labour,  and  bloodshed  1  and  shall 
we  shrink  from  the  cost  the  moment  a 
victory  is  obtained,  and  the  question  is 
merely,  to  guard  or  abandon  its  glorious 
trophy  ?  Let  us  hear  no  more  about  the 
destruction  of  Alhama ;  let  us  maintain 
its  walls  sacred,  as  a  stronghold,  granted 
us  by  Heaven,  in  the  centre  of  this  hos 
tile  land ;  and  let  our  only  consideration 
be,  how  to  extend  our  conquest,  and 
capture  the  surrounding  cities."  The 
language  of  the  queen  infused  a  more 
lofty  and  chivalrous  spirit  into  the  royal 
council.  Preparations  were  immediately 
made  to  maintain  Alhama  at  all  risk  and 
expense  ,•  and  King  Ferdinand  appointed 
as  alcayde  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Car- 
rero,  senior  of  the  house  of  Palma,  sup 
ported  by  Diego  Lopez  de  Ayola,  Pero 
Ruiz  de  Alarzon,  and  Alonso  Ortis,  cap 
tains  of  four  hundred  lances  and  a  body 
of  one  thousand  foot,  supplied  with  pro 
visions  for  three  months.  Ferdinand 
resolved  also  to  lay  siege  to  Loxa,  a  city 
of  great  strength,  at  no  great  distance 
from  Alhama.  For  this  purpose  he 
called  upon  all  the  cities  and  towns  of 
Andalusia  and  Estremadura,  and  the 
domains  of  the  orders  of  Santiago, 
Calatrava,  and  Alcantara,  and  of  the 
priory  of  St.  Juan,  and  the  kingdom  of 
Toledo,  and  beyond,  to  the  cities  of 
Salamanca,  Toro,  and  Valladolid,  to 
furnish,  according  to  their  repartimientos 
or  allotments,  a  certain  quantity  of  bread, 
wine,  antl  cattle,  to  be  delivered  at  the 
royal  camp  before  Loxa,  one-half  at  the 
end  of  June,  and  one-half  in  July. 
These  lands,  also,  together  with  Biscay 
and  Guipuscoa,  were  ordered  to  send 
reinforcements  of  horse  and  foot,  each 
town  furnishing  its  quota ;  and  great 
diligence  was  used  in  providing  lorn-  | 
bards,  powder,  and  other  warlike  muni 
tions. 

The   Moors   were   no    less   active   in 


their  preparations ;  and  sent  missives 
into  Africa,  entreating  supplies,  and  call 
ing  upon  the  Barbary  princes  to  aid  them 
in  this  war  of  the  faith.  To  intercept  all 
succour,  the  Castilian  sovereigns  stationed 
an  armada  of  ships  and  galleys  in  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar,  under  the  command 
of  Martin  Diaz  de  Mena  and  Carlos  de 
Valera,  with  orders  to  scour  the  Barbary 
coast,  and  sweep  every  Moorish  sail  from 
the  sea. 

While  these  preparations  were  making, 
Ferdinand  made  an  incursion,  at  the  head 
of  his  army,  into  the  kingdom  of  Grana 
da,  and  laid  waste  the  vega  ;  destroying 
its  hamlets  and  villages,  ravaging  its 
fields  of  grain,  and  driving  away  the 
cattle. 

It  was  about  the  end  of  June,  that  King 
Ferdinand  departed  from  Cordova,  to  sit 
down  before  the  walls  of  Loxa.  So  con 
fident  was  he  of  success,  that  he  left  a 
great  part  of  the  army  at  Ecija,  and 
advanced  with  but  five  thousand  cavalry 
and  eight  thousand  infantry.  The  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz,  a  warrior  as  wise  as  he 
was  valiant,  remonstrated  against  em 
ploying  so  small  a  force ;  and,  indeed, 
was  opposed  to  the  measure  altogether, 
as  being  undertaken  precipitately,  and 
without  sufficient  preparation.  King 
Ferdinand,  however,  was  influenced  by 
the  counsel  of  Don  Diego  de  Merlo,  and 
was  eager  to  strike  a  brilliant  and  decided 
blow.  A  vainglorious  confidence  pre 
vailed  about  this  time  among  the  Spanish 
cavaliers :  they  overrated  their  own 
prowess ;  or  rather,  they  undervalued 
and  despised  their  enemy.  Many  of 
them  believed  that  the  Moors  would 
scarcely  remain  in  their  city,  when  they 
saw  the  Christian  troops  advancing  to 
assail  it.  The  Spanish  chivalry  marched, 
therefore,  gallantly  and  fearlessly,  and 
almost  carelessly,  over  the  border,  scan 
tily  supplied  with  the  things  needful  for 
a  besieging  army  in  the  heart  of  an 
enemy's  country.  In  the  same  negli 
gent  and  confident  spirit  they  took  up 
their  station*  before  Loxa.  The -country 
around  was  broken  and  hilly,  so  that  it 
was  extremely  difficult  to  form  a  com 
bined  camp.  The  river  Xenil,  which 
runs  by  the  town,  was  compressed  be 
tween  high  banks,  and  so  deep  as  to  be 
fordable  with  extreme  difficulty,  and  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


213 


Moors  had  possession  of  the  bridge. 
The  king  pitched  his  tents  in  a  planta 
tion  of  olives,  on  the  banks  of  the  river; 
the  troops  were  distributed  in  different 
encampments  on  the  heights,  but  sepa 
rated  from  each  other  by  deep  rocky 
ravines,  so  as  to  be  incapable  of  yielding 
each  other  prompt  assistance,  and  there 
was  no  room  for  the  operation  of  the 
cavalry.  The  artillery,  also,  was  so 
injudiciously  placed  as  to  be  almost 
entirely  useless.  Alonso  of  Aragon, 
Duke  of  Villahermosa,  and  illegitimate 
brother  to  the  king,  was  present  at  the 
siege,  and  disapproved  of  the  whole 
arrangement.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
able  generals  of  his  time,  and  especially 
renowned  for  his  skill  in  battering  forti 
fied  places.  He  recommended,  that  the 
whole  disposition  of  the  camp  should  be 
changed,  and  that  several  bridges  should 
be  thrown  across  the  river.  His  advice 
was  adopted,  but  slowly  and  negligently 
followed ;  so  that  it  was  rendered  of  no 
avail.  Among  other  oversights,  in  this 
hasty  and  negligent  expedition,  the  army 
had  no  supply  of  baked  bread,  and,  in 
the  hurry  of  encampment,  there  was  no 
time  to  erect  furnaces.  Cakes  were 
therefore  hastily  made,  and  baked  on  the 
coals,  and  for  two  days  the  troops  were 
supplied  in  this  irregular  way. 

King  Ferdinand  felt  too  late  the  inse 
curity  of  his  position,  and  endeavoured 
to  provide  a  temporary  remedy.  There 
was  a  height  near  the  city,  called  by  the 
Moors  Santo  Albohacen,  which  was  in 
front  of  the  bridge.  He  ordered  several 
of  his  most  valiant  cavaliers  to  take  pos 
session  of  this  height,  and  to  hold  it,  as 
a  check  upon  the  enemy  and  a  protection 
to  the  camp.  The  cavaliers  chosen  for 
this  distinguished  and  perilous  post  were 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  Marquis  of 
Villena,  Don  Roderigo  Tellez  Giron, 
master  of  Calatrava,  his  brother  the  Count 
of  Urena,  and  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar. 
These  valiant  warriors,  and  tried  compa 
nions  in  arms,  led  their  troops  with  ala 
crity  to  the  height,  which  soon  glittered 
with  the  array  of  arms,  and  was  graced 
by  several  of  the  most  redoubtable  pen 
nons  of  warlike  Spain. 

Loxa  was  commanded  at  this  time-  by 
an  old  Moorish  alcayde,  whose  daughter 
was  the  favourite  wife  of  Boabdil  el 


Chico.  The  name  of  this  Moor  was  Ibra- 
ham  Ali  Atar;  but  he  was  generally 
known  among  the  Spaniards  as  Alatar. 
He  had  grown  gray  in  border  warfare, 
was  an  implacable  enemy  of  the  Chris 
tians,  and  his  name  had  long  been  the 
terror  of  the  frontier.  He  was  in  the 
ninetieth  year  of  his  age,  yet  indomitable 
in  spirit,  fiery  in  his  passion,  sinewy  and 
powerful  in  frame,  deeply  versed  in  war 
like  stratagem,  and  accounted  the  best 
lance  in  all  Mauritania.  He  had  three 
thousand  horsemen  under  his  command, 
veteran  troops,  with  whom  he  had  often 
scoured  the  borders,  and  he  daily  expected 
the  old  Moorish  king  with  reinforcements. 

Old  Ali  Atar  had  watched,  from  his 
fortress,  every  movement  of  the  Chris 
tian  army,  and  had  exulted  in  all  the 
errors  of  its  commanders.  When  he 
beheld  the  flower  of  Spanish  chivalry 
glittering  about  the  height  of  Albohacen, 
his  eye  flushed  with  exultation.  "  By  the 
aid  of  Allah,"  said  he,  "  I  will  give  these 
prankling  cavaliers  a  rouse." 

Ali  Atar  privately,  and  by  night,  sent 
forth  a  large  body  of  his  chosen  troops 
to  lie  in  ambush  near  one  of  the  skirts  of 
Albohacen.  On  the  fourth  day  of  the 
siege,  he  sallied  across  the  bridge,  and 
made  a  feigned  attack  upon  the  height. 
The  cavaliers  rushed  impetuously  forth 
to  meet  him,  leaving  their  encampments 
almost  unprotected.  Ali  Atar  wheeled 
and  fled,  and  was  hastily  pursued.  When 
the  Christian  cavaliers  had  been  drawn  a 
considerable  distance  from  their  encamp 
ments,  they  heard  a  vast  shout  behind 
them,  and,  looking  round,  beheld  their 
encampments  assailed  by  the  Moorish 
force,  which  had  been  placed  in  ambush, 
and  had  ascended  a  different  side  of  the 
hill. 

The  cavaliers  desisted  from  the  pur 
suit,  and  hastened  to  prevent  the  plunder 
of  their  tents.  Ali  Atar  in  his  turn 
wheeled  and  pursued  them ;  and  they 
were  attacked  in  front  and  rear  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill.  The  contest  lasted 
for  an  hour;  the  height  of  Albohacen 
was  red  with  blood ;  many  brave  cava 
liers  fell,  expiring  among  heaps  of  the 
enemy.  The  fierce  Ali  Atar  fought  with 
the  fury  of  a  demon,  until  the  arrival  of 
more  Christian  forces  compelled  him  to 
retreat  into  the  city.  The  severest  loss 


-E 


214 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


to  the  Christians  in  this  skirmish  was  I 
that  of  Roderigo  Tellez  Giron,  master  of  j 
Calatrava  :  as  he  was  raising  his  arm  to  | 
make  a  blow,  an  arrow  pierced  him,  just  | 
beneath  the  shoulder,  at  the  open  part  of  j 
the  corslet.     He  fell  instantly  from  his  | 
horse,  but  was  caught  by  Pedro  Gasca, 
cavalier  of  Avila,  who  conveyed  him  to 
his  tent,  where  he  died.     The  king  and 
queen  and  the  whole  kingdom  mourned 
his  death ;  for  he  was  in  the  freshness  of 
his  youth,  being  but  twenty-four  years 
of  age,  and  had  proved  himself  a  gallant 
and  highminded  cavalier.   A  melancholy 
group  collected  about  his  corse,  on  the 
bloody  height  of  Albohacen  :  the  knights 
of  Calatrava  mourned  him  as  a  comman 
der  ;  the  cavaliers,  who  were  encamped 
on   the   height,  lamented   him  as   their 
companion  in  arms  in  a  service  of  perils, 
while  the  Count  of  Ureiia  grieved  over 
him  with  the  tender  affection  of  a  brother. 

King  Ferdinand  now  perceived  the 
wisdom  of  the  opinion  of  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  and  that  his  force  was  quite  insuf 
ficient  for  the  enterprise.  To  continue 
his  camp  in  its  present  unfortunate  posi 
tion  would  cost  him  the  lives  of  his 
bravest  cavaliers,  if  not  a  total  defeat,  in 
case  of  reinforcements  to  the  enemy.  He 
called  a  council  of  war  late  in  the  even 
ing  of  Saturday  ;  and  it  was  determined 
to  withdraw  the  army,  early  the  next 
morning,  to  Rio  Frio,  a  short  distance 
from  the  city,  and  there  wait  for  addi 
tional  troops  from  Cordova.  The  next 
morning  early,  the  cavaliers  on  the  height 
of  Albohacen  began  to  strike  their  tents. 
No  sooner  did  AH  Atar  behold  this,  than 
he  sallied  forth  to  attack  them.  Many  of 
the  Christian  troops,  who  had  not  heard 
of  the  intention  to  change  the  camp,  see 
ing  the  tents  struck,  and  the  Moors  sal 
lying  forth,  supposed  that  the  enemy  had 
been  reinforced  in  the  night,  and  the 
army  was  on  the  point  of  retreating. 
Without  stopping  to  ascertain  the  truth, 
or  to  receive  orders,  they  fled  in  dismay, 
spreading  confusion  through  the  camp ; 
nor  did  they  halt  until  they  had  reached 
the  Rock  of  the  Lovers,  about  seven 
leagues  from  Loxa.* 

The  king  and  his  commanders  saw 
the  imminent  peril  of  the  moment,  and 

*  Pulgar,  Cronica. 


* 


made  face  to  the  Moors,  each  commander 
guarding  his  quarter,  and  repelling  all 
assaults,  while  the  tents  were  struck,  and 
the  artillery  and  ammunition  conveyed 
away.  The  king,  with  a  handful  of  cava 
liers,  galloped  to  a  rising  ground,  exposed 
to  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  calling  upon  the 
flying  troops,  and  endeavouring  in  vain 
to  rally  them.  Setting  upon  the  Moors, 
he  and  his  cavaliers  charged  them  so 
vigorously,  that  they  put  a  squadron  to 
flight,  slaying  many  with  their  swords 
and  lances,  and  driving  others  into  the 
river,  where  they  vrere  drowned.  The 
Moors,  however,  were  soon  reinforced, 
and  returned  in  great  numbers.  The 
king  was  in  danger  of  being  surrounded  : 
the  Moors  assailed  him  furiously ;  and 
twice  he  owed  his  safety  to  the  valour 
of  Don  Juan  de  Ribera,  senior  of  Monte- 
mayor. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  beheld  from  a 
distance  the  peril  of  his  sovereign.  Sum 
moning  about  seventy  horsemen  to  follow 
him,  he  galloped  to  the  spot,  threw  him 
self  between  the  king  and  the  enemy,  and, 
hurling  his  lance,  transpierced  one  of  the 
most  daring  of  the  Moors.  For  some 
time  he  remained  with  no  other  weapon 
than  his  sword ;  his  horse  was  wounded 
by  an  arrow,  and  many  of  his  followers 
were  slain  ;  but  he  succeeded  in  beating 
off  the  Moors,  and  rescuing  the  king  from 
imminent  jeopardy,  whom  he  then  pre 
vailed  upon  to  retire  to  less  dangerous 
ground. 

The  marquis  continued  throughout  the 
day  to  expose  himself  to  the  repeated 
assaults  of  the  enemy.  He  was  ever 
found  in  the  place  of  greatest  danger, 
and  through  his  bravery  a  great  part  of 
the  army  and  the  camp  was  preserved 
from  destruction.*  It  was  a  perilous  day 
for  the  commanders  ;  for  in  a  retreat  of 
the  kind,  it  is  the  noblest  cavaliers  who 
most  expose  themselves  to  save  their 
people.  The  Duke  of  Medina  Celi  was 
struck  to  the  ground,  but  rescued  by  his 
troops.  The  Count  of  Tendilla,  whose 
tents  were  nearest  to  the  city,  received 
several  wounds  ;  and  various  other  cava 
liers  of  the  most  distinguished  note  were 
exposed  to  fearful  hazard.  The  whole 
day  was  passed  in  bloody  skirmishings, 

*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c,  58. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


215 


in  which  the  hidalgos  and  cavaliers  of 
the  royal  household  distinguished  them 
selves  by  their  bravery.  At  length,  the 
encampments  being  all  broken  up,  and 
most  of  the  artillery  and  baggage  re 
moved,  the  bloody  height  of  Albohacen 
was  abandoned,  and  the  neighbourhood 
of  Loxa  evacuated.  Several  tents,  a 
quantity  of  provisions,  and  a  few  pieces 
of  artillery,  were  left  upon  the  spot,  from 
the  want  of  horses  or  mules  to  carry 
them  off. 

Ali  Atar  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the 
retiring  army,  and  harassed  it  until  it 
reached  Rio  Frio.  From  thence  Ferdi 
nand  returned  to  Cordova,  deeply  morti 
fied,  though  greatly  benefited,  by  the 
severe  lesson  he  had  received,  which 
served  to  render  him  more  cautious  in 
his  campaigns,  and  more  diffident  of  for 
tune.  He  sent  letters  to  all  parts  ex 
cusing  his  retreat,  imputing  it  to  the 
small  number  of  his  forces,  and  the  cir 
cumstance,  that  many  of  them  were 
quotas  sent  from  various  cities,  and  not 
in  royal  pay.  In  the  mean  time,  to  con 
sole  his  troops  for  their  disappointment, 
and  to  keep  up  their  spirits,  he  led  them 
upon  another  inroad,  to  lay  waste  the 
vega  of  Granada. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

How  Muley  Aben  Hassan  made  a  foray  into  the 
lands  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  how  he  was  re 
ceived. 

OLD  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  mustered 
an  army,  and  marched  to  the  relief  of 
Loxa ;  but  arrived  too  late.  The  last 
squadron  of  Ferdinand  had  already  pass 
ed  over  the  border.  "  They  have  come 
and  gone,"  said  he,  "  like  a  summer 
cloud,  and  all  their  vaunting  has  been 
mere  empty  thunder."  He  turned,  to 
make  another  attempt  upon  Alhama,  the 
garrison  of  which  was  in  the  utmost  con 
sternation  at  the  retreat  of  Ferdinand, 
and  would  have  deserted  the  place,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  courage  and  perse 
verance  of  the  alcayde,  Luis  Fernandez 
Puerto  Carrero.  That  brave  and  loyal 
commander  cheered  up  the  spirits  of  the 
men,  and  kept  the  old  Moorish  king  at 
bay,  until  the  approach  of  Ferdinand, 
on  his  second  incursion  into  the  vega, 
obliged  him  to  make  an  unwilling  retreat 
to  Malaga. 


Muley  Aben  Hassan  felt,  that  it  would 
be  in  vain,  with  his  inferior  force,  to 
oppose  the  powerful  army  of  the  Chris 
tian  monarch  ;  but  to  remain  idle,  and 
see  his  territories  laid  waste,  would  ruin 
him  in  the  estimation  of  his  people.  "  If 
we  cannot  parry,"  said  he,  "  we  can 
strike  :  if  we  cannot  keep  our  own  lands 
from  being  ravaged,  we  can  ravage  the 
lands  of  the  enemy."  He  inquired,  and 
learned  that  most  of  the  chivalry  of  An 
dalusia,  in  their  eagerness  for  a  foray, 
had  marched  off  with  the  king,  and  left 
their  own  country  almost  defenceless. 
The  territories  of  the  Duke  of  Medina 
Sidonia  were  particularly  unguarded. 
Here  were  vast  plains  of  pasturage,  co 
vered  with  flocks  and  herds  ;  the  very 
country  for  a  hasty  inroad.  The  old 
monarch  had  a  bitter  grudge  against  the 
duke,  for  having  foiled  him  at  Alhama. 
"  I'll  give  this  cavalier  a  lesson,"  said 
he,  exultingly,  "  that  will  cure  him  of 
his  love  of  campaigning."  So  he  pre 
pared  in  all  haste  for  a  foray  into  the 
country  about  Medina  Sidonia. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  sallied  out  of 
Malaga  with  fifteen  hundred  horse  and 
six  thousand  foot,  and  took  the  way  by 
the  sea-coast,  marching  through  Este- 
ponia  and  entering  the  Christian  country 
between  Gibraltar  and  Castellar.  The 
only  person  that  was  likely  to  molest 
him  on  this  route  was  one  Pedro  de 
Vargas,  a  shrewd,  hardy,  and  vigilant 
soldier,  alcayde  of  Gibraltar,  and  who 
lay  ensconced  in  his  old  warrior-rock  as 
in  a  citadel.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  knew 
the  watchful  and  daring  character  of  the 
man  ;  but  had  ascertained,  that  his  gar 
rison  was  too  small  to  enable  him  to 
make  a  sally,  or  at  least  to  assure  him 
any  success.  Still  he  pursued  his  march 
with  great  silence  and  caution ;  sent 
parties  in  advance,  to  explore  every  pass 
where  a  foe  might  lie  in  ambush,  cast 
many  an  anxious  eye  towards  the  old 
rock  of  Gibraltar,  as  its  cloud-capt 
summit  was  seen  towering  in  the  distance 
on  his  left ;  nor  did  he  feel  entirely  at 
ease,  until  he  had  passed  through  the 
broken  and  mountainous  country  of 
Castellar,  and  descended  into  the  plains. 
Here  he  encamped,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Celemin.  From  hence  he  sent  four 
hundred  corredors,  or  fleet  horsemen, 


216 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


armed  with  lances,  who  were  to  station 
themselves  near  Algeziras,  and  to  keep 
a  strict  watch,  across  the  bay,  upon  the 
opposite  fortress  of  Gibraltar.  If  the 
alcayde  attempted  to  sally  forth,  they 
were  to  waylay  and  attack  him,  being 
almost  four  times  his  supposed  force,  and 
were  to  send  swift  tidings  to  the  camp. 

In  the  mean  time,  two  hundred  cor- 
redors  were  despatched  to  scour  that  vast 
plain  called  the  Campina  de  Tarifa, 
abounding  with  flocks  and  herds,  and 
two  hundred  more  were  to  ravage  the 
lands  about  Medina  Sidonia.  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  remained  with  the  main 
body  of  the  army  as  a  rallying  point  on 
the  banks  of  the  Celemin.  The  foraging 
parties  scoured  the  country  to  such  an 
effect,  that  they  came  driving  vast  flocks 
and  herds  before  them,  enough  to  supply 
the  place  of  all  that  had  been  swept  from 
the  vega  of  Granada.  The  troops  which 
had  kept  watch  upon  the  rock  of  Gibral 
tar  returned,  with  word,  that  they  had 
not  seen  a  Christian  helmet  stirring. 
The  old  king  congratulated  himself  upon 
the  secrecy  and  promptness  with  which 
he  had  conducted  his  foray,  and  upon 
having  baffled  the  vigilance  of  Pedro  de 
Vargas. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  not  been  so 
secret  as    he   imagined.     The  watchful 
Pedro  de  Vargas  had  received  notice  of 
his  movements.    His  garrison  was  barely 
sufficient  for  the  defence  of  the  place,  and 
he  feared  to  take  the  field,  and  leave  his 
fortress   unguarded.      Luckily,    at    this 
juncture,  there  arrived  in  the  harbour  of 
Gibraltar  a  squadron  of  the  armed  galleys 
stationed  in  the  strait,  and  commanded 
by   Carlos    de   Valera.      The    alcayde 
immediately  prevailed  upon  him  to  guard 
the  place  during  his  absence,  and  sallied 
forth   at   midnight  with   seventy  horse,  j 
He  made  for  the  town  of  Castellar,  which  j 
is   strongly   posted   on   a   steep   height,  j 
knowing   that  the  Moorish  king  would  j 
have  to  return  by  this  place.    He  ordered 
alarm-fires  to  be  lighted  upon  the  moun 
tains,  to  give  notice  that  the  Moors  were 
on^the  ravage,  that  the  peasants  might  ! 
drive  the  flocks  and  herds  to  places  of  j 
refuge  ;  and  he  sent  couriers  at  full  speed 
in  every  direction,  summoning  the  fight 
ing  men  of  the  neighbourhood  to  meet 
him  at  Castellar.     Muley  Aben  Hassan 


saw,  by  the  fires  blazing  about  the  moun 
tains,  that  the  country  was  rising. 

He  struck  his  tents,  and  pushed  for 
ward  as  rapidly  as  possible  for  the 
border ;  but  he  was  encumbered  with 
booty,  and  with  the  vast  cavalgada  swept 
from  the  pastures  of  the  Campina  of 
Tarifa.  His  scouts  brought  him  word, 
that  there  were  troops  in  the  field ;  but 
he  made  light  of  the  intelligence,  know 
ing,  that  they  could  only  be  those  of  the 
alcayde  of  Gibraltar,  and  that  he  had 
not  more  than  a  hundred  horsemen  in  his 
garrison.  He  threw  in  advance  two 
hundred  and  fifty  of  his  bravest  troops, 
and  with  them  the  alcaydes  of  Marabilla 
and  Casares.  Behind  this  vanguard 
was  a  great  cavalgada  of  cattle,  and  in 
the  rear  marched  the  king,  with  the  main 
force  of  his  army.  It  was  near  the 
middle  of  a  sultry  summer  day,  that  they 
approached  Castellar.  De  Vargas  was 
on  the  watch ;  and  beheld,  by  an  im 
mense  cloud  of  dust,  that  they  were 
descending  one  of  the  heights  of  that 
wild  and  broken  country.  The  vanguard 
and  rearguard  were  above  half  a  league 
asunder,  with  the  cavalgada  between 
them,  and  a  long  and  a  close  forest  hid 
them  from  each  other.  De  Vargas  saw, 
that  they  could  render  but  little  assist 
ance  to  each  other,  in  case  of  a  sudden 
attack,  and  might  be  easily  thrown  into 
confusion.  He  chose  fifty  of  his  bravest 
horsemen,  and,  making  a  circuit,  took 
his  post  secretly  in  a  narrow  glen,  open 
ing  into  a  defile  between  two  rocky 
heights,  through  which  the  Moors  had  to 
pass.  It  was  his  intention  to  suffer  the 
vanguard  and  the  cavalgada  to  pass,  and 
to  fall  upon  the  rear. 

While  thus  lying  perdue,  six  Moorish 
scouts,  well  mounted  and  well  armed, 
entered  the  glen,  examining  every  place 
that  might  conceal  an  enemy.  Some  of 
the  Christians  advised,  that  they  should 
slay  these  six  men,  and  retreat  to  Gibral 
tar.  "  No,"  said  De  Vargas ;  "  I  have 
come  out  for  higher  game  than  these,  and 
I  hope,  by  the  aid  of  God  and  Santiago, 
to  do  good  work  this  day.  I  know  these 
Moors  well,  and  doubt  not  but  that  they 
may  readily  be  thrown  into  confusion." 

By  this  time  the  six  scouts  approached 
so  near,  that  they  were  on  the  point  of 
discovering  the  Christiam  ambush.  De 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


217 


Vargas  gave  the  word,  and  ten  horsemen  ; 
rushed  forth  upon  them.  In  an  instant,  ' 
four  of  the  Moors  rolled  in  the  dust ;  the  \ 
other  two  put  spurs  to  their  steeds,  and  fled  | 
towards  their  army,  pursued  by  the  fen  i 
Christians.  About  eighty  of  the  Moorish  j 
vanguard  came  galloping  to  the  relief  of  j 
their  companions  :  the  Christians  turned, 
and  fled  towards  their  ambush.  De 
Vargas  kept  his  men  concealed,  until  the 
fugitives  and  their  pursuers  came  clatter 
ing  pell-mell  into  the  glen :  at  a  signal 
trumpet,  his  men  sallied  forth,  with  great 
heat,  and  in  close  array.  The  Moors 
almost  rushed  upon  their  weapons  before 
they  perceived  them.  Forty  of  the  in 
fidels  were  overthrown ;  the  rest  turned 
their  backs.  "  Forward !"  cried  De 
Vargas :  "let  us  give  the  vanguard  a 
brush  before  it  can  be  joined  by  the  rear." 
So  saying,  he  pursued  the  flying  Moors 
down  the  hill,  and  came  with  such  force 
and  fury  upon  the  advance  guard,  as  to 
overthrow  many  of  them  at  the  first  en 
counter.  As  he  wheeled  off  with  his 
men,  the  Moors  discharged  their  lances, 
upon  which  he  returned  to  the  charge, 
and  made  great  slaughter.  The  Moors 
fought  valiantly  for  a  short  time,  until 
the  alcaydes  of  Marabilla  and  Casares 
were  slain,  when  they  gave  way,  and 
fled  for  the  rearguard.  In  their  flight 
they  passed  through  the  cavalgada  of 
cattle,  threw  the  whole  in  confusion,  and 
raised  such  a  cloud  of  dust,  that  the 
Christians  could  no  longer  distinguish 
objects.  Fearing  the  king  and  the  main 
body  might  be  at  hand,  and  finding  that 
De  Vargas  was  severely  wounded,  they 
contented  themselves  with  despoiling  the 
slain,  and  taking  above  twenty-eight 
horses,  and  then  returned  to  Castellar. 

When  the  routed  Moors  came  flying 
back  on  the  rearguard,  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  feared  that  the  people  of  Xeres 
were  in  arms.  Several  of  his  followers 
advised  him  to  abandon  the  cavalgada, 
and  retreat  by  another  road.  «« No," 
said  the  old  king ;  "  he  is  no  true  soldier, 
who  gives  up  his  booty  without  fighting." 
Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  galloped 
forward  through  the  centre  of  the  caval 
gada,  driving  the  cattle  to  the  right  and 
left.  When  he  reached  the  field  of  battle, 
he  found  it  strewed  with  the  bodies  of 
upwards  of  one  hundred  Moors,  among 


VOL.  ii. 


19 


which  were  those  of  the  two  alcaydes. 
Enraged  at  the  sight,  he  summoned  all 
his  crossbow-men  and  cavalry,  pushed 
on  to  the  very  gates  of  Castellar,  and  set 
fire  to  two  houses  close  to  the  walls. 
Pedro  de  Vargas  was  unable  from  his 
wound  to  sally  forth  in  person  ;  but  he 
ordered  out  his  troops,  and  there  was 
brisk  skirmishing  under  the  walls,  until 
the  king  drew  off,  and  returned  to  the 
scene  of  the  recent  encounter.  Here  he 
had  the  bodies  of  the  principal  warriors 
laid  across  mules,  to  be  interred  honoura 
bly  at  Malaga.  The  rest  of  the  slain 
were  buried  in  the  field  of  battle.  Gather 
ing  together  the  scattered  cavalgada,  he 
paraded  it  slowly,  in. an  immense  line, 
past  the  walls  of  Castellar,  by  way  of 
taunting  his  foe. 

With  all  his  fierceness,  old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  had  a  gleam  of  warlike 
courtesy,  and  admired  the  hardy  and 
soldier-like  character  of  Pedro  de  Vargas. 
He  summoned  two  Christian  captives, 
and  demanded  what  were  the  revenues  of 
the  alcayde  of  Gibraltar.  They  told  him, 
that,  among  other  things,  he  was  entitled 
to  one  out  of  every  drove  of  cattle  that 
passed  his  boundaries.  "  Allah  forbid  !" 
cried  the  old  monarch,  "  that  so  brave  a 
cavalier  should  be  defrauded  of  his 
right."  He  immediately  chose  twelve  of 
the  finest  cattle  from  the  twelve  droves 
which  formed  the  cavalgada.  These 
he  gave  in  charge  to  an  alfaqui,  to  de 
liver  them  to  Pedro  de  Vargas.  "  Tell 
him,"  said  he,  "  that  I  crave  his  pardon, 
for  not  having  sent  these  cattle  sooner, 
but  I  have  this  moment  learned  the  nature 
of  his  rights,  and  I  hasten  to  satisfy  them 
with  the  punctuality  due  to  so  worthy  a 
cavalier.  Tell  him  at  the  same  time, 
that  I  had  no  idea  the  alcayde  of  Gibral 
tar  was  so  active  and  vigilant  in  collect 
ing  his  tolls." 

The  brave  alcayde  relished  the  stern 
soldier-like  pleasantry  of  the  old  Moorish 
monarch,  and  replied  in  the  same  tone. 
"  Tell  his  majesty,"  said  he,  "  that  I  kiss 
his  hands  for  the  honour  he  has  done  me, 
and  regret  that  my  scanty  force  has  not 
permitted  me  to  give  him  a  more  signal 
reception  on  his  coming  into  these  parts. 
Had  three  hundred  horsemen,  whom  I 
have  been  promised  from  Xeres,  arrived 
in  time,  I  might  have  served  up  an  enter- 


218 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


tainment  more  befitting  such  a  monarch. 
I  trust,  however,  they  will  arrive  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  in  which  case  his 
majesty  may  be  sure  of  a  royal  regale  at 
the  dawning." 

He  then  ordered,  that  a  rich  silken 
vest  and  scarlet  mantle  should  be  given 
to  the  alfaqui,  and  dismissed  him  with 
great  courtesy. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  shook  his  head 
when  he  received  the  reply  of  De  Vargas. 
"  Allah  preserve  us,"  said  he,  "  from  any 
visitation  of  those  hard  riders  of  Xeres  ! 
A  handful  of  troops,  acquainted  with  the 
wild  passes  of  these  mountains,  may  de 
stroy  an  army  encumbered  as  ours  is 
with  booty." 

It  was  some  relief  to  the  king,  how 
ever,  to  learn,  that  the  hardy  alcayde  of 
Gibraltar  was  too  severely  wounded  to 
take  the  field  in  person.  He  immediately 
beat  a  retreat  with  all  speed ;  hurrying 
with  such  precipitation,  that  the  caval- 
gada  was  frequently  broken  and  scattered 
among  the  rugged  defiles  of  the  moun 
tains,  and  above  five  thousand  of  the 
cattle  turned  back,  and  were  regained  by 
the  Christians.  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
proceeded  triumphantly  with  the  residue 
to  Malaga,  glorying  in  the  spoils  of  the 
Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia. 

King  Ferdinand  was  mortified  at  find 
ing  his  incursion  into  the  vega  of  Granada 
counterbalanced  by  this  incursion  into  his 
own  dominions,  and  saw,  that  there  were 
two  sides  to  the  game  of  war,  as  to  all . 
other  games.  The  only  one  who  reaped 
real  glory  in  this  series  of  inroads  and 
skirmishings  was  Pedro  de  Vargas,  the 
stout  alcayde  of  Gibraltar.* 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Foray  of  the  Spanish  cavaliers  among  the  moun 
tains  of  Malaga. 

THE  foray  of  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
had  touched  the  pride  of  the  Andalusian 
chivalry,  and  they  determined  on  reta 
liation.  For  this  purpose,  a  number  of 
the  most  distinguished  cavaliers  assem 
bled  at  Antequera,  in  the  month  of  March, 
1483.  The  leaders  of  the  enterprise 
were  the  gallant  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  Don 
Pedro  Henriquez,  adelantado  of  Andalu 
sia,  Don  Juan  de  Silva,  Count  of  Cifu- 
*  Alonso  de  Palencia,  1.  xxviii.  c.  5. 


entes,  and  bearer  of  the  royal  standard, 
who  commanded  in  Seville,  Don  Alonso 
de  Cardenas,  master  of  the  religious 
and  military  order  of  Santiago,  and  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar.  Several  other  cava 
liers  of  note  hastened  to  take  part  in  the 
enterprise,  and  in  a  little  time,  about 
twenty-seven  hundred  horse  and  several 
companies  of  foot  were  assembled  within 
the  old  warlike  city  of  Antequera,  com 
prising  the  very  flower  of  Andalusian 
chivalry.  A  council  of  war  was  held 
by  the  chiefs,  to  determine  in  what  quar 
ter  they  should  strike  a  blow.  The  rival 
Moorish  kings  were  waging  civil  war 
with  each  other  in  the  vicinity  of  Gra 
nada,  and  the  whole  country  lay  open  to 
inroad.  Various  plans  were  proposed 
by  the  different  cavaliers.  The  Marquis 
of  Cadiz  was  desirous  of  scaling  the  walls 
of  Zahara,  and  regaining  possession  of 
that  important  fortress.  The  Master  of 
Santiago,  however,  suggested  a  wider 
range,  and  a  still  more  important  object. 
He  had  received  information  from  his 
adalides,  who  were  apostate  Moors,  that 
an  incursion  might  be  made  with  safety 
into  a  mountainous  region  near  Malaga, 
called  the  Axarquia.  Here  were  valleys 
of  pasture-land,  well  stocked  with  flocks 
and  herds;  and  there  were  numerous 
villages  and  hamlets,  which  would  be  an 
easy  prey.  The  city  of  Malaga  was  too 
weakly  garrisoned,  and  had  too  few 
cavalry,  to  send  forth  any  force  in  oppo 
sition.  And  he  added,  that  they  might 
extend  their  ravages  to  its  very  gates, 
and  peradventure  carry  that  wealthy 
place  by  sudden  assault.  The  adven 
turous  spirits  of  the  cavaliers  were  in 
flamed  by  this  suggestion :  in  their  san 
guine  confidence,  they  already  beheld 
Malaga  in  their  power,  and  they  were 
eager  for  the  enterprise.  The  Marquis 
of  Cadiz  endeavoured  to  interpose  a  little 
cool  caution :  he  likewise  had  apostate 
adalides,  the  most  intelligent  and  expe 
rienced  on  the  borders.  Among  these,  he 
placed  especial  reliance  on  one,  named 
Luis  Amar,  who  knew  all  the  mountains 
and  valleys  of  the  country.  He  had  re 
ceived  from  him  a  particular  account  of 
these  mountains  of  the  Axarquia.*  Their 

*  Pulgar,  in  his  chronicle,  reverses  the  case  and 
makes  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  recommend  the  expe 
dition  to  the  Axarquia ;  but  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


219 


savage  and  broken  nature  was  a  suffi 
cient  defence  for  the  fierce  people  that 
inhabited  them,  who,  manning  their 
rocks,  and  their  tremendous  passes, 
which  were  often  nothing  more  than  the 
deep,  dry  bed  of  torrents,  might  set 
whole  armies  at  defiance.  Even  if  van 
quished,  they  afforded  no  spoil  to  the 
victor ;  their  houses  were  little  better 
than  bare  walls,  and  they  would  drive 
off  their  scanty  flocks  and  herds  to  the 
fortresses  of  the  mountains.  The  sober 
counsel  of  the  Marquis  was  overruled. 
The  cavaliers,  accustomed  to  mountain 
warfare,  considered  themselves  and  their 
horses  equal  to  any  wild  and  rugged 
expedition,  and  were  flushed  with  the 
idea  of  a  brilliant  assault  upon  Malaga. 
Leaving  all  heavy  baggage  at  Antequera, 
and  all  such  as  had  horses  too  weak 
for  this  mountain  scramble,  they  set 
forth,  full  of  spirit  and  confidence.  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar  and  the  adelantado  of 
Andalusia  led  the  squadron  of  advance ; 
the  Count  of  Cifuentes  followed,  with 
certain  of  the  chivalry  of  Seville ;  then 
came  the  battalion  of  the  most  valiant 
Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis  of 
Cadiz :  he  was  accompanied  by  several 
of  his  brothers  and  nephews,  and  many 
cavaliers  who  sought  distinction  under 
his  banner ;  and  as  this  family  band 
paraded  in  martial  state  through  the 
streets  of  Antequera,  they  attracted  uni 
versal  attention  and  applause.  The  rear 
guard  was  led  by  Don  Alonso  Cardenas, 
master  of  Santiago ;  and  was  composed 
of  the  knights  of  his  order,  and  the  cava 
liers  of  Ecija,  with  certain  men-at-arms 
of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  whom  the  king 
had  placed  under  his  command.  The 
army  was  attended  by  a  great  train  of 
mules,  laden  with  provisions  for  a  few 
days'  supply,  until  they  should  be  able 
to  forage  among  the  Moorish  villages. 
Never  did  a  more  gallant  and  self-con 
fident  little  army  tread  the  earth.  It  was 
composed  of  men  full  of  health  and 
vigour,  to  whom  war  was  a  pastime  and 
delight.  They  had  spared  no  expense 
in  their  equipments ;  for  never  was  the 
pomp  of  war  carried  to  a  higher  pitch 
than  among  the  proud  chivalry  of  Spain. 

pida  is  supported  in  his  statement  by  that  most 
veracious  and  contemporary  chronicler,  Andres 
Bernaldes,  curate  of  Los  Palacios. 


Cased  in  armour,  richly  inlaid  and  em 
bossed,  decked  with  rich  surcoats  and 
waving  plumes,  and  superbly  mounted 
on  Andalusian  steeds,  they  pranced  out 
of  Antequera,  with  banners  flying,  and 
their  various  devices  and  armorial  bear 
ings  ostentatiously  displayed;  and,  in 
the  confidence  of  their  hopes,  promised 
the  inhabitants  to  enrich  them  with  the 
spoils  of  Malaga.  In  the  rear  of  this 
warlike  pageant  followed  a  peaceful  band, 
intent  upon  profiting  by  the  anticipated 
victories.  They  were  not  the  customary 
wretches  that  hover  about  armies,  to 
plunder  and  strip  the  dead ;  but  goodly 
and  substantial  traders,  from  Seville, 
Cordova,  and  other  cities  of  traffic.  They 
rode  sleek  mules,  and  were  clad  in  fair 
raiment,  with  long  leathern  purses  at 
their  girdles,  well  rilled  with  pistoles  and 
other  golden  coin.  They  had  heard  of 
the  spoils  wasted  by  the  soldiery  at  the 
capture  of  Alhama,  and  were  provided 
with  moneys  to  buy  up  the  jewels  and 
precious  stones,  the  vessels  of  gold  and 
silver,  and  the  rich  silks  and  cloths,  that 
should  form  the  plunder  of  Malaga.  The 
proud  cavaliers  eyed  these  sons  of  traffic 
with  great  disdain,  but  permitted  them  to 
follow,  for  the  convenience  of  the  troops, 
who  might  otherwise  be  overburdened 
with  booty. 

It  had  been  intended  to  conduct  this 
expedition  with  great  celerity  and  se 
crecy  ;  but  the  noise  of  their  preparations 
had  already  reached  the  city  of  Malaga. 
The  garrison,  it  is  true,  was  weak,  but 
the  commander  was  himself  a  host.  This 
was  Muley  Abdallah,  commonly  called 
El  Zagal,  or  "  the  valiant."  He  was 
younger  brother  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan, 
and  general  of  the  few  forces  which  re 
mained  faithful  to  the  old  monarch.  He 
possessed  equal  fierceness  of  spirit  with 
his  brother,  and  surpassed  him  in  craft 
and  vigilance.  His  very  name  was  a 
war-cry  among  his  soldiery,  who  had 
the  most  extravagant  opinion  of  his 
prowess. 

El  Zagal  suspected  that  Malaga  was 
the  object  of  this  noisy  expedition.  He 
consulted  with  old  Bexir,  a  veteran  Moor, 
who  governed  the  city.  "  If  this  army 
of  marauders  were  to  reach  Malaga," 
said  he,  "  we  should  hardly  be  able  to 
keep  them  without  its  walls.  I  will 


250 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


throw  myself  with  a  small  force  into  the 
mountains,  rouse  the  peasantry,  take 
possession  of  the  passes,  and  endeavour 
to  give  these  Spanish  cavaliers  sufficient 
entertainment  upon  the  road." 

It  was  on  a  Wednesday,  that  the 
prankling  army  of  high-mettled  war 
riors  issued  from  the  ancient  gates  of 
Antequera.  They  marched  all  day  and 
night,  making  their  way  secretly,  as 
they  supposed,  through  the  passes  of  the 
mountains.  As  the  tract  of  country  they 
intended  to  maraud  was  far  in  the  Moor 
ish  territories,  near  the  coast  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  they  did  not  arrive  there  till 
late  in  the  following  day.  In  passing 
through  these  stern  and  lofty  mountains, 
their  path  was  often  along  the  bottom  of 
a  barranca,  or  deep  rocky  valley,  with  a 
scanty  stream  dashing  along  it,  among 
the  loose  rocks  and  stones  which  it  had 
broken  and  rolled  down  in  the  time  of  its 
autumnal  violence.  Sometimes  their  road 
was  a  mere  rambla,  or  dry  bed  of  a  tor 
rent,  cut  deep  into  the  mountains,  and 
filled  with  their  shattered  fragments. 
I  These  barrancas  and  ramblas  were  over- 
j  hung  by  immense  cliffs  and  precipices, 
I  forming  the  lurking-places  of  ambuscades 
during  the  wars  between  the  Moors  and 
Spaniards,  as  in  after  times  they  have 
become  the  favourite  haunts  of  robbers, 
to  waylay  the  unfortunate  traveller. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  cavaliers 
came  to  a  lofty  part  of  the  mountains, 
commanding,  to  their  right,  a  distant 
glimpse  of  a  part  of  the  fair  vega  of  Ma- 
1  laga,  with  the  blue  Mediterranean  be 
yond,  and  they  hailed  it  with  exultation 
as  a  glimpse  of  the  promised  land.  As 
the  night  closed  in,  they  reached  the 
chain  of  little  valleys  and  hamlets,  lock 
ed  up  among  these  rocky  heights,  and 
known  among  the  Moors  by  the  name  of 
the  Axarquia.  Here  their  vaunting  hopes 
were  destined  to  meet  with  the  first  dis 
appointment.  The  inhabitants  had  heard 
of  their  approach ;  they  had  conveyed 
away  their  cattle  and  effects ;  and,  with 
their  wives  and  children,  had  taken  re 
fuge  in  the  towers  and  fortresses  of  the 
mountains.  Enraged  at  their  disappoint 
ment,  the  troops  set  fire  to  the  deserted 
houses,  and  pressed  forward,  hoping  for 
better  fortune  as  they  advanced,  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar,  and  the  other  cava 


liers  in  the  vanguard,  spread  out  their 
forces,  to  lay  waste  the  country ;  cap 
turing  a  few  lingering  herds  of  cattle, 
with  the  Moorish  peasants  who  were 
driving  them  to  some  place  of  safety. 
While  this  marauding  party  carried  fire 
and  sword  in  the  advance,  and  lit  up  the 
mountain  cliffs  with  the  flames  of  the 
hamlets,  the  Master  of  Santiago,  who 
brought  up  the  rearguard,  maintained 
strict  order,  keeping  his  knights  together 
in  martial  array,  ready  for  attack  or  de 
fence  should  an  enemy  appear.  The 
men-at-arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood 
attempted  to  roam  in  quest  of  booty  ;  but 
he  called  them  back,  and  rebuked  them 
severely. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  part  of  the 
mountain  completely  broken  up  by  bar 
rancas  and  ramblas  of  vast  depth,  and 
shagged  with  rocks  and  precipices.  It 
was  impossible  to  maintain  the  order  of 
march ;  the  horses  had  no  room  for 
action,  and  were  scarcely  manageable, 
having  to  scramble  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  up  and  down  frightful  declivities, 
where  there  was  scarce  footing  for  a 
mountain-goat.  Passing  by  a  burning 
village,  the  light  of  the  flames  revealed 
their  perplexed  situation.  The  Moors 
who  had  taken  refuge  in  a  watchtower 
on  an  impending  height,  shouted  with 
exultation,  when  they  looked  down  upon 
these  glistering  cavaliers,  struggling  and 
stumbling  among  the  rocks.  Sallying 
forth  from  their  tower,  they  took  posses 
sion  of  the  cliffs  which  overhung  the 
ravine,  and  hurled  darts  and  stones  upon 
the  enemy.  It  was  with  the  utmost  grief 
of  heart,  that  the  good  Master  of  San 
tiago  beheld  his  brave  men  falling  like 
helpless  victims  around  him,  without  the 
means  of  resistance  or  revenge.  The 
confusion  of  his  followers  was  increased 
by  the  shouts  of  the  Moors,  multiplied  by 
the  echoes  of  every  crag  and  cliff,  as  if 
they  were  surrounded  by  innumerable 
foes.  Being  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
country,  in  their  struggles  to  extricate 
themselves  they  plunged  into  other  glens 
and  defiles,  where  they  were  still  more 
exposed  to  danger.  In  this  extremity, 
the  Master  of  Santiago  despatched  mes 
sengers  in  search  of  succour.  The  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz,  like  a  loyal  companion 
in  arms,  hastened  to  his  aid  with  his 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


221 


cavalry.  His  approach  checked  the  as 
saults  of  the  enemy  ;  and  the  master  was 
at  length  enabled  to  extricate  his  troops 
from  the  defile.  In  the  mean  time,  Don 
Aloriso  de  Aguilar  and  his  companions, 
in  their  eager  advance,  had  likewise  got 
entangled  in  deep  glens,  and  dry  beds  of 
torrents,  where  they  had  been  severely 
galled  by  the  insulting  attacks  of  a  hand 
ful  of  Moorish  peasants,  posted  on  the 
impending  precipices.  The  proud  spirit 
of  De  Aguilar  was  incensed  at  having 
the  game  of  war  thus  turned  upon  him, 
arid  his  gallant  forces  domineered  over  by 
mountain  boors,  whom  he  had  thought 
to  drive,  like  their  own  cattle,  to  Ante- 
quera.  Hearing,  however,  that  the  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz  and  the  Master  of  Santiago 
were  engaged  with  the  enemy,  he  dis 
regarded  his  own  danger,  and  calling- 
together  his  troops,  returned  to  assist 
them,  or  rather,  to  partake  of  their 
perils.  Being  once  more  assembled  to 
gether,  the  cavaliers  held  a  hasty  coun 
cil,  amidst  the  hurling  of  stones  and 
whistling  of  arrows ;  and  their  resolves 
were  quickened  by  the  sight,  from  time 
to  time,  of  some  gallant  companion  in 
arms  laid  low.  They  determined,  that 
there  was  no  spoil  in  this  part  of  the 
country  to  repay  the  extraordinary  peril ; 
and  that  it  was  better  to  abandon  the 
herds  they  had  already  taken,  which 
only  embarrassed  their  march,  and  to 
retreat  with  all  speed  to  less  dangerous 
ground. 

The  adalides  or  guides  were  ordered 
to  lead  the  way  out  of  this  place  of  car 
nage.  These,  thinking  to  conduct  them 
by  the  most  secure  route,  led  them  by  a 
steep  and  rocky  pass,  difficult  to  the  foot- 
soldiers,  but  almost  impracticable  to  the 
cavalry.  It  was  overhung  with  preci 
pices,  .whence  showers  of  stones  and 
arrows  were  poured  upon  them,  accom 
panied  by  savage  yells,  which  appalled 
the  stoutest  heart.  In  some  places  they 
could  pass  but  one  at  a  time,  and  were 
often  transpierced,  horse  and  rider,  by 
the  Moorish  darts  ;  the  progress  of  their 
comrades  impeded  by  their  dying  strug 
gles.  The  surrounding  precipices  were 
lit  up  by  a  thousand  alarm-fires,  and 
every  crag  and  cliff  had  its  flames,  by 
the  light  of  which  they  behold  their  foes 
bounding  from  rock  to  rock,  and  looking 


more  like  fiends  than  mortal  men.  Either 
through  terror  and  confusion,  or  through 
real  ignorance  of  the  country,  their 
guides,  instead  of  conducting  them  out 
of  the  mountains,  led  them  deeper  into 
their  fatal  recesses.  The  morning  dawn 
ed  upon  them  in  a  narrow  rambla,  its 
bottom  filled  with  broken  rocks,  where 
once  had  raved  along  the  mountain  tor 
rent,  while  above  them  beetled  huge  arid 
cliffs,  over  the  brows  of  which  they  be 
held  the  turbaned  heads  of  their  fierce 
and  exulting  foes.  What  a  different  ap 
pearance  did  the  unfortunate  cavaliers 
present,  from  the  gallant  band  that 
marched  so  vauntingly  out  of  Antequera  ! 
Covered  with  dust  and  blood  and  wounds, 
and  haggard  with  fatigue  and  horror, 
they  looked  like  victims  rather  than  war 
riors.  Many  of  their  banners  were  lost, 
and  not  a  trumpet  was  heard,  to  rally 
their  sinking  spirits.  The  men  turned 
with  imploring  eyes  to  their  commanders, 
while  the  hearts  of  the  cavaliers  were 
ready  to  burst  with  rage  and  grief,  at  the 
merciless  havoc  made  among  their  faith 
ful  followers. 

All  day  they  made  ineffectual  attempts 
to  extricate  themselves  from  the  moun 
tains.  Columns  of  smoke  rose  from  the 
heights  where,  in  the  preceding  night, 
had  blazed  the  alarm-fires.  The  moun 
taineers  assembled  from  every  direction  ; 
they  swarmed  at  every  pass,  getting  in 
the  advance  of  the  Christians,  and  gar 
risoning  the  cliffs  like  so  many  towers 
and  battlements. 

Night  closed  again  upon  the  Christians, 
when  they  were  shut  up  in  a  narrow  val 
ley,  traversed  by  a  deep  stream,  and  sur 
rounded  by  precipices  that  seemed  to 
reach  the  skies,  and  on  which  the  alarm 
fires  blazed  and  flared.  Suddenly  a  new 
cry  was  heard  resounding  along  the  val 
ley.  "El  Zagal!  El  Zagal!"  echoed 
from  cliff  to  cliff.  "  What  cry  is  that  ?" 
said  the  Master  of  Santiago.  «  It  is  the 
war-cry  of  El  Zagal,  the  Moorish  gene 
ral,"  said  an  old  Castilian  soldier :  "  he 
must  be  coming  in  person  with  the  troops 
of  Malaga." 

The  worthy  master  turned  to  his 
knights  :  "  Let  us  die,"  said  he,  "  mak 
ing  a  road  with  our  hearts,  since  we  can 
not  with  our  swords.  Let  us  scale  the 
mountain,  and  sell  our  lives  dearly, 

19* 


222 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


instead  of  staying   here   to   be   tamely 
butchered." 

So  saying,  he  turned  his  steed  against 
the  mountain,  and  spurred  him  up  its 
flinty  side.  Horse  and  foot  followed  his 
example  ;  eager,  if  they  could  not  escape, 
to  have  at  least  a  dying  blow  at  the  ene 
my.  As  they  struggled  up  the  height,  a 
tremendous  storm  of  darts  and  stones  was 
showered  upon  them  by  the  Moors. 
Sometimes  a  fragment  of  rock  came 
bounding  and  thundering  down,  plough 
ing  its  way  through  the  centre  of  their 
host.  The  foot- soldiers,  faint  with  wea 
riness  and  hunger,  or  crippled  by  wounds, 
held  by  the  tails  and  manes  of  the  horses, 
to  aid  them  in  their  ascent,  while  the 
horses,  losing  their  footing  among  the 
loose  stones,  or  receiving  some  sudden 
wound,  tumbled  down  the  steep  declivity, 
steed,  rider,  and  soldier  rolling  from  crag 
to  crag,  until  they  were  dashed  to  pieces 
in  the  valley.  In  this  desperate  struggle, 
the  alferez,  or  standard-bearer  of  the 
master,  with  his  standard,  was  lost,  as 
were  many  of  his  relations  and  his 
dearest  friends.  At  length  he  succeeded 
in  attaining  the  crest  of  the  mountain, 
but  it  was  only  to  be  plunged  in  new  dif 
ficulties.  A  wilderness  of  rocks  and  rug 
ged  dells  lay  before  him,  beset  by  cruel 
foes.  Having  neither  banner  nor  trum 
pet,  by  which  to  rally  his  troops,  they 
wandered  apart,  each  intent  upon  saving 
himself  from  the  precipices  of  the  moun 
tains  and  the  darts  of  the  enemy.  When 
the  pious  Master  of  Santiago  beheld  the 
scattered  fragments  of  his  late  gallant 
force,  he  could  not  restrain  his  grief. 
"  O  God  !"  exclaimed  he,  "  great  is  thine 
anger  this  day  against  thy  servants ! 
Thou  hast  converted  the  cowardice  of 
these  infidels  into  desperate  valour,  and 
hast  made  peasants  and  boors  victorious 
over  armed  men  of  battle  !" 

He  would  fain  have  kept  with  his  foot- 
soldiers,  and,  gathering  them  together, 
have  made  head  against  the  enemy ;  but 
those  around  him  entreated  him  to  think 
only  of  his  personal  safety.  To  remain 
was  to  perish  without  striking  a  blow  ;  to 
escape  was  to  preserve  a  life  that  might 
be  devoted  to  vengeance  on  the  Moors. 
The  master  reluctantly  yielded  to  their 
advice.  "  O  Lord  of  Hosts  !"  exclaimed 
he  again,  "  from  thy  wrath  do  I  fly,  not 


from  these  infidels :  they  are  but  instru 
ments  in  thy  hands  to  chastise  us  for  our 
sins  !"  So  saying,  he  gent  the  guides  in 
advance,  and,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
dashed  through  a  defile  of  the  mountains, 
before  the  Moors  could  intercept  him. 
The  moment  the  master  put  his  horse  to 
speed,  his  troops  scattered  in  all  direc 
tions.  Some  endeavoured  to  follow  his 
traces,  but  were  confounded  among  the 
intricacies  of  the  mountain.  They  fled 
hither  and  thither ;  many  perishing 
among  the  precipices,  others  being  slain 
by  the  Moors,  and  others  taken  prisoners. 

The  gallant  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  guided 
by  his  trusty  adalide,  Luis  Amar,  had 
ascended  a  different  part  of  the  mountain. 
He  was  followed  by  his  friend,  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar,  the  adelantado,  and 
the  Count  of  Cifuentes  ;  but,  in  the  dark 
ness  and  confusion,  the  bands  of  these 
commanders  became  separated  from  each 
other.  When  the  marquis  attained  the 
summit,  he  looked  around  for  his  com 
panions  in  arms  ;  but  they  were  no  longer 
following  him,  and  there  was  no  trumpet 
to  summon  them.  It  was  a  consolation 
to  the  marquis,  however,  that  his  brothers 
and  several  of  his  relations,  with  a  num 
ber  of  his  retainers,  were  still  with  him. 
He  called  his  brothers  by  name,  and  their 
replies  gave  comfort  to  his  heart. 

His  guide  now  led  the  way  into  ano 
ther  valley,  where  he  would  be  less  ex 
posed  to  danger.  When  he  had  reached 
the  bottom  of  it,  the  marquis  paused  to 
collect  his  scattered  followers,  and  to  give 
time  for  his  fellow-commanders  to  rejoin 
him.  Here  he  was  suddenly  assailed  by 
the  troops  of  El  Zagal,  aided  by  the 
mountaineers  from  the  cliffs.  The  Chris 
tians,  exhausted  and  terrified,  lost  all 
presence  of  mind  ;  most  of  them  fled, 
and  were  either  slain  or  taken  captive. 
The  marquis  and  his  valiant  brothers, 
with  a  few  tried  friends,  made  a  stout 
resistance.  His  horse  was  killed  under 
him  ;  his  brothers,  Don  Diego  and  Don 
Lope,  with  his  two  nephews,  Don  Lo 
renzo  and  Don  Manuel,  were,  one  by  one, 
swept  from  his  side;  either  transfixed 
with  darts  and  lances  by  the  soldiers  of 
El  Zagal,  or  crushed  by  stones  from  the 
heights.  The  marquis  was  a  veteran 
warrior,  and  had  been  in  many  a  bloody 
battle,  but  never  before  had  death  fallen 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


223 


so  thick  and  close  around  him.  When 
he  saw  his  remaining  brother,  Don  Bel- 
tran,  struck  out  of  his  saddle  by  a  frag 
ment  of  a  rock,  and  his  horse  running 
wildly  about  without  his  rider,  he  gave  a 
cry  of  anguish,  and  stood  bewildered  and 
aghast.  A  few  faithful  followers  sur 
rounded  him,  and  entreated  him  to  fly  for 
his  life.  He  would  still  have  remained, 
to  have  shared  the  fortunes  of  his  friend, 
Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  and  his  other 
companions  in  arms  ;  but  the  forces  of 
El  Zagal  were  between  him  and  them, 
and  death  was  whistling  by  on  every 
wind.  Reluctantly,  therefore,  he  con 
sented  to  fly.  Another  horse  was  brought 
him  ;  his  faithful  adalide  guided  him  by 
one  of  the  steepest  paths,  which  lasted 
for  four  leagues  ;  the  enemy  still  hang 
ing  on  his  traces,  and  thinning  the  scanty 
ranks  of  his  followers.  At  length  the 
marquis  reached  the  extremity  of  the 
mountain  defiles,  and,  with  a  haggard 
remnant  of  his  men,  escaped  by  dint  of 
hoof  to  Antequera. 

The  Count  of  Cifuentes,  with  a  few  of 
his  retainers,  in  attempting  to  follow  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  wandered  into  a  nar 
row  pass,  where  they  were  completely 
surrounded  by  the  band  of  El  Zagal. 
Finding  all  attempt  at  escape  impossible, 
and  resistance  vain,  the  worthy  count 
surrendered  himself  prisoner,  as  did  also 
his  brother,  Don  Pedro  de  Silva,  and  the 
few  of  his  retainers  who  survived. 

The  dawn  of  day  found  Don  Alonso 
de  Aguilar,  with  a  handful  of  his  adhe 
rents,  still  among  the  mountains.  They 
had  attempted  to  follow  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  but  had  been  obliged  to  pause  and 
defend  themselves  against  the  thickening 
forces  of  the  enemy.  They  at  length 
traversed  the  mountain,  and  reached  the 
same  valley  where  the  marquis  had  made 
his  last  disastrous  stand.  Wearied  and 
perplexed,  they  sheltered  themselves  in 
a  natural  grotto,  under  an  overhanging 
rock,  which  kept  off  the  darts  of  the  ene 
my  ;  while  a  bubbling  fountain  gave  them 
the  means  of  slaking  their  raging  thirst, 
and  refreshing  their  exhausted  steeds. 
As  day  broke,  the  scene  of  slaughter  un 
folded  its  horrors.  There  lay  the  noble 
brothers  and  nephews  of  the  gallant 
marquis  transfixed  with  darts,  or  gashed 
and  bruised  with  unseemly  wounds  ; 


while  many  other  gallant  cavaliers  were 
stretched  out  dead  and  dying  around, 
some  of  them  partly  stripped  and  plun 
dered  by  the  Moors.  De  Aguilar  was  a 
pious  knight,  but  his  piety  was  not  hum 
ble  and  resigned,  like  that  of  the  worthy 
Master  of  Santiago.  He  imprecated  holy 
curses  upon  the  infidels,  for  having  thus 
laid  low  the  flower  of  Christian  chivalry, 
and  he  vowed  in  his  heart  bitter  vengeance 
upon  the  surrounding  country.  By  de 
grees  the  little  force  of  De  Aguilar  was 
augmented  by  numbers  of  fugitives,  who 
issued  from  caves  and  chasms,  where 
they  had  taken  refuge  in  the  night.  A 
little  band  of  mounted  knights  was  gradu 
ally  formed,  and  the  Moors  having  aban 
doned  the  heights  to  collect  the  spoils  of 
the  slain,  this  gallant  but  forlorn  squadron 
was  enabled  to  retreat  to  Antequera. 

This  disastrous  affair  lasted  from 
Thursday  evening  throughout  Friday, 
the  twenty-first  of  March,  the  festival 
of  St.  Benedict.  It  is  still  recorded  in 
Spanish  calendars  as  the  defeat  of  the 
mountains  of  Malaga ;  and  the  place 
where  the  greatest  slaughter  took  place 
is  pointed  out  to  the  present  day,  and  is 
called  La  cucsta  de  la  Matanza,  or  "  the 
hill  of  the  massacre."  The  principal 
leaders  who  survived  returned  to  Ante 
quera  ;  many  of  the  knights  took  refuge 
in  Alhama,  and  others  wandered  about 
the  mountains  for  eight  days,  living  on 
roots  and  herbs,  hiding  themselves  during 
the  day  and  roaming  forth  at  night.  So 
enfeebled  and  disheartened  were  they, 
that  they  offered  no  resistance  if  attack 
ed.  Three  or  four  soldiers  would  sur 
render  to  a  Moorish  peasant,  and  even 
the  women  of  Malaga  sallied  forth  and 
made  prisoners.  Some  were  thrown  into 
the  dungeons  of  frontier  towns ;  others 
led  captive  to  Granada ;  but  by  far  the 
greater  number  were  conducted  to  Ma 
laga,  the  city  they  had  threatened  to  at 
tack.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  principal 
cavaliers,  alcaydes,  commanders,  and 
hidalgos  of  generous  blood,  were  confined 
in  the  alcazaba  or  citadel  of  Malaga,  to 
await  their  ransom  ;  and  five  hundred 
and  seventy  of  the  common  soldiery  were 
crowded  in  an  enclosure  or  courtyard  of 
the  alcazaba,  to  be  sold  as  slaves.* 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


224 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Great  spoils  were  collected  of  splendid 
armour  and  weapons  taken  from  the  slain, 
or  thrown  away  by  the  cavaliers  in  their 
flight ;  and  many  horses,  magnificently 
caparisoned,  together  with  numerous 
standards ;  all  which  were  paraded  in 
triumph  into  the  Moorish  towns. 

The  merchants,  also,  who  had  come 
with  the  army,  intending  to  traffic  in  the 
spoils  of  the  Moors,  were  themselves 
made  objects  of  traffic.  Several  of  them 
were  driven  like  cattle  before  the  Moorish 
viragos  to  the  market  of  Malaga,  and,  in 
spite  of  all  their  adroitness  in  trade,  and 
their  attempts  to  buy  themselves  off  at  a 
cheap  ransom,  they  were  unable  to  pur 
chase  their  freedom  without  such  draughts 
upon  their  money-bags  at  home,  as  drain 
ed  them  to  the  very  bottom. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Effects  of  the  disasters  among  the  mountains  of 
Malaga. 

THE  people  of  Antequera  had  scarcely 
recovered  from  the  tumult  of  excitement 
and  admiration,  caused  by  the  departure 
of  the  gallant  band  of  cavaliers  upon 
their  foray,  when  they  beheld  the  scat 
tered  wrecks  flying  for  refuge  to  their 
walls.  Day  after  day,  and  hour  after 
hour,  brought  some  wretched  fugitive,  in 
whose  battered  plight,  and  haggard,  wo- 
begone  demeanour,  it  was  almost  impos 
sible  to  recognise  the  warrior,  whom  they 
had  lately  seen  to  issue  so  gayly  and 
gloriously  from  their  gates. 

The  arrival  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
almost  alone,  covered  with  dust  and 
blood,  his  armour  shattered  and  defaced, 
his  countenance  the  picture  of  despair, 
filled  every  heart  with  sorrow ;  for  he 
was  greatly  beloved  by  the  people.  The 
multitude  asked,  where  was  the  band  of 
brothers,  that  rallied  round  him  as  he 
went  forth  to  the  field  ;  and  when  they 
heard  that  they  had,  one  by  one,  been 
slaughtered  at  his  side,  they  hushed  their 
voices ;  or  spoke  to  each  other  only  in 
whispers  as  he  passed,  gazing  at  him  in 
silent  sympathy.  No  one  attempted  to 
console  him  in  so  great  an  affliction,  nor 
did  the  good  marquis  speak  ever  a  word, 
but,  shutting  himself  up,  brooded  in  lonely 
anguish  over  his  misfortune.  It  was  only 
the  arrival  of  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar  that 


gave  him  a  gleam  of  consolation  ;  for, 
amidst  the  shafts  of  death  that  had  fallen 
so  thickly  among  his  family,  he  rejoiced 
that  his  chosen  friend  and  brother  in  arms 
had  escaped  uninjured. 

For  several  days  every  eye  was  turn 
ed,  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  towards  the 
Moorish  border,  anxiously  looking,  in 
every  fugitive  from  the  mountains,  for 
the  lineaments  of  some  friend  or  rela 
tion,  whose  fate  was  yet  a  mystery.  At 
length  all  doubt  subsided  into  certainty  ; 
the  whole  extent  of  this  great  calamity  was 
known,  spreading  grief  and  consternation 
throughout  the  land,  and  laying  desolate 
the  pride  and  hopes  of  palaces.  It  was  a 
sorrow  that  visited  the  marble  hall  and 
silken  pillow.  Stately  dames  mourned 
over  the  loss  of  their  sons,  the  joy  and 
glory  of  their  age;  and  many  a  fair 
cheek  was  blanched  with  wo,  that  had 
lately  mantled  with  secret  admiration. 
"  All  Andalusia,"  says  an  historian  of 
the  day,  "  was  overwhelmed  by  a  great 
affliction;  there  was  no  drying  of  the 
eyes  which  wept  in  her."* 

Fear  and  trembling  reigned  for  a  while 
along  the  frontier.  Their  spear  seemed 
broken ;  their  buckler  cleft  in  twain. 
Every  border  town  dreaded  an  attack, 
and  the  mother  caught  her  infant  to  her 
bosom,  when  the  watch-dog  howled  in 
the  night,  fancying  it  the  war-cry  of  the 
Moor.  All  for  a  time  appeared  lost,  and 
despondency  even  found  its  way  to  the 
royal  breasts  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
amid  the  splendours  of  their  court. 

Great,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  joy 
of  the  Moors,  when  they  saw  whole 
legions  of  Christian  warriors  brought 
captive  into  their  towns  by  rude  moun 
tain  peasantry.  They  thought  it  the 
work  of  Allah  in  favour  of  the  faithful. 
But  when  they  recognised,  among  the 
captives  thus  dejected  and  broken  down, 
several  of  the  proudest  of  Christian  chi 
valry  ;  when  they  saw  several  of  the 
banners  and  devices  of  the  noblest  houses 
of  Spain,  which  they  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  behold  in  the  foremost  of  the 
battle,  now  trailed  ignominiously  through 
their  streets ;  when,  in  short,  they  wit 
nessed  the  arrival  of  the  Count  of 
Cifuentes,  the  royal  standard-bearer  of 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


225 


Spain,  with  his  gallant  brother,  Don 
Pedro  De  Silva,  brought  prisoners  into 
the  gates  of  Granada,  there  were  no 
bounds  to  their  exultation.  They  thought 
that  the  days  of  their  ancient  glory  were 
about  to  return,  and  that  they  were  to 
renew  their  career  of  triumph  over  the 
unbelievers. 

The  Christian  historians  of  the  time 
are  sorely  perplexed  to  account  for  this 
misfortune  ;  and  why  so  many  Christian 
knights,  fighting  in  the  cause  of  the  holy 
faith,  should  thus,  miraculously  as  it 
were,  be  given  captive  to  a  handful  of 
infidel  boors  ;  for  we  are  assured,  that 
all  this  rout  and  destruction  was  effected 
by  five  hundred  foot  and  fifty  horse,  and 
these  mere  mountaineers,  without  science 
or  discipline.*  "  It  was  intended,"  ob 
serves  one  historiographer,  "  as  a  lesson 
to  their  confidence  and  vainglory;  over 
rating  their  own  prowess,  and  thinking, 
that  so  chosen  a  band  of  chivalry  had 
but  to  appear  in  the  land  of  the  enemy, 
and  conquer.  It  was  to  teach  them,  that 
the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle 
to  the  strong,  but  that  God  alone  giveth 
the  victory." 

The  worthy  father  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida,  however,  asserts  it  to  be  a  punish 
ment  for  the  avarice  of  the  Spanish  war 
riors.  "  They  did  not  enter  the  kingdom 
of  the  infidels  with  the  pure  spirit  of 

|  Christian  knights,  zealous  only  for  the 
glory  of  the  faith  ;  but  rather  as  greedy 
men  of  trade,  to  enrich  themselves  by 
vending  the  spoils  of  the  infidels.  In 
stead  of  preparing  themselves  by  confes 
sion  and  communion,  and  executing  their 
testaments,  and  making  donations  to 
churches  and  convents,  they  thought 
only  of  arranging  bargains  and  sales 
of  their  anticipated  booty.  Instead  of 
taking  with  them  holy  monks,  to  aid 
them  with  their  prayers,  they  were 
followed  by  a  train  of  worldlings,  to 
keep  alive  their  secular  and  sordid  ideas, 
and  to  turn  what  ought  to  be  holy 
triumphs  into  scenes  of  brawling  traf 
fic."  Such  is  the  opinion  of  the  excel- 

[  lent  Agapida,  in  which  he  is  joined  by 
the  most  worthy  and  upright  of  chroni- 

I  clcrs,  the  curate  of  Los  Palacios.     Aga- 

I  pida  comforts  himself,  however,  with  the 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


reflection,  that  this  visitation  was  meant 
in  mercy,  to  try  the  Castilian  heart,  and 
to  extract  from  its  present  humiliation 
the  elements  of  future  success,  as  gold  is 
extracted  from  amidst  the  impurities  of 
earth  ;  and  in  this  reflection  he  is  sup 
ported  by  the  venerable  historian,  Pedro 
Abarca,  of  the  society  of  Jesuits."* 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

How  King  Boabdil  el  Chico  marched  over  the 
border. 

THE  defeat  of  the  Christian  cavaliers 
among  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  and  the 
successful  inroad  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
into  the  lands  of  Medina  Sidonia,  had 
produced  a  favourable  effect  on  the  for 
tunes  of  the  old  monarch.  The  incon 
stant  populace  began  to  shout  forth  his 
name  in  the  streets,  and  to  sneer  at  the 
inactivity  of  his  son,  Boabdil  el  Chico. 
The  latter,  though  in  the  flower  of  his  age, 
and  distinguished  for  vigour  and  dexterity 
in  jousts  and  tournaments,  had  never  yet 
fleshed  his  weapon  in  the  field  of  battle  ; 
and  it  was  murmured,  that  he  preferred 
the  silken  repose  of  the  cool  halls  of  the 
Alhambra,  to  the  fatigue  and  danger  of 
the  foray,  and  the  hard  encampments  of 
the  mountains. 

The  popularity  of  these  rival  kings 
depended  upon  their  success  against  the 
Christians  ;  and  Boabdil  el  Chico  found 
it  necessary  to  strike  some  signal  blow, 
to  counterbalance  the  late  triumph  of  his 
father.  He  was  further  incited  by  the 
fierce  old  Moor,  his  father-in-law,  AH 
Atar,  alcayde  of  Loxa,  with  whom  the 
coals  of  wrath  against  the  Christians 
still  burned  among  the  ashes  of  age,  and 
had  lately  been  blown  into  a  flame  by 
the  attack  made  by  Ferdinand  on  the 
city  under  his  command. 

AH  Atar  informed  Boabdil,  that  the 
late  discomfiture  of  the  Christian  knights 
had  stripped  Andalusia  of  the  prime  of 
her  chivalry,  and  broken  the  spirit  of 
the  country.  All  the  frontier  of  Cor 
dova  and  Ecija  now  lay  open  to  inroad  ; 
but  he  specially  pointed  out  the  city  of 
Lucena  as  an  object  of  attack  ;  being 
feebly  garrisoned,  and  lying  in  a  coun 
try  rich  in  pasturage,  abounding  in  cattle 

*  Abarca,  Anales  de  Aragon,  Key  30,  cap.  2, 
sec.  7. 


226 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


and  grain,  in  oil  and  wine.  The  fiery 
old  Moor  spoke  from  thorough  informa 
tion  ;  for  he  had  made  many  an  incursion 
into  those  parts,  and  his  very  name  was 
a  terror  throughout  the  country.  It  had 
become  a  byword  in  the  garrison  of  Loxa, 
to  call  Lucena  the  garden  of  Ali  Atar ; 
for  he  was  accustomed  to  forage  its  fertile 
territories  for  all  his  supplies. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  listened  to  the  persua 
sions  of  this  veteran  of  the  borders.  He 
assembled  a  force  of  nine  thousand  foot 
and  seven  hundred  horse,  most  of  them 
his  own  adherents,  but  many  the  parti 
sans  of  his  father :  for  both  factions, 
however  they  might  fight  among  them 
selves,  were  ready  to  unite  in  any  expe 
dition  against  the  Christians.  Many  of 
the  most  illustrious  and  valiant  of  the 
Moorish  nobility  assembled  around  his 
standard,  magnificently  arrayed  in  sump 
tuous  armour  and  rich  embroidery,  as 
though  they  were  going  to  a  festival,  or 
a  tilt  of  reeds,  rather  than  an  enterprise 
of  iron  war.  Boabdil's  mother,  the  Sul 
tana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  armed  him  for  the 
field,  and  gave  him  her  benediction  as 
she  girded  his  cimeter  to  his  side.  His 
favourite  wife  Morayma  wept,  as  she 
thought  of  the  evils  that  might  befall 
him.  "Why  dost  thou  weep,  daughter 
of  Ali  Atar?"  said  the  high-minded 
I  Ayxa ;  "  these  tears  become  not  the 
I  daughter  of  a  warrior,  nor  the  wife  of  a 
king.  Believe  me,  there  lurks  more 
danger  for  a  monarch  within  the  strong 
walls  of  a  palace,  than  within  the  frail 
curtains  of  a  tent.  It  is  by  perils  in  the 
field,  that  thy  husband  must  purchase 
security  on  his  throne." 

But  Morayma  still  hung  upon  his  neck 
with  tears  and  sad  forebodings ;  and 
when  he  departed  from  the  Alhambra, 
she  betook  herself  to  her  mirador,  which 
looks  out  over  the  vega ;  whence  she 
watched  the  army,  as  it  passed  in  shining 
order  along  the  road  that  leads  to  Loxa ; 
and  every  burst  of  warlike  melody  that 
came  swelling  on  the  breeze  was  answer 
ed  by  a  gush  of  sorrow. 

As  the  royal  cavalcade  issued  from  the 
palace,  and  descended  through  the  streets 
|  of  Granada,  the  populace  greeted  their 
youthful  sovereign  with  shouts,  and  anti 
cipated  success  that  should  wither  the 
laurels  of  his  father.  In  passing  through 


the  gate  of  Elvira,  however,  the  king 
accidentally  broke  his  lance  against  the 
arch.  At  this,  certain  of  the  nobles 
turned  pale,  and  entreated  him  not  to 
proceed,  for  they  regarded  it  as  an  evil 
omen.  Boabdil  scoffed  at  their  fears, 
for  he  considered  them  mere  idle  fancies ; 
or  rather,  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
he  was  an  incredulous  pagan,  puffed  up 
with  confidence  and  vainglory.  He 
refused  to  take  another  spear,  but  drew 
forth  his  cimeter,  and  led  the  way  (adds 
Agapida)  in  an  arrogant  and  haughty 
style,  as  though  he  would  set  both  heaven 
and  earth  at  defiance.  Another  evil  omen 
was  sent,  to  deter  him  from  his  enterprise. 
Arriving  at  the  rambla  or  dry  ravine  of 
Beyro,  which  is  scarcely  a  bowshot  from 
the  city,  a  fox  ran  through  the  whole 
army,  and  close  by  the  person  of  the 
king,  and,  though  a  thousand  bolts  were 
discharged  at  it,  escaped  uninjured  to 
the  mountains.  The  principal  courtiers 
about  Boabdil  now  reiterated  their  re 
monstrances  against  proceeding ;  for 
they  considered  these  occurrences  as 
mysterious  portents  of  disasters  to  their 
army.  The  king,  however,  was  not  to 
be  dismayed,  but  continued  to  march 
forward.* 

At  Loxa  the  royal  army  was  rein 
forced  by  old  Ali  Atar,  with  the  chosen 
horsemen  of  the  garrison,  and  many  of 
the  bravest  warriors  of  the  border  towns. 
The  people  of  Loxa  shouted  with  exulta 
tion,  when  they  beheld  Ali  Atar  armed 
at  all  points,  and  once  more  mounted  on 
his  Barbary  steed,  which  had  often  borne 
him  over  the  borders.  The  veteran  war 
rior,  with  nearly  a  century  of  years  upon 
his  head,  had  all  the  fire  and  animation 
of  a  youth  at  the  prospect  of  a  foray, 
and  careered  from  rank  to  rank  with  the 
velocity  of  an  Arab  of  the  desert.  The 
populace  watched  the  army  as  it  paraded 
over  the  bridge,  and  wound  into  the  passes 
of  the  mountains ;  and  still  their  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  pennon  of  Ali  Atar, 
as  if  it  bore  with  it  an  assurance  of 
victory. 

The  Moorish  army  entered  the  Chris 
tian  frontier  by  forced  marches,  hastily 
ravaging  the  country,  driving  off  the 
flocks  and  herds,  and  making  captives  of 

*  Marmol,  Rebel,  de  los  Moros,  lib.  1,  c.   12, 
fol.  14. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


227 


the  inhabitants.  They  pressed  on  furi 
ously,  and  made  the  latter  part  of  their 
march  in  the  night,  that  they  might  elude 
observation,  and  come  upon  Lucena  by 
surprise.  Boabdil  was  inexperienced  in 
the  art  of  war;  but  he  had  a  veteran 
counsellor  in  his  old  father-in-law  :  for 
AH  Atar  knew  every  secret  of  the  coun 
try  ;  and  as  he  prowled  through  it,  his 
eye  ranged  over  the  land,  uniting,  in  its 
glare,  the  craft  of  the  fox,  with  the  san 
guinary  ferocity  of  the  wolf.  He  had 
flattered  himself  that  their  march  had 
been  so  rapid  as  to  outstrip  intelligence, 
and  that  Lucena  would  be  an  easy  cap 
ture  ;  when,  suddenly,  he  beheld  the 
alarm-fires,  blazing  upon  the  mountains. 
"  We  are  discovered,"  said  he  to  Boabdil 
el  Chico ;  "  the  country  will  be  up  in 
arms.  We  have  nothing  left,  but  to 
strike  boldly  for  Lucena:  it  is  but  slightly 
garrisoned,  and  we  may  carry  it  by  as 
sault,  before  it  can  receive  assistance." 
The  king  approved  of  his  counsel,  and 
they  marched  rapidly  for  the  gate  of 
Lucena. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

How  the  Count  de  Cabra  sallied  forth  from  his 
castle,  in  quest  of  King  Boabdil. 

DON  DIEGO  DE  CORDOVA,  Count  of 
Cabra,  was  in  the  castle  of  Vaena,  which, 
with  the  town  of  the  same  name,  is  situ 
ated  on  a  lofty  sunburnt  hill,  on  the  fron 
tier  of  the  kingdom  of  Cordova,  and  but 
a  few  leagues  from  Lucena.  The  range 
of  mountains  of  Horquera  lies  between 
them.  The  castle  of  Vaena  was  strong, 
and  well  furnished  with  arms  ;  and  the 
count  had  a  numerous  band  of  vassals 
and  retainers :  for  it  behoved  the  noble 
men  of  the  frontiers  in  those  times  to  be 
well  prepared,  with  man  and  horse,  with 
lance  and  buckler,  to  resist  the  sudden 
incursions  of  the  Moors.  The  Count  of 
Cabra  was  a  hardy  and  experienced  war 
rior;  shrewd  in  council,  prompt  in  action, 
rapid  and  fearless  in  the  field.  He  was 
one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  for  an  inroad, 
and  had  been  quickened  and  sharpened 
in  thought  and  action  by  living  on  the 
borders. 

On  the  night  of  the  20th  of  April, 
1483,  the  count  was  about  to  retire  to 
rest,  when  the  watchman  from  the  turret 
brought  him  word,  that  there  were  alarm- 


fires  on  the  mountains  of  Horquera,  and 
that  they  were  made  on  the  signal  tower, 
overhanging  the  defile  through  which  the 
road  passes  to  Cabra  and  Lucena. 

The  count  ascended  the  battlements, 
and  beheld  five  lights  blazing  on  the 
tower ;  a  sign  that  there  was  a  Moorish 
army  attacking  some  place  on  the  fron 
tier.  The  count  instantly  ordered  the 
alarm-bells  to  be  sounded,  and  despatched 
couriers,  to  rouse  the  commanders  of 
the  neighbouring  towns.  He  ordered  all 
his  retainers  to  prepare  for  action,  and 
sent  a  trumpet  through  the  town,  sum 
moning  the  men  to  assemble  at  the  castle- 
gate  at  daybreak,  armed  and  equipped 
for  the  field. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  night, 
the  castle  resounded  with  the  din  of  pre 
paration.  Every  house  in  the  town  was 
in  equal  bustle ;  for  in  these  frontier 
towns  every  house  had  its  warrior,  and 
the  lance  and  buckler  were  ever  hanging 
against  the  wall,  ready  to  be  snatched 
down  for  instant  service.  Nothing  was 
heard  but  the  noise  of  armourers,  the 
shoeing  of  steeds,  and  furbishing  of  wea 
pons  ;  and  all  night  long  the  alarm-fires 
kept  blazing  on  the  mountain. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  Count 
of  Cabra  sallied  forth,  at  the  head  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  cavaliers,  of  the  best 
families  of  Vaena ;  all  well  appointed, 
exercised  in  arms,  and  experienced  in 
the  warfare  of  the  borders.  There  were, 
besides,  twelve  hundred  foot-soldiers ;  all 
brave  and  well-seasoned  men  of  the  same 
town.  The  count  ordered  them  to  hasten 
forward,  whoever  could  make  most  speed, 
taking  the  road  to  Cabra,  which  was  three 
leagues  distant.  That  they  might  not 
loiter  on  the  road,  he  allowed  none  of 
them  to  break  their  fast  until  they  arrived 
at  that  place.  The  provident  count  des 
patched  couriers  in  advance ;  and  the 
little  army,  on  reaching  Cabra,  found 
tables  spread  with  food  and  refreshments 
at  the  gates  of  the  town.  There  they 
were  joined  by  Don  Alonso  de  Cordova, 
senior  of  Zuheros. 

Having  made  a  hearty  repast,  they 
were  on  the  point  of  resuming  their 
march,  when  the  count  discovered,  that, 
in  the  hurry  of  his  departure  from  home, 
he  had  forgotten  to  bring  the  standard  of 
Vaena,  which,  for  upwards  of  eighty 


228 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


years,  had  always  been  borne  to  battle 
by  his  family.  It  was  now  noon,  and 
there  was  not  time  to  return.  He  took, 
therefore,  the  standard  of  Cabra,  the  de 
vice  of  which  is  a  goat,  and  which  had  not 
been  seen  in  the  wars  for  the  last  half 
century.  When  about  to  depart,  a  cou 
rier  came  galloping  at  full  speed,  bringing 
missives  to  the  count,  from  his  nephew, 
Don  Diego  Hernandez  de  Cordova,  senior 
of  Lucena,  and  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles, 
entreating  him  to  hasten  to  his  aid,  as  his 
town  was  beset  by  the  Moorish  king, 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  with  a  powerful  army, 
who  were  actually  setting  fire  to  the 
gates. 

The  count  put  his  little  army  instantly 
in  movement  for  Lucena,  which  is  only 
one  league  from  Cabra.  He  was  fired 
with  the  idea  of  having  the  Moorish  king 
In  person  to  contend  with.  By  the  time 
he  had  reached  Lucena,  the  Moors  had 
desisted  from  the  attack,  and  were  ra 
vaging  the  surrounding  country.  He 
entered  the  town  with  a  few  of  his  cava 
liers,  and  was  received  with  joy  by  his 
nephew,  whose  whole  force  consisted  but 
of  eighty  horse  and  three  hundred  foot. 
Don  Diego  Hernandez  de  Cordova  was  a 
young  man ;  yet  he  was  a  prudent,  care 
ful,  and  capable  officer.  Having  learned, 
the  evening  before,  that  the  Moors  had 
passed  the  frontiers,  he  had  gathered 
within  the  walls  all  the  women  and  chil 
dren  from  the  environs  ;  had  armed  the 
men,  sent  couriers  in  all  directions  for 
succour,  and  had  lighted  alarm-fires  on 
the  mountains. 

Boabdil  had  arrived  with  his  army  at 
daybreak,  and  had  sent  a  message,  threat 
ening  to  put  the  garrison  to  the  sword,  if 
the  place  were  not  instantly  surrendered. 
The  messenger  was  a  Moor  of  Granada, 
named  Hamet,  whom  Don  Diego  had 
formerly  known.  He  contrived  to  amuse 
him  with  negotiation,  to  gain  time  for 
succour  to  arrive.  The  fierce  old  AH 
Atar,  losing  all  patience,  had  made  an 
assault  upon  the  town,  and  stormed  like 
a  fury  at  the  gate;  but  had  been  repulsed. 
Another  and  more  serious  attack  was 
expected  in  the  course  of  the  night. 

When  the  Count  de  Cabra  had  heard 
this  account  of  the  situation  of  affairs,  he 
turned  to  his  nephew  with  his  usual  ala 
crity  of  manner,  and  proposed,  that  they 


should  immediately  sally  forth  in  quest 
of  the  enemy.  The  prudent  Don  Diego 
remonstrated  at  the  rashness  of  attacking 
so  great  a  force  with  a  mere  handful  of 
men.  "  Nephew,"  said  the  count,  "  I 
came  from  Vaena  with  a  determination 
to  fight  this  Moorish  king,  and  I  will  not 
be  disappointed." 

"  At  any  rate,"  replied  Don  Diego, 
"  let  us  wait  but  two  hours,  and  we  shall 
have  reinforcements,  which  have  been 
promised  me  from  Rambla,  Santaella, 
Montilla,  and  other  places  in  the  neigh 
bourhood."  "If  we  wait  these,"  said  the 
hardy  count,  "  the  Moors  will  be  off,  and 
all  our  trouble  will  have  been  in  vain. 
You  may  await  them  if  you  please :  I 
am  resolved  on  fighting." 

The  count  paused  not  for  a  reply ;  but, 
in  his  prompt  and  rapid  manner,  sallied 
forth  to  his  men.  The  young  alcayde 
de  los  Donzeles,  though  more  prudent 
than  his  ardent  uncle,  was  equally  brave. 
He  determined  to  stand  by  him  in  his 
rash  enterprise ;  and,  summoning  his 
little  force,  marched  forth  to  join  the 
count,  who  was  already  on  the  alert. 
They  then  proceeded  together  in  quest  of 
the  enemy. 

The  Moorish  army  had  ceased  ravag 
ing  the  country,  and  were  not  to  be  seen, 
the  neighbourhood  being  hilly,  and  broken 
with  deep  ravines.  The  count  despatched 
six  scouts  on  horseback,  to  reconnoitre, 
ordering  them  to  return  with  all  speed 
when  they  should  have  discovered  the 
enemy,  and  by  no  means  to  engage  in 
skirmishing  with  stragglers.  The  scouts, 
ascending  a  high  hill,  beheld  the  Moorish 
army  in  a  valley  behind  it ;  the  cavalry 
ranged  in  five  battalions,  keeping  guard, 
while  the  foot-soldiers  were  seated  on 
the  grass,  making  a  repast.  They  re 
turned  immediately  with  the  intelligence. 
The  count  now  ordered  the  troops  to 
march  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy.  He 
and  his  nephew  ascended  the  hill,  and 
saw,  that  the  five  battalions  of  Moorish 
cavalry  had  been  formed  in  two ;  one  of 
about  nine  hundred  lances,  and  the  other 
of  about  six  hundred.  The  whole  force 
seemed  prepared  to  march  for  the  fron 
tier.  The  foot-soldiers  were  already  in 
motion,  with  many  prisoners,  and  a  great 
train  of  mules  and  beasts  of  burden,  laden 
with  booty.  At  a  distance  was  Boabdil 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


229 


el  Chico.  They  could  not  distinguish  his 
person  ;  but  they  knew  him  by  his  superb 
white  charger,  magnificently  caparison 
ed  ;  and  by  his  being  surrounded  by  a 
numerous  guard,  sumptuously  armed  and 
attired.  Old  Ali  Atar  was  careering  about 
the  valley  with  his  usual  impatience, 
hurrying  the  march  of  the  loitering 
troops. 

The  eyes  of  the  Count  de  Cabra  glis 
tened  with  eager  joy,  as  he  beheld  the 
royal  prize  within  his  reach.  The  im 
mense  disparity  of  their  forces  never 
entered  into  his  mind.  "  By  Santiago  !" 
said  he  to  his  nephew,  as  they  hastened 
down  the  hill,  "  had  we  waited  for  more 
forces,  the  Moorish  king  and  his  army 
would  have  escaped  us  !" 

The  count  now  harangued  his  men,  to 
inspirit  them  to  this  hazardous  encounter. 
He  told  them,  not  to  be  dismayed  at  the 
number  of  the  Moors,  for  God  often  per 
mitted  the  few  to  conquer  the  many ;  and 
he  had  great  confidence  that,  through  the 
divine  aid,  they  were  that  day  to  achieve 
a  signal  victory,  which  should  win  them 
both  riches  and  renown.  He  commanded, 
that  no  man  should  hurl  his  lance  at  the 
enemy,  but  should  keep  it  in  his  hands, 
and  strike  as  many  blows  with  it  as  he 
could.  He  warned  them,  also,  never  to 
shout,  except  when  the  Moors  did;  for 
when  both  armies  shouted  together,  there 
was  no  perceiving  which  made  the  most 
noise,  and  was  the  strongest.  He  desired 
his  uncle,  Lope  de  Mendoza,  and  Diego 
Cabrera,  alcayde  of  Menica,  to  alight, 
and  enter  on  foot,  in  the  battalion  of 
infantry,  to  animate  them  to  the  combat. 
He  appointed,  also,  the  alcayde  of  Vaena, 
and  Diego  de  Clavijo,  a  cavalier  of  his 
household,  to  remain  in  the  rear,  and  not 
to  permit  any  one  to  lag  behind,  either  to 
despoil  the  dead,  or  for  any  other  pur 
pose. 

Such  were  the  orders  given  by  this 
most  adroit,  active,  and  intrepid  cavalier 
to  his  little  army ;  supplying,  by  admira 
ble  sagacity,  and  subtle  management,  the 
want  of  a  more  numerous  force.  His 
orders  being  given,  and  all  arrangements 
made,  he  threw  aside  his  lance,  drew  his 
sword,  and  commanded  his  standard  to  be 
advanced  against  the  enemy. 


TOL.  II. 


L'O 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Battle  of  Lucena. 

THE  Moorish  king  had  descried  the 
Spanish  forces  at  a  distance,  although  a 
slight  fog  prevented  his  seeing  them  dis 
tinctly,  and  ascertaining  their  numbers. 
His  old  father-in-law,  Ali  Atar,  was  by 
his  side,  who,  being  a  veteran  marauder, 
was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  standards 
and  armorial  bearings  of  the  frontiers. 
When  the  king  beheld  the  ancient  and 
long  disused  banner  of  Cabra  emerging 
from  the  mist,  he  turned  to  Ali  Atar,  and 
demanded  whose  ensign  it  was.  The 
old  borderer  was  for  once  at  a  loss ;  for 
the  banner  had  not  been  displayed  in 
battle  in  his  time. 

"  Sire,"  replied  he  after  a  pause,  "  I 
have  been  considering  that  standard,  but 
do  not  know  it.  It  appears  to  be  a  dog, 
which  is  a  device  borne  by  the  towns  of 
Baeza  and  Ubeda.  If  it  be  so,  all  An 
dalusia  is  in  movement  against  you  ;  for 
it  is  not  probable,  that  any  single  com 
mander  or  community  would  venture  to 
attack  you.  I  would  advise  you  there 
fore  to  retire." 

The  Count  of  Cabra,  in  winding  down 
the  hill  towards  the  Moors,  found  him 
self  on  a  much  lower  station  than  the 
enemy  :  he  therefore  ordered,  in  all  haste, 
that  his  standard  should  be  taken  back, 
so  as  to  gain  the  vantage  ground.  The 
Moors,  mistaking  this  for  a  retreat, 
rushed  impetuously  towards  the  Chris 
tians.  The  latter,  having  gained  the 
height  proposed,  charged  down  upon 
them  at  the  same  moment,  with  the  bat 
tle-cry  of  "  Santiago  !"  and,  dealing  the 
first  blows,  laid  many  of  the  Moorish 
cavaliers  in  the  dust. 

The  Moors,  thus  checked  in  their  tu 
multuous  assault,  were  thrown  into  con 
fusion,  and  began  to  give  way;  the 
Christians  following  hard  upon  them. 
Boabdil  el  Chico  endeavoured  to  rally 
them.  "  Hold  !  hold  !  for  shame !"  cried 
he:  "let  us  not  fly,  at  least  until  we  know 
our  enemy!"  The  Moorish  chivalry 
were  stung  by  this  reproof,  and  turned 
to  make  front,  with  the  valour  of  men 
who  feel  that  they  are  fighting  under 
their  monarch's  eye. 

At  this  moment,  Lorenzo  de  Pores, 
alcayde  of  Luque,  arrived  with  fifty 


230 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


horse  and  one  hundred  foot,  sounding  an 
Italian  trumpet  from  among  a  copse  of 
oak  trees,  which  concealed  his  force. 
The  quick  ear  of  old  Ali  Atar  caught  the 
note.  "  That  is  an  Italian  trumpet," 
said  he  to  the  king  :  "  the  whole  world 
seems  in  arms  against  your  majesty  !" 

The  trumpet  of  Lorenzo  de  Pores  was 
answered  by  that  of  the  Count  de  Cabra 
in  another  direction,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
Moors  as  if  they  were  between  two  armies. 
Don  Lorenzo,  sallying  from  among  the 
oaks,  now  charged  upon  the  enemy. 
The  latter  did  not  wait  to  ascertain  the 
force  of  this  new  foe.  The  confusion, 
the  variety  of  alarms,  the  attacks  from 
opposite  quarters,  the  obscurity  of  the 
fog,  all  conspired  to  deceive  them  as  to 
the  number  of  their  adversaries.  Broken 
and  dismayed,  they  retreated  fighting; 
and  nothing  but  the  presence  and 
remonstrances  of  the  king  prevented 
their  retreat  from  becoming  a  headlong 
flight. 

This  skirmishing  retreat  lasted  for 
about  three  leagues.  Many  were  the 
acts  of  individual  prowess  between  Chris 
tian  and  Moorish  knights ;  and  the  way 
was  strewed  by  the  flower  of  the  king's 
guards,  and  of  his  royal  household.  At 
length  they  came  to  the  rivulet  of  Min- 
gonzalez,  the  verdant  banks  of  which 
were  covered  with  willows  arid  tamarisks. 
It  was  swollen  by  recent  rain,  and  was 
now  a  deep  and  turbid  torrent. 

Here  the  king  made  a  courageous 
stand,  with  a  small  body  of  cavalry, 
while  his  baggage  crossed  the  stream. 
None  but  the  choicest  and  most  loyal  of 
his  guards  stood  by  their  monarch  in  this 
hour  of  extremity.  The  foot-soldiers 
took  to  flight  the  moment  they  passed 
the  ford  ;  many  of  the  horsemen,  par 
taking  of  the  general  panic,  gave  reins 
to  their  steeds,  and  scoured  for  the 
frontier.  The  little  host  of  devoted  ca 
valiers  now  serried  their  forces  in  front  of 
their  monarch,  to  protect  his  retreat. 
They  fought  hand  to  hand  with  the 
Christian  warriors ;  disdaining  to  yield, 
or  to  ask  for  quarter.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  the  dead  and  dying.  The 
king,  having  retreated  along  the  river 
banks,  and  gained  some  distance  from 
the  scene  of  combat,  looked  back,  and 
saw  the  loyal  band  at  length  give  way. 


They  crossed  the  ford,  followed  pell-mell 
by  the  enemy,  and  several  of  them  were 
struck  down  into  the  stream. 

The  king  now  dismounted  from  his 
white  charger,  whose  colour  and  rich 
caparison  made  him  too  conspicuous,  and 
endeavoured  to  conceal  himself  among 
the  thickets  which  fringed  the  river.  A 
soldier  of  Lucena,  named  Martin  Hur- 
tado,  discovered  him  and  attacked  him 
with  a  pike.  The  king  defended  himself 
with  cimeter  and  target,  until  another 
soldier  assailed  him,  and  he  saw  a  third 
approaching.  Perceiving  that  further 
resistance  would  be  vain,  he  drew  back, 
and  called  upon  them  to  desist,  offering 
them  a  noble  ransom.  One  of  the  sol 
diers  rushed  forward  to  seize  him  ;  but 
the  king  struck  him  to  the  earth  with  a 
blow  of  his  cimeter. 

Don  Diego  Fernandez  de  Cordova 
coming  up  at  this  moment,  the  men  said 
to  him,  "  Seiior,  here  is  a  Moor  that  we 
have  taken,  who  seems  to  be  a  man  of 
rank,  and  offers  a  large  ransom." 

"  Slaves !"  exclaimed  King  Boabdil, 
"  you  have  not  taken  me.  I  surrender 
to  this  cavalier." 

Don  Diego  received  him  with  knightly 
courtesy.  He  perceived  him  to  be  a 
person  of  high  rank  ;  but  the  king  con 
cealed  his  quality,  and  gave  himself  out 
as  the  son  of  Aben  Aleyzer,  a  nobleman 
of  the  royal  household.*  Don  Diego 
gave  him  in  charge  of  five  soldiers,  to 
conduct  him  to  the  castle  of  Lucena  ; 
then  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  has 
tened  to  rejoin  the  Count  de  Cabra,  who 
was  in  hot  pursuit  of  the  enemy.  He 
overtook  him  at  a  stream  called  Riancal, 
and  they  continued  to  press  on  the  skirts 
of  the  flying  army  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day.  The  pursuit  was  almost  as 
hazardous  as  the  battle;  for  had  the 
enemy  at  any  time  recovered  from  their 
panic,  they  might,  by  a  sudden  reaction, 
have  overwhelmed  the  small  force  of 
their  pursuers.  To  guard  against  this 
peril,  the  wary  count  kept  his  battalion 
always  in  close  order,  and  had  a  body 
of  a  hundred  chosen  lances  in  the  ad 
vance.  The  Moors  kept  up  a  Parthian 
retreat.  Several  times  they  turned  to 
make  battle ;  but  seeing  this  solid  body 

*  Garibay,  lib.  xl.  cap.  31. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


231 


of  steeled  warriors  pressing  upon  them, 
they  again  took  to  flight. 

The  main  retreat  of  the  army  was 
along  the  valley  watered  by  the  Xenil, 
and  opening  through  the  mountains  of 
Algaringo  to  the  city  of  Loxa.  The 
alarm-fires  of  the  preceding  night  had 
roused  the  country.  Every  man  snatched 
sword  and  buckler  from  the  wall ;  and 
the  towns  and  villages  poured  forth  their 
warriors  to  harass  the  retreating  foe. 
Ali  Atar  kept  the  main  force  of  the  army 
together,  and  turned  fiercely  from  time 
to  time  upon  his  pursuers.  He  was  like 
a  wolf  hunted  through  a  country  he  had 
often  made  desolate  by  his  maraudings. 

The  alarm  of  this  invasion  had  reached 
the  city  of  Antequera,  where  were  several 
of  the  cavaliers  who  had  escaped  from 
the  carnage  in  the  mountains  of  Malaga. 
Their  proud  minds  were  festering  with 
their  late  disgrace,  and  their  only  prayer 
was  for  vengeance  on  the  infidels.  No 
sooner  did  they  hear  of  the  Moors  being 
over  the  border,  than  they  were  armed 
and  mounted  for  action.  Don  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar  led  them  forth  :  a  small  body 
of  but  forty  horsemen,  but  all  cavaliers 
of  prowess,  and  thirsting  for  revenge. 
They  came  upon  the  foe  on  the  banks 
of  the  Xenil,  where  it  winds  through  the 
valleys  of  Cordova.  The  river,  swelled 
by  the  late  rains,  was  deep  and  turbulent, 
and  only  fordable  at  certain  places.  The 
main  body  of  the  army  was  gathered 
in  confusion  on  the  banks,  endeavouring 
to  ford  the  stream,  protected  by  the  ca 
valry  of  Ali  Atar. 

No  sooner  did  the  little  band  of  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar  come  in  sight  of  the  Moors, 
than  fury  flashed  from  their  eyes.  "  Re 
member  the  mountains  of  Malaga!"  they 
cried  to  each  other  as  they  rushed  to 
combat.  Their  charge  was  desperate, 
but  was  gallantly  resisted.  A  scrambling 
and  bloody  fight  ensued,  hand  to  hand, 
and  sword  to  sword,  sometimes  on  land, 
sometimes  in  the  water;  many  were 
lanced  on  the  banks ;  others,  throwing 
themselves  into  the  river,  sunk  with  the 
weight  of  their  armour,  and  were 
drowned.  Some,  grappling  together, 
fell  from  their  horses,  but  continued  their 
struggle  in  the  waves,  and  helm  and  tur 
ban  rolled  together  down  the  stream. 
The  Moors  were  by  far  the  superior  in 


number,  and  among  them  were  many 
warriors  of  rank  ;  but  they  were  disheart 
ened  by  defeat,  while  the  Christians  were 
excited  even  to  desperation. 

Ali  Atar  alone  preserved  all  his  fire 
and  energy  amid  his  reverses.  He  had 
been  enraged  at  the  defeat  of  the  army, 
the  loss  of  the  king,  and  the  ignominious 
flight  he  had  been  obliged  to  make, 
through  a  country  which  so  often  had 
been  the  scene  of  his  exploits  ;  but  to  be 
thus  impeded  in  his  flight,  and  harassed 
and  insulted  by  a  mere  handful  of  war 
riors,  roused  the  violent  passions  of  the 
old  Moor  to  perfect  frenzy. 

He  had  marked  Don  Alonso  de  Agui 
lar  dealing  his  blows,  says  Agapida,  with 
the  pious  vehemence  of  a  righteous 
knight,  who  knows  that  in  every  wound 
inflicted  upon  the  infidels,  he  is  doing 
God  service.  Ali  Atar  spurred  his  steed 
along  the  bank  of  the  river,  to  come  upon 
Don  Alonso  by  surprise.  The  back  of 
that  warrior  was  towards  him ;  and  col 
lecting  all  his  force,  the  Moor  hurled  his 
lance,  to  transfix  him  on  the  spot.  The 
lance  was  not  thrown  with  the  usual  ac 
curacy  of  Ali  Atar.  It  tore  away  a  part 
of  the  cuirass  of  Don  Alonso,  but  failed 
to  inflict  a  wound.  The  Moor  rushed 
upon  Don  Alonso  with  his  cimeter ;  but 
the  latter  was  on  the  alert,  and  parried 
his  blow.  They  fought  desperately  upon 
the  borders  of  the  river,  alternately  press 
ing  each  other  into  the  stream,  and 
fighting  their  way  again  up  the  bank. 
Ali  Atar  was  repeatedly  wounded;  and 
Don  Alonso,  having  pity  on  his  age, 
would  have  spared  his  life.  He  called 
upon  him  to  surrender.  "  Never,"  cried 
Ali  Atar,  "to  a  Christian  dog."  The 
words  were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth, 
when  the  sword  of  Don  Alonso  clove  his 
turbaned  head,  and  sank  deep  into  -the 
brain.  He  fell  dead  without  a  groan : 
his  body  rolled  into  the  Xenil ;  nor  was 
it  ever  found  and  recognised.*  Thus  fell 
Ali  Atar,  who  had  long  been  the  terror 
of  Andalusia.  As  he  had  hated  and 
warred  upon  the  Christians  all  his  life, 
so  he  died  in  the  very  act  of  bitter  hos 
tility. 

The  fall  of  Ali  Atar  put  an  end  to  the 
transient  stand  of  the  cavalry.  Horse 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacioa. 


232 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


and  foot  mingled  together  in  the  des 
perate  struggle  across  the  Xenil,  and 
many  were  trampled  down,  and  perished 
beneath  the  waves.  Don  Alonso  and  his 
band  continued  to  harass  them,  until  they 
crossed  the  frontier ;  and  every  blow 
struck  home  to  the  Moors  seemed  to 
lighten  the  load  of  humiliation  and  sor 
row,  which  had  weighed  heavy  on  their 
hearts. 

In  this  disastrous  rout,  the  Moors  lost 
upwards  of  five  thousand  killed  and  made 
prisoners,  many  of  whom  were  of  the 
most  noble  lineages  of  Granada.  Num 
bers  fled  to  rocks  and  mountains,  where 
they  were  subsequently  taken.  This 
battle  was  called  by  some  the  battle  of 
Lucena ;  by  others,  the  battle  of  the 
Moorish  king,  because  of  the  capture  of 
Boabdil.  Twenty-two  banners  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  Christians,  and  were 
carried  to  Vaena,  and  hung  up  in  the 
church,  where,  says  an  historian  of  after 
times,  they  remain  to  this  day.  Once  a 
year,  on  the  day  of  St.  George,  they  are 
borne  about  in  procession  by  the  inhabi 
tants,  who  at  the  same  time  give  thanks 
to  God,  for  this  signal  victory  granted  to 
their  forefathers. 

Great  was  the  triumph  of  the  Count 
de  Cabra,  when,  on  returning  from  the 
pursuit  of  the  enemy,  he  found  that  the 
Moorish  king  had  fallen  into  his  hands. 
When  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  was 
brought  before  him,  however,  and  he 
beheld  him  a  dejected  captive,  whom, 
but  shortly  before,  he  had  seen  in  royal 
splendour,  surrounded  by  his  army,  the 
generous  heart  of  the  count  was  touched 
by  sympathy.  He  said  every  thing  that 
became  a  courteous  and  Christian  knight, 
to  comfort  him  ;  observing,  that  the  same 
mutability  of  things  which  had  suddenly 
destroyed  his  recent  prosperity,  might 
cause  his  present  misfortunes  as  rapidly 
to  pass  away ;  since,  in  this  world, 
nothing  is  stable,  and  even  sorrow  has 
its  allotted  term. 

Thus  consoling  him  by  gentle  and 
soothing  words,  and  observing  towards 
him  the  honour  and  reverence  that  his 
dignity  and  his  misfortunes  inspired,  he 
conducted  him  a  prisoner  to  his  strong 
castle  of  Vaena. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Lamentations  of  the  Moors  for  the  Battle  of 
Lucena. 

THE  sentinels  looked  out  from  the 
watchtowers  of  Loxa,  along  the  valley 
of  the  Xenil,  which  passes  through  the 
mountains  of  Algaringo.  They  looked, 
to  behold  the  king  returning  in  triumph, 
at  the  head  of  his  shining  host,  laden 
with  the  spoil  of  the  unbeliever.  They 
looked,  to  behold  the  standard  of  their 
warlike  idol,  the  fierce  AH  Atar,  borne 
by  the  chivalry  of  Loxa,  ever  foremost 
in  the  wars  of  the  border. 

In  the  evening  of  the  21st  of  April, 
they  descried  a  single  horseman,  urging 
his  faltering  steed  along  the  banks  of 
the  river.  As  he  drew  near,  they  per 
ceived,  by  the  flash  of  arms,  that  he  was 
a  warrior  ;  and,  on  nearer  approach,  by 
the  richness  of  his  armour,  and  the  ca 
parison  of  his  steed,  they  knew  him  to 
be  a  warrior  of  rank. 

He  reached  Loxa  faint  and  aghast ; 
his  Arabian  courser  covered  with  foam 
and  dust  and  blood,  panting  and  stag 
gering  with  fatigue,  and  gashed  with 
wounds.  Having  brought  his  master 
in  safety,  he  sunk  down  and  died  before 
the  gate  of  the  city.  The  soldiers  at 
the  gate  gathered  round  the  cavalier,  as 
he  stood,  mute  and  melancholy,  by  his 
expiring  steed.  They  knew  him  to  be 
the  gallant  Cidi  Caleb,  nephew  of  the 
chief  alfaqui  of  the  albaycen  of  Gra 
nada.  When  the  people  of  Loxa  beheld 
this  noble  cavalier  thus  alone,  haggard 
and  dejected,  their  hearts  were  filled  with 
fearful  forebodings. 

"  Cavalier,"  said  they,  "  how  fares  it 
with  the  king  and  army  ?"  He  cast  his 
hand  mournfully  towards  the  land  of  the 
Christians.  "  There  they  lie  !"  exclaimed 
he  :  "  the  heavens  have  fallen  upon  them  ! 
all  are  lost !  all  dead  !"* 

Upon  this,  there  was  a  great  cry  of 
consternation  among  the  people,  and 
loud  wailings  of  women ;  for  the  flower 
of  the  youth  of  Loxa  were  with  the 
army.  An  old  Moorish  soldier,  scarred 
in  many  a  border  battle,  stood  leaning 
on  his  lance  by  the  gateway.  "  Where 
is  Ali  Atar?"  demanded  he  eagerly. 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


233 


"  If  he  still    live,  the   army  cannot   be 
lost !" 

"  I  saw  his  turban  cloven  by  the 
Christian  sword,"  replied  Cidi  Caleb 
"  His  body  is  floating  in  the  Xenil." 

When  the  soldier  heard  these  words, 
he  smote  his  breast,  and  threw  dust  upon 
his  head ;  for  he  was  an  old  follower  of 
Ali  Atar. 

The  noble  Cidi  Caleb  gave  himself  no 
repose  ;  but,  mounting  another  steed,  has 
tened  to  carry  the  disastrous  tidings  to 
Granada.  As  he  passed  through  the 
villages  and  hamlets,  he  spread  sorrow 
around  ;  for  their  chosen  men  had  fol 
lowed  the  king  to  the  wars. 

When  he  entered  the  gates  of  Gra 
nada,  and  announced  the  loss  of  the 
king  and  army,  a  voice  of  horror  went 
throughout  the  city.  Every  one  thought 
but  of  his  own  share  in  the  general 
calamity,  and  crowded  round  the  bearer 
of  ill  tidings.  One  asked  after  a  father, 
another  after  a  brother,  some  after  a 
lover,  and  many  a  mother  after  her  son. 
His  replies  were  still  of  wounds  and 
death.  To  one  he  replied,  "  I  saw  thy 
father  pierced  with  a  lance,  as  he  de 
fended  the  person  of  the  king."  To 
another,  "  Thy  brother  fell  wounded  un 
der  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  ;  but  there 
was  no  time  to  aid  him,  for  the  Christian 
cavalry  were  upon  us."  To  a  third,  "  I 
saw  the  horse  of  thy  lover  covered  with 
blood,  and  galloping  without  his  rider." 
To  a  fourth,  "  Thy  son  fought  by  my 
side  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil :  we  were 
surrounded  by  the  enemy,  and  driven  into 
the  stream.  I  heard  him  call  aloud  upon 
Allah  in  the  midst  of  the  waters :  when 
I  reached  the  other  bank,  he  was  no 
longer  by  my  side  !" 

The  noble  Cidi  Caleb  passed  on,  leav 
ing  Granada  in  lamentation.  He  urged 
his  steed  up  the  steep  avenue  of  trees 
and  fountains,  that  leads  to  the  Alham- 
bra,  nor  stopped  until  he  arrived  before 
the  gate  of  justice.  Ayxa,  the  mother 
of  Boabdil,  and  Morayma,  his  beloved 
and  tender  wife,  had  daily  watched, 
from  the  tower  of  the  Gomeres,  to  be 
hold  his  triumphant  return.  Who  shall 
describe  their  affliction,  when  they  heard 
the  tidings  of  Cidi  Caleb  ?  The  sultana 
Ayxa  spake  not  much,  but  sate  as  one 
entranced  in  wo.  Every  now  and  then 


a  deep  sigh  burst  forth  ;  but  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  heaven.  "  It  is  the  will  of 
Allah  !"  said  she ;  and  with  these  words 
she  endeavoured  to  repress  the  agonies 
of  a  mother's  sorrow.  The  tender  Mo 
rayma  threw  herself  on  the  earth,  and 
gave  way  to  the  full  turbulence  of  her 
feelings,  bewailing  her  husband  and  her 
father.  The  high-minded  Ayxa  rebuked 
the  violence  of  her  grief.  "  Moderate 
these  transports,  my  daughter,"  said 
she  ;  "  remember,  magnanimity  should 
be  the  attribute  of  princes :  it  becomes 
not  them  to  give  way  to  clamorous  sor 
row,  like  common  and  vulgar  minds." 
But  Morayma  could  only  deplore  her 
loss  with  the  anguish  of  a  tender  wo 
man.  She  shut  herself  up  in  her  mira- 
dor,  and  gazed  all  day  with  streaming 
eyes  upon  the  vega.  Every  object  be 
fore  her  recalled  the  causes  of  her  af 
fliction.  The  river  Xenil,  which  ran 
shining  amidst  the  groves  and  gardens, 
was  the  same  on  the  banks  of  which 
had  perished  her  father,  Ali  Atar :  be 
fore  her  lay  the  road  to  Loxa,  by  which 
Boabdil  had  departed  in  martial  state, 
surrounded  by  the  chivalry  of  Granada. 
Ever  and  anon  she  would  burst  into  an 
agony  of  grief.  "  Alas,  my  father  !" 
she  would  exclaim,  "  the  river  runs 
smiling  before  me,  that  covers  thy  man 
gled  remains  !  who  will  gather  them  to 
an  honoured  tomb,  in  the  land  of  the 
unbeliever  ?  And  thou,  oh,  Boabdil ! 
light  of  my  eyes !  joy  of  my  heart ! 
life  of  my  life  !  Wo  the  day,  and  wo 
the  hour,  that  I  saw  thee  depart  from 
these  walls !  The  road  by  which  thou 
hast  departed  is  solitary :  never  will  it 
be  gladdened  by  thy  return !  The 
mountain  thou  hast  traversed  lies  like 
a  cloud  in  the  distance,  and  all  beyond 
it  is  darkness !" 

The  royal  minstrels  were  summoned, 
to  assuage  the  sorrows  of  the  queen : 
they  attuned  their  instruments  to  cheer-* 
ful  strains ;  but,  in  a  little  while,  the 
anguish  of  their  hearts  prevailed^  and 
turned  their  songs  to  lamentations. 

"  Beautiful  Granada  !"  they  exclaimed, 
'  how  is  thy  glory  faded !  The  vivar- 
rambla  no  longer  echoes  to  the  tramp 
of  steed  and  sound  of  trumpet ;  no 
onger  is  it  crowded  with  thy  youthful 
nobles,  eager  to  display  their  prowess 
20* 


234 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


in  the  tourney  and  the  festive  tilt  of 
reeds.  Alas  !  the  flower  of  thy  chivalry 
lies  low  in  a  foreign  land  !  The  soft 
note  of  the  lute  is  no  longer  heard  in 
thy  mournful  streets,  the  lively  castanet 
is  silent  upon  thy  hills,  and  the  graceful 
dance  of  the  zambra  is  no  more  seen 
beneath  thy  bowers  !  Behold,  the  Al- 
hambra  is  forlorn  and  desolate !  In 
vain  do  the  orange  and  myrtle  breathe 
their  perfumes  into  its  silken  chambers; 
in  vain  does  the  nightingale  sing  within 
its  groves ;  in  vain  are  its  marble  halls 
refreshed  by  the  sound  of  fountains  and 
the  gush  of  limpid  rills  !  Alas !  the 
countenance  of  the  king  no  longer 
shines  within  those  halls  ;  the  light  of 
the  Alhambra  is  set  for  ever  !" 

Thus  all  Granada,  say  the  Arabian 
chroniclers,  gave  itself  up  to  lamenta 
tions  ;  there  was  nothing  but  the  voice 
of  wailing  from  the  palace  to  the  cot 
tage.  All  joined  to  deplore  their  youth 
ful  monarch,  cut  down  in  the  freshness 
and  promise  of  his  youth.  Many  feared 
that  the  prediction  of  the  astrologer  was 
about  to  be  fulfilled,  and  that  the  down 
fall  of  the  kingdom  would  follow  the 
death  of  Boabdil ;  while  all  declared, 
that  had  he  survived,  he  was  the  very 
sovereign  calculated  to  restore  the  realm 
to  its  ancient  prosperity  and  glory. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

How  Muley  Aben  Hassan  profited  by  the  misfor 
tunes  of  his  son  Boabdil. 

AN  unfortunate  death  atones  with  the 
world  for  a  multitude  of  errors.  While 
the  populace  thought  their  youthful  mo 
narch  had  perished  in  the  field,  nothing 
could  exceed  their  grief  for  his  loss,  and 
their  adoration  of  his  memory :  when, 
however,  they  learned,  that  he  was  still 
alive,  and  had  surrendered  himself  cap 
tive  to  the  Christians,  their  feelings  un 
derwent  an  instant  change.  They  de 
cried  his  talents  as  a  commander,  his 
courage  as  a  soldier.  They  railed  at 
his  expedition,  as  rash  and  ill-conducted  ; 
and  they  reviled  him,  for  not  having  dared 
to  die  on  the  field  of  battle,  rather  than 
surrender  to  the  enemy. 

The  alfaquis,  as  usual,  mingled  with 
the  populace,  and  artfully  guided  their 
discontents.  "  Behold,"  exclaimed  they, 


"the  prediction  is  accomplished,  which 
was  pronounced  at  the  birth  of  Boabdil ! 
He  has  been  seated  on  the  throne,  and 
the  kingdom  has  suffered  downfall  and 
disgrace  by  his  defeat  and  captivity. 
Comfort  yourselves,  oh  Moslems  !  The 
evil  day  has  passed  by  :  the  fates  are 
satisfied ;  the  sceptre,  which  has  been 
broken  in  the  feeble  hand  of  Boabdil, 
is  destined  to  resume  its  former  power 
and  sway,  in  the  vigorous  grasp  of  Aben 
Hassan." 

The  people  were  struck  with  the  wis 
dom  of  these  words.  They  rejoiced, 
that  the  baleful  prediction,  which  had  so 
long  hung  over  them,  was  at  an  end ; 
and  declared,  that  none  but  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  had  the  valour  and  capacity  ne 
cessary  for  the  protection  of  the  king 
dom  in  this  time  of  trouble. 

The  longer  the  captivity  of  Boabdil 
continued,  the  greater  grew  the  popu 
larity  of  his  father.  One  city  after 
another  renewed  allegiance  to  him  :  for 
power  attracts  power,  and  fortune  creates 
fortune.  At  length  he  was  enabled  to 
return  to  Granada,  and  establish  himself 
once  more  in  the  Alhambra.  At  his 
approach,  his  repudiated  spouse,  the  sul 
tana  Ayxa,  gathered  together  the  family 
and  treasures  of  her  captive  son,  and 
retired  with  a  handful  of  the  nobles  into 
the  albaycen,  the  rival  quarter  of  the 
city,  the  inhabitants  of  which  still  re 
tained  feelings  of  loyalty  to  Boabdil. 
Here  she  fortified  herself,  and  held  the 
semblance  of  a  court,  in  the  name  of 
her  son.  The  fierce  Muley  Aben  Has 
san  would  have  willingly  carried  fire 
and  sword  into  this  factious  quarter  of 
the  capital ;  but  he  dared  not  confide  in 
his  new  and  uncertain  popularity.  Many 
of  the  nobles  detested  him  for  his  past 
cruelty ;  and  a  large  portion  of  the  sol 
diery,  beside  many  of  the  people  of  his 
own  party,  respected  the  virtues  of  Ayxa 
la  Horra,  and  pitied  the  misfortunes  of 
Boabdil.  Granada,  therefore,  presented 
the  singular  spectacle  of  two  sovereign 
ties  within  the  same  city,  The  old  king 
fortified  himself  in  the  lofty  towers  of 
the  Alhambra,  as  much  against  his  own 
subjects  as  against  the  Christians  :  while 
Ayxa,  with  the  zeal  of  a  mother's  affec 
tion,  which  waxes  warmer  and  warmer 
towards  her  offspring  when  in  adversity, 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


235 


still  maintained  the  standard  of  Boabdil 
on  the  rival  fortress  of  the  alcazaba  ; 
and  kept  his  powerful  faction  alive 
within  the  walls  of  the  albaycen. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Captivity  of  Boabdil  El  Chico. 

THE  unfortunate  Boabdil  remained  a 
prisoner,  closely  guarded  in  the  castle  of 
Vaena.  From  the  towers  of  his  prison 
he  beheld  the  town  below  filled  with 
armed  men  ;  and  the  lofty  hill  on  which 
it  was  built,  girdled  by  massive  walls 
and  ramparts,  on  which  a  vigilant  watch 
was  maintained,  night  and  day.  The 
mountains  around  were  studded  with 
watchtowers,  overlooking  the  lonely 
roads  which  led  to  Granada ;  so  that  a 
turban  could  not  stir  over  the  border 
without  the  alarm  being  given,  and  the 
whole  country  put  on  the  alert.  Boabdil 
saw  that  there  was  no  hope  of  escape  from 
such  a  fortress,  and  that  any  attempt  to 
rescue  him  would  be  equally  in  vain. 
His  heart  was  filled  with  anxiety,  as  he 
thought  on  the  confusion  and  ruin  which 
his  captivity  must  cause  in  his  affairs ; 
while  sorrows  of  a  softer  kind  overcame 
his  fortitude,  as  he  thought  on  the  evils 
it  might  bring  upon  his  family. 

The  Count  de  Cabra,  though  he  main 
tained  the  most  vigilant  guard  over  his 
royal  prisoner,  yet  treated  him  with 
profound  deference.  He  had  appoint 
ed  the  noblest  apartments  in  the  castle 
for  his  abode,  and  sought  in  every 
way  to  cheer  him  during  his  captivity. 
A  few  days  only  had  passed  away, 
when  missives  arrived  from  the  Castilian 
sovereigns.  Ferdinand  had  been  trans 
ported  with  joy  at  hearing  of  the  cap 
ture  of  the  Moorish  monarch,  seeing 
the  deep  and  politic  uses  that  might  be 
made  of  such  an  event :  but  the  magna 
nimous  spirit  of  Isabella  was  filled  with 
compassion  for  the  unfortunate  captive. 
Their  messages  to  Boabdil  were  full  of 
sympathy  and  consolation ;  breathing 
that  high  and  gentle  courtesy,  which 
dwells  in  noble  minds. 

This  magnanimity  in  his  foe  cheered 
the  dejected  spirit  of  the  captive  monarch. 
"  Tell  my  sovereigns,  the  king  and  the 
queen,"  said  he  to  the  messenger,  "  that 
I  cannot  be  unhappy,  being  in  the  power 


of  such  high  and  mighty  princes ;  espe 
cially  since  they  partake -so  largely  of 
that  grace  and  goodness,  which  Allah 
bestows  upon  the  monarchs  whom  he 
greatly  loves.  Tell  them,  further,  that 
I  had  long  thought  of  submitting  myself 
to  their  sway,  to  receive  the  kingdom  of 
Granada  from  their  hands,  in  the  same 
manner  that  my  ancestor  received  it 
from  King  John  II.,  father  of  the  gracious 
queen.  My  greatest  sorrow,  in  this  my 
captivity,  is,  that  I  must  appear  to  do 
that  from  force,  which  I  would  fain  have 
done  from  inclination." 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Aben  Has 
san,  finding  the  faction  of  his  son  still 
formidable  in  Granada,  was  anxious  to 
consolidate  his  power,  by  gaining  pos 
session  of  the  person  of  Boabdil.  For 
this  purpose,  he  sent  an  embassy  to  the 
catholic  monarchs,  offering  large  terms 
for  the  ransom,  or  rather  the  purchase, 
of  his  son  ;  proposing,  among  other  con 
ditions,  to  release  the  Count  of  Cifuentes, 
and  nine  other  of  the  most  distinguished 
captives,  and  to  enter  into  a  treaty  of  con 
federacy  with  the  sovereigns.  Neither 
did  the  implacable  father  make  any  scru 
ple  of  testifying  his  indifference,  whether 
his  son  were  delivered  up  alive  or  dead, 
so  that  his  person  were  placed  assuredly 
within  his  power. 

The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  revolted 
at  the  idea  of  giving  up  the  unfortunate 
prince  into  the  hands  of  his  most  unnatu 
ral  and  inveterate  enemy.  A  disdainful 
refusal  was  therefore  returned  to  the  old 
monarch,  whose  message  had  been 
couched  in  a  vaunting  spirit.  He  was 
informed,  that  the  Castilian  sovereigns 
would  listen  to  no  proposals  of  peace 
from  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  until  he 
should  lay  down  his  arms,  and  offer 
them  in  all  humility.  Overtures  in  a 
different  spirit  were  made  by  the  mother 
of  Boabdil,  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra, 
with  the  concurrence  of  the  party  which 
still  remained  faithful  to  him.  It  was 
thereby  proposed,  that  Mahomet  Abdalla, 
otherwise  called  Boabdil,  should  hold  his 
crown  as  vassal  to  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns  ;  paying  an  annual  tribute,  and 
releasing  seventy  Christian  captives  an 
nually  for  five  years :  that  he  should 
moreover  pay  a  large  sum  upon  the  spot 
for  his  ransom,  and  at  the  same  time 


236 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


give  freedom  to  four  hundred  Christians, 
to  be  chosen  by  the  king  :  that  he  should 
also  engage  to  be  always  ready  to  render 
military  aid ;  and  should  come  to  the 
Cortes,  or  assemblage  of  nobles  and  dis 
tinguished  vassals  of  the  crown ;  when 
ever  summoned.  His  only  son,  and  the 
sons  of  twelve  distinguished  Moorish 
houses,  were  to  be  delivered  as  hostages. 

King  Ferdinand  was  at  Cordova  when 
he  received  this  proposition ;  Queen  Isa 
bella  was  absent  at  the  time.  He  was 
anxious  to  consult  her  in  so  momentous 
an  affair ;  or  rather  he  was  fearful  of 
proceeding  too  precipitately,  and  not 
drawing  from  this  fortunate  event  all  the 
advantage  of  which  it  was  susceptible. 
Without  returning  any  reply,  therefore, 
to  the  mission,  he  sent  missives  to  the 
castle  of  Vaena,  where  Boabdil  remained 
in  courteous  durance  of  the  brave  Count 
de  Cabra,  ordering,  that  the  captive 
monarch  should  be  brought  to  Cordova. 

The  Count  de  Cabra  set  out  with  his 
illustrious  prisoner ;  but  when  he  arrived 
at  Cordova,  King  Ferdinand  declined 
seeing  the  Moorish  monarch. 

He  was  still  undetermined  what  course 
to  pursue;  whether  to  retain  him  pri 
soner,  set  him  at  liberty  on  ransom,  or 
treat  him  with  politic  magnanimity  ;  and 
each  course  would  require  a  different 
kind  of  reception.  Until  this  point  should 
be  resolved,  therefore,  he  gave  him  in 
charge  to  Martin  de  Alarcon,  alcayde  of 
the  ancient  fortress  of  Porcuna,  with 
orders  to  guard  him  strictly,  but  to  treat 
him  with  the  distinction  and  deference 
due  to  a  prince.  These  commands  were 
strictly  obeyed,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  being  restrained  in  his  liberty,  the 
monarch  was  as  nobly  entertained  as  he 
could  have  been  in  his  royal  palace  at 
Granada. 

In  the  mean  time,  Ferdinand  availed 
himself  of  this  critical  moment,  while 
Granada  was  distracted  with  factions 
and  dissensions,  and  before  he  had  con 
cluded  any  treaty  with  Boabdil,  to  make 
a  puissant  and  ostentatious  inroad  into 
the  very  heart  of  the  kingdom,  at  the 
head  of  his  most  illustrious  nobles.  He 
sacked  and  destroyed  several  towns  and 
castles,  and  extended  his  ravages  to  the 
very  gates  of  Granada.  Old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  did  not  venture  to  oppose 


him.  His  city  was  filled  with  troops  ; 
but  he  was  uncertain  of  their  affection. 
He  dreaded,  that  should  he  sally  forth, 
the  gates  of  Granada  might  be  closed 
against  him  by  the  faction  of  the  al- 
baycen. 

"  The  old  Moor  stood  on  the  lofty 
tower  of  the  Alhambra,"  says  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  grinding  his  teeth,  and  foam 
ing  like  a  tiger  shut  up  in  his  cage,  as 
he  beheld  the  glittering  battalions  of  the 
Christians  wheeling  about  the  vega,  and 
the  standard  of  the  cross  shining  forth 
from  amidst  the  smoke  of  infidel  villages 
and  hamlets.  The  most  catholic  king," 
continues  Agapida,  "  would  gladly  have 
persevered  in  this  righteous  ravage ;  but 
his  munitions  began  to  fail.  Satisfied, 
therefore,  with  having  laid  waste  the 
country  of  the  enemy,  and  insulted  old 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  in  his  very  capital, 
he  returned  to  Cordova,  covered  with 
laurels,  and  his  army  loaded  with  spoils; 
and  now  bethought  himself  of  coming  to 
an  immediate  decision  in  regard  to  his 
royal  prisoner." 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Of  the  treatment  of  Boabdil  by  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns. 

A  STATELY  conversation  was  held  by 
King  Ferdinand,  in  the  ancient  city  of 
Cordova,  composed  of  several  of  the  most 
reverend  prelates  and  renowned  cavaliers 
of  the  kingdom,  to  determine  upon  the 
fate  of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil. 

Don  Alonso  de  Cardenas,  the  worthy 
Master  of  Santiago,  was  one  of  the  first 
who  gave  his  counsel.  He  was  a  pious 
and  zealous  knight,  rigid  in  his  devotion 
to  the  faith ;  and  his  holy  zeal  had  been 
inflamed  to  peculiar  vehemence  since  his 
disastrous  crusade  among  the  mountains 
of  Malaga.  He  inveighed  with  ardour 
against  any  compromise  or  compact  with 
the  infidels.  The  object  of  this  war,  he 
observed,  was  not  the  subjection  of  the 
Moors,  but  their  utter  expulsion  from  the 
land,  so  that  there  might  no  longer  re 
main  a  single  stain  of  Mahometanism 
throughout  Christian  Spain.  He  gave  it 
as  his  opinion,  therefore,  that  the  captive 
king  ought  not  to  be  set  at  liberty. 

Rodrigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  the  valiant 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  on  the  contrary,  spoke 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


237 


warmly  for  the  release  of  Boabdil.  He 
pronounced  it  a  measure  of  sound  policy, 
even  if  done  without  conditions.  It  would 
tend  to  keep  up  the  civil  war  in  Granada, 
which  was  as  a  fire  consuming  the  en 
trails  of  the  enemy,  and  effecting  more 
for  the  interests  of  Spain,  without  ex 
pense,  than  all  the  conquests  of  its  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  Don 
Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza,  coincided 
in  opinion  with  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz. 
"  Nay,"  added  that  pious  prelate  and 
politic  statesman,  "  it  would  be  sound 
wisdom  to  furnish  the  Moor  with  men 
and  money,  and  all  other  necessaries  to 
promote  the  civil  war  in  Granada  :  by 
this  means  would  be  produced  great  bene 
fit  to  the  service  of  God ;  since  we  are 
assured  by  his  infallible  word,  that  '  a 
kingdom  divided  against  itself  cannot 
stand.'  "* 

Ferdinand  weighed  these  counsels  in 
his  mind,  but  was  slow  in  coming  to  a 
decision.  "  He  was  religiously  atten 
tive  to  his  own  interests,"  observes  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida ;  "  knowing  himself  to 
be  but  an  instrument  of  Providence  in 
this  holy  war;  and  that,  therefore,  in 
consulting  his  own  advantage,  he  was 
promoting  the  interests  of  the  faith." 
The  opinion  of  Queen  Isabella  relieved 
him  from  his  perplexity.  That  high- 
minded  princess  was  zealous  for  the  pro 
motion  of  the  faith,  but  not  for  the  exter 
mination  of  the  infidels.  The  Moorish 
kings  had  held  their  thrones  as  vassals 
to  her  progenitors :  she  was  content,  at 
present,  to  accord  the  same  privilege, 
and  that  the  royal  prisoner  should  be 
liberated,  on  condition  of  becoming  a 
vassal  to  the  crown.  By  this  means 
might  be  effected  the  deliverance  of  many 
Christians  captive,  who  were  languish 
ing  in  Moorish  chains. 

King  Ferdinand  adopted  the  magna 
nimous  measure  recommended  by  the 
queen,  but  he  accompanied  it  with  several 
shrewd  conditions  ;  exacting  tribute,  mi 
litary  services,  and  safe  passage  and 
maintenance  for  Christian  troops  through 
out  the  places  which  should  adhere  to 
Boabdil.  The  captive  king  readily  sub 
mitted  to  these  stipulations ;  and  swore, 
nfter  the  manner  of  his  faith,  to  observe 

*  Salazar,  Cronica  del  Gran  Cardenal,  p.  188. 


them  with  exactitude.  A  truce  was  ar 
ranged  for  two  years,  during  which  the 
Castilian  sovereigns  engaged  to  maintain 
him  on  his  throne,  and  to  assist  him  in 
recovering  all  places  which  he  had  lost 
during  his  captivity. 

When  Boabdil  el  Chico  had  solemnly 
agreed  to  this  arrangement  in  the  castle 
of  Porcuna,  preparations  were  made  to 
receive  him  in  Cordova  in  regal  style. 
Superb  steeds,  richly  caparisoned,  and 
raiment  of  brocade  and  silk,  and  the 
most  costly  cloths,  with  all  other  articles 
of  sumptuous  array,  were  furnished  to 
him,  and  to  fifty  Moorish  cavaliers,  who 
had  come  to  treat  for  his  ransom,  that 
he  might  appear  in  state  befitting  the 
monarch  of  Granada,  and  the  most  dis 
tinguished  vassal  of  the  Christian  sove 
reigns.  Money,  also,  was  advanced,  to 
maintain  him  in  suitable  grandeur  during 
his  residence  at  the  Castilian  court,  and 
his  return  to  his  dominions.  Finally,  it 
was  ordered  by  the  sovereigns,  that, 
when  he  came  to  Cordova,  all  the  nobles 
and  dignitaries  of  the  court  should  go 
forth  to  receive  him. 

A  question  now  arose  among  certain 
of  those  ancient  and  experienced  men, 
who  grow  gray  about  a  court  in  the  pro 
found  study  of  forms  and  ceremonials  ; 
with  whom  a  point  of  punctilio  is  as  a 
vast  political  right,  and  who  contract  a 
sublime  and  awful  idea  of  the  external 
dignity  of  the  throne.  Certain  of  these 
court  sages  propounded  the  momentous 
question,  whether  the  Moorish  monarch, 
coming  to  do  homage  as  a  vassal,  ought 
not  to  kneel,  and  kiss  the  hand  of  the 
king.  "  This  was  immediately  decided 
in  the  affirmative,  by  a  large  number  of 
ancient  cavaliers,  accustomed,"  says 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  to  the  lofty  punctilio 
of  our  most  dignified  court  and  transcen- 
dant  sovereigns."  The  king,  therefore, 
was  informed,  by  those  who  arranged 
the  ceremonials,  that,  when  the  Moorish 
monarch  appeared  in  his  presence,  he 
was  expected  to  extend  his  royal  hand  to 
receive  the  kiss  of  homage. 

"  I  should  certainly  do  so,"  replied 
King  Ferdinand,  "  were  he  at  liberty,  and 
in  his  own  kingdom  :  but  I  certainly  shall 
not  do  so,  seeing  that  he  is  a  prisoner, 
and  in  mine." 

The   courtiers   loudly   applauded   the 


238 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


magnanimity  of  this  reply ;  though  many 
condemned  it  in  secret,  as  savouring  of 
too  much  generosity  towards  an  infidel ; 
and  the  worthy  Jesuit,  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  fully  concurs  in  their  opinion. 

The  Moorish  king  entered  Cordova  with 
his  little  train  of  faithful  knights,  and  es 
corted  by  all  the  nobility  and  chivalry  of 
the  Castilian  court.  He  was  conducted 
with  great  state  and  ceremony  to  the 
royal  palace.  When  he  came  in  presence 
of  King  Ferdinand,  he  knelt,  and  offered 
to  kiss  his  hand,  not  merely  in  homage 
as  his  subject,  but  in  gratitude  for  his 
liberty.  Ferdinand  declined  the  token  of 
vassalage,  and  raised  him  graciously 
from  the  earth.  An  interpreter  began,  in 
the  name  of  Boabdil,  to  laud  the  magna 
nimity  of  the  Castilian  monarch,  and  to 
promise  the  most  implicit  submission. 
"  Enough,"  said  King  Ferdinand,  inter 
rupting  the  interpreter  in  the  midst  of  his 
harangue ;  "  there  is  no  need  of  these 
compliments.  I  trust  in  his  integrity, 
that  he  will  do  every  thing  becoming  a 
good  man  and  a  good  king."  With  these 
words,  he  received  Boabdil  el  Chico  into 
his  royal  friendship  and  protection. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Return  of  Boabdil  from  captivity. 

IN  the  month  of  August,  a  noble  Moor, 
of  the  race  of  the  Abencerrages,  arrived 
with  a  splendid  retinue  at  the  city  of 
Cordova,  bringing  with  him  the  son  of 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  and  other  of  the  noble 
youths  of  Granada,  as  hostages  for  the 
fulfilment  of  the  terms  of  ransom.  When 
the  Moorish  king  beheld  his  son,  his  only 
child,  who  was  to  remain  in  his  stead,  a 
sort  of  captive  in  a  hostile  land,  he  folded 
him  in  his  arms,  and  wept  over  him. 
"  Wo  the  day  that  I  was  born !"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  and  evil  the  star  that  pre 
sided  at  my  birth !  well  was  I  called  El 
Zogoybi,  or  l  the  unlucky :'  for  sorrow 
is  heaped  upon  me  by  my  father,  and 
sorrow  do  I  transmit  to  my  son  !" 

The  afflicted  heart  of  Boabdil,  how 
ever,  was  soothed  by  the  kindness  of  the 
Christian  sovereigns,  who  received  the 
hostage  prince  with  a  tenderness  suited 
to  his  age,  and  a  distinction  worthy  of  his 
rank. 

They  delivered  him  in  charge  to  the 


worthy  alcayde  Martin  de  Alarcon,  who 
had  treated  his  father  with  such  courtesy, 
during  his  confinement  in  the  castle  of 
Porcuna ;  giving  orders,  that,  after  the 
departure  of  the  latter,  his  son  should 
be  entertained  with  great  honour  and 
princely  attention  in  the  same  fortress. 

On  the  2d  of  September,  a  guard  of 
honour  assembled  at  the  gate  of  the  man 
sion  of  Boabdil  to  escort  him  to  the  fron 
tiers  of  his  kingdom.  He  pressed  his 
child  to  his  heart  at  parting ;  but  he 
uttered  not  a  word,  for  there  were  many 
Christian  eyes  to  behold  his  emotion. 
He  mounted  his  steed,  and  never  turned 
his  head  to  look  again  upon  the  youth  ! 
but  those  who  were  near  him  observed 
the  vehement  struggle  that  shook  his 
frame,  wherein  the  anguish  of  the  father 
had  well  nigh  subdued  the  studied  equa 
nimity  of  the  king. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  and  King  Ferdinand 
sallied  forth,  side  by  side,  from  Cordova, 
amidst  the  acclamations  of  a  prodigious 
multitude.  When  they  were  a  short 
distance  from  the  city,  they  separated, 
with  many  gracious  expressions  on  the 
part  of  the  Castilian  monarch,  and  many 
thankful  acknowledgments  from  his  late 
captive,  whose  heart  had  been  humbled 
by  adversity.  Ferdinand  departed  for 
Guadalupe,  and  Boabdil  for  Granada. 
The  latter  was  accompanied  by  a  guard 
of  honour;  and  the  viceroys  of  Anda 
lusia,  and  the  generals  on  the  frontier, 
were  ordered  to  furnish  him  with  escorts, 
and  to  show  him  all  possible  honour  on 
his  journey.  In  this  way,  he  was  con 
ducted,  in  royal  state,  through  the  coun 
try  he  had  entered  to  ravage,  and  was 
placed  in  safety  in  his  own  dominions. 

He  was  met  on  the  frontier,  by  the 
principal  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  his 
court,  who  had  been  secretly  sent  by  his 
mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa,  to  escort  him 
to  the  capital. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil  was  lifted  up  for 
a  moment,  when  he  found  himself  in  his 
own  territories,  surrounded  by  Moslem 
knights,  with  his  own  standards  waving 
over  his  head  ;  and  he  began  to  doubt  the 
predictions  of  the  astrologers.  He  soon 
found  cause,  however,  to  moderate  his 
exultation.  The  loyal  train,  which  had 
come  to  welcome  him,  was  but  scanty  in 
number  ;  and  he  missed  many  of  his  most 


-m 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


239 


zealous  and  obsequious  courtiers.  He 
had  returned,  indeed,  to  his  kingdom  ; 
but  it  was  no  longer  the  devoted  king 
dom  he  had  left.  The  story  of  his 
vassalage  to  the  Christian  sovereigns  had 
been  made  use  of  by  his  father  to  ruin 
him  with  his  people.  He  had  been  re 
presented  as  a  traitor  to  his  country,  a 
renegado  to  his  faith,  and  as  leagued 
with  the  enemies  of  both  to  subdue  the 
Moslems  of  Spain  to  the  yoke  of  Chris 
tian  bondage.  In  this  way  the  mind  of 
the  public  had  been  turned  from  him. 
The  greater  part  of  the  nobility  had 
thronged  round  the  throne  of  his  father 
in  the  Alhambra ;  and  his  mother,  the 
resolute  sultana  Ayxa,  with  difficulty 
maintained  her  faction  in  the  opposite 
towers  of  the  alcazaba. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  picture  of 
affairs  given  to  Boabdil  by  the  courtiers 
who  had  come  forth  to  meet  him.  They 
even  informed  him,  that  it  would  be  an 
enterprise  of  difficulty  and  danger  to 
make  his  way  back  to  the  capital,  and 
regain  a  little  court  which  still  remained 
faithful  to  him  in  the  heart  of  the  city. 
The  old  tiger,  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  lay 
couched  within  the  Alhambra,  and  the 
walls  and  gates  of  the  city  were  strongly 
guarded  by  his  troops.  Boabdii  shook 
his  head  at  these  tidings.  He  called  to 
mind  the  ill  omen  of  his  breaking  his 
lance  against  the  gate  of  Elvira,  when 
issuing  forth  so  vaingloriously  with  his 
army,  which  he  now  saw  clearly  foreboded 
the  destruction  of  that  army,  on  which  he 
had  so  confidently  relied.  "  Henceforth," 
said  he,  "  let  no  man  have  the  impiety  to 
scoff  at  omens." 

Boabdil  approached  his  capital  by 
stealth,  and  in  the  night,  prowling  about 
its  walls  like  an  enemy  seeking  to  destroy, 
rather  than  a  monarch  returning  to  his 
throne.  At  length  he  seized  upon  a  pos 
tern-gate  of  the  albaycen,  a  part  of  the 
city  which  had  always  been  in  his  favour. 
He  passed  rapidly  through  the  streets,  ! 
before  the  populace  were  aroused  from 
their  sleep,  and  reached  in  safety  the  for 
tress  of  the  alcazaba.  Here  he  was  re 
ceived  into  the  embraces  of  his  intrepid 
mother,  and  his  favourite  wife  Morayma. 
The  transports  of  the  latter,  on  the  safe 
return  of  her  husband,  were  mingled  with 
tears  ;  for  she  thought  of  her  father,  AH 


Atar,  who  had  fallen  in  his  cause ;  and  of 
her  only  son,  who  was  left  a  hostage  in 
the  hands  of  the  Christains. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil,  softened  by  his 
misfortunes,  was  moved  by  the  changes 
in  every  thing  round  him  ;  but  his  mother 
called  up  his  spirit.  "  This,"  said  she, 
"  is  no  time  for  tears  and  fondness  :  a  king 
must  think  of  his  sceptre  and  his  throne, 
and  not  yield  to  softness  like  common 
men.  Thou  hast  done  well,  my  son,  in 
throwing  thyself  resolutely  into  Granada : 
it  must  depend  upon  thyself  whether  thou 
remain  here  a  king  or  a  captive." 

The  old  king,  Muley  Aben  Hassan, 
had  retired  to  his  couch  that  night,  in 
one  of  the  strongest  towers  of  the  Al 
hambra  ;  but  his  restless  anxiety  kept 
him  from  repose.  In  the  first  watch  of 
the  night,  he  heard  a  shout  faintly  rising 
from  the  quarter  of  the  albaycen,  which 
is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  deep  valley 
of  the  Darro.  Shortly  afterwards,  horse 
men  came  galloping  up  the  hill  that  leads 
to  the  main  gate  of  the  Alhambra,  spread 
ing  the  alarm,  that  Boabdil  had  entered 
the  city,  and  possessed  himself  of  the 
alcazaba. 

In  the  first  transports  of  his  rage,  the 
old  king  would  have  struck  the  mes 
senger  to  earth.  He  hastily  summoned 
his  counsellors  and  commanders,  exhort 
ing  them  to  stand  by  him  in  this  critical 
moment ;  and,  during  the  night,  made 
every  preparation  to  enter  the  albaycen, 
sword  in  hand,  in  the  morning. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  sultana  Ayxa 
had  taken  prompt  and  vigorous  measures 
to  strengthen  her  party.  The  albaycen 
was  in  the  part  of  the  city  filled  by  the 
lower  orders.  The  return  of  Boabdil 
was  proclaimed  throughout  the  streets, 
and  large  sums  of  money  were  distri 
buted  among  the  populace.  The  nobles, 
assembled  in  the  alcazaba,  were  promised 
honours  and  rewards  by  Boabdil,  as  soon 
as  he  should  be  firmly  seated  on  the 
throne.  These  well-timed  measures  had 
the  customary  effect ;  and  by  daybreak 
all  the  motley  populace  of  the  albaycen 
were  in  arms. 

A  doleful  day  succeeded.  All  Gra 
nada  was  a  scene  of  tumult  and  horror. 
Drums  and  trumpets  resounded  in  every 
part ;  all  business  was  interrupted  ;  the 
shops  were  shut,  and  the  doors  barrica- 


240 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


doed.  Armed  bands  paraded  the  streets ; 
some  shouting  for  Boabdil,  and  some  for 
Muley  Aben  Hassan.  When  they  en 
countered  each  other,  they  fought  fu 
riously,  and  without  mercy  ;  every  public 
square  became  a  scene  of  battle.  The 
great  mass  of  the  lower  orders  was  in 
favour  of  Boabdil ;  but  it  was  a  multitude 
without  discipline  or  lofty  spirit.  Part  of 
the  people  was  regularly  armed  ;  but  the 
greater  number  had  sallied  forth  with  the 
implements  of  their  trade.  The  troops 
of  the  old  king,  among  whom  were 
many  cavaliers  of  pride  and  valour,  soon 
drove  the  populace  from  the  squares. 
They  fortified  themselves,  however,  in 
the  streets,  and  lanes,  which  they  barri- 
cadoed.  They  made  fortresses  of  their 
houses,  and  fought  desperately  from  the 
windows  and  the  roofs ;  and  many  a 
warrior  of  the  highest  blood  of  Granada 
was  laid  low  by  plebeian  hands,  and  ple 
beian  weapons,  in  this  civil  brawl. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  violent 
convulsions  should  last  long  in  the  heart 
of  a  city.  The  people  soon  longed  for 
repose,  and  a  return  to  their  peaceful 
occupations  ;  and  tho  cavaliers  detested 
these  conflicts  with  the  multitude,  in 
which  there  were  all  the  horrors  of 
war,  without  its  laurels.  By  the  interfe 
rence  of  the  alfaquis,  an  armistice  was  at 
length  effected.  Boabdil  was  persuaded, 
that  there  was  no  dependence  upon  the  in 
constant  favour  of  the  multitude,  and  was 
prevailed  upon  to  quit  a  capital,  where 
he  could  only  maintain  a  precarious  seat 
upon  his  throne,  by  a  perpetual  and 
bloody  struggle.  He  fixed  his  court  at 
the  city  of  Almeria,  which  was  entirely 
devoted  to  him  ;  and  which  at  that  time 
vied  with  Granada  in  splendour  and  im 
portance.  This  compromise  of  grandeur 
for  tranquillity,  however,  was  sorely 
against  the  counsel  of  his  proud-spirited 
mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa.  Granada 
appeared  in  her  eyes  the  only  legitimate 
seat  of  dominion ;  and  she  observed, 
with  a  smile  of  disdain,  that  he  was  not 
worthy  of  being  called  a  monarch,  who 
was  not  master  of  his  capital. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Foray  of  the  Moorish  alcaydes,  and  Battle  of 
Lopera. 

THOUGH  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  re 
gained  undivided  sway  over  the  city  of 
Granada ;  and  the  alfaquis,  by  his  com 
mand,  had  denounced  his  son  Boabdil  as 
an  apostate,  and  as  one  doomed  by  Hea 
ven  to  misfortune;  still  the  latter  had 
many  adherents  among  the  common 
people.  Whenever,  therefore,  any  act 
of  the  old  monarch  was  displeasing  to 
the  turbulent  multitude,  they  were  prone 
to  give  him  a  hint  of  the  slippery  nature 
of  his  standing,  by  shouting  out  the 
name  of  Boabdil  el  Chico.  Long  expe 
rience  had  instructed  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
in  the  character  of  the  inconstant  people 
over  whom  he  ruled.  "  Allah  achbar  !" 
exclaimed  he,  "  God  is  great !  but  a  suc 
cessful  inroad  into  the  country  of  the  un 
believers  will  make  more  converts  to  my 
cause,  than  a  thousand  texts  of  the  Koran, 
expounded  by  ten  thousand  alfaquis." 

At  this  time,  King  Ferdinand  was 
absent  from  Andalusia  on  a  distant  ex 
pedition,  with  many  of  his  troops.  The 
moment  was  favourable  for  a  foray ; 
and  Muley  Aben  Hassan  cast  about  his 
thoughts  for  a  leader  to  conduct  it.  Ali 
Atar,  the  terror  of  the  border,  the 
scourge  of  Andalusia,  was  dead ;  but 
there  was  another  veteran  general, 
scarcely  inferior  to  him  for  predatory 
warfare.  This  was  old  Bexir,  'the  gray 
and  crafty  alcayde  of  Malaga  ;  and  the 
people  under  his  command  were  ripe  for 
an  expedition  of  the  kind.  The  signal 
defeat  and  slaughter  of  the  Spanish 
knights,  in  the  neighbouring  mountains, 
had  filled  the  people  of  Malaga  with 
vanity  and  self-conceit :  they  had  attri 
buted  to  their  own  valour  the  defeat 
which  had  been  caused  by  the  nature  of 
the  country.  Many  of  them  wore  the 
armour,  and  paraded  in  public  with  the 
horses,  of  the  unfortunate  cavaliers  slain 
on  that  occasion;  which  they  vaunting! y 
displayed  as  the  trophies  of  their  boasted 
victory.  They  had  talked  themselves 
into  a  contempt  for  the  chivalry  of  An 
dalusia,  and  were  impatient  for  an  oppor 
tunity  to  overrun  a  country  defended  by 
such  troops.  This  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
considered  a  favourable  state  of  mind  to 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


241 


insure  a  daring  inroad ;  and  he  sent 
orders  to  old  Bexir,  to  gather  together 
his  people,  and  the  choicest  warriors  of 
the  borders,  and  to  carry  fire  and  sword 
into  the  very  heart  of  Andalusia.  The 
wary  old  Bexir  immediately  despatched 
his  emissaries  among  the  alcaydes  of  the 
border  towns,  calling  upon  them  to  as 
semble,  with  their  troops,  at  the  city  of 
Ronda,  close  upon  the  Christian  frontier. 

Ronda  was  the  most  virulent  nest  of 
Moorish  depredators  in  the  whole  border 
country.  It  was  situated  in  the  midst  of 
the  wild  Serrania,  or  chain  of  mountains 
of  the  same  name,  which  are  uncom 
monly  lofty,  broken,  and  precipitous.  It 
stood  on  an  almost  isolated  rock,  nearly 
encircled  by  a  deep  valley,  or  rather 
chasm,  through  which  ran  the  beautiful 
river  called  Rio  Verde.  The  Moors  of 
this  city  were  the  most  active,  robust, 
and  warlike  of  all  the  mountaineers ; 
and  their  very  children  discharged  the 
cross-bow  with  unerring  aim.  They 
were  incessantly  harassing  the  rich 
plains  of  Andalusia;  their  city  abounded 
with  Christian  spoils ;  and  their  deep 
dungeons  were  crowded  with  Christian 
captives,  who  might  sigh  in  vain  for 
deliverance  from  this  impregnable  for 
tress.  Such  was  Ronda  in  the  time  of 
the  Moors ;  and  it  has  ever  retained 
something  of  the  same  character,  even 
to  the  present  day.  Its  inhabitants  con 
tinue  to  be  among  the  boldest,  fiercest, 
and  most  adventurous  of  the  Andalu- 
sian  mountaineers ;  and  the  Serrania  de 
Ronda  is  famous,  as  the  most  dangerous 
resort  of  the  bandit  and  the  contraban- 
dista. 

Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zegri,  was 
the  commander  of  this  belligerent  city 
and  its  fierce  inhabitants.  He  was  of 
the  tribe  of  the  Zegris,  and  one  of  the 
most  proud  and  daring  of  that  warlike 
race.  Besides  the  inhabitants  of  Ronda, 
he  had  a  legion  of  African  Moors  in  his 
immediate  service.  They  were  of  the 
tribe  of  the  Gomeres;  mercenary  troops, 
whose  hot  African  blood  had  not  yet 
been  tempered  by  the  softer  living  of 
Spain ;  and  whose  whole  business  was 
to  fight.  These  he  kept  always  well 
armed  and  well  appointed.  The  rich 
pasturage  of  the  valley  of  Ronda  pro- 
duced  a  breed  of  horses,  famous  for 
VOL.  n.  21 


strength  and  speed  ;  no  cavalry,  there 
fore,  was  better  mounted  than  the  band 
of  Gomeres.  Rapid  on  the  march,  and 
fierce  in  the  attack,  it  would  sweep  down 
upon  the  Andalusian  plains  like  a  sud 
den  blast  from  the  mountains,  and  pass 
away  as  suddenly,  before  there  was  time 
for  pursuit. 

There  was  nothing  that  stirred  up  the 
spirit  of  the  Moors  of  the  frontier  more 
thoroughly  than  the  idea  of  a  foray. 
The  summons  of  Bexir  was  gladly 
obeyed  by  the  alcaydes  of  the  border 
towns ;  and  in  a  little  while  there  was  a 
force  of  fifteen  hundred  horse,  and  four 
thousand  foot,  the  very  pith  and  marrow 
of  the  surrounding  country,  assembled 
within  the  walls  of  Ronda.  The  people 
of  the  place  anticipated  with  eagerness 
the  rich  spoils  of  Andalusia,  that  were 
soon  to  crowd  their  gates.  Throughout 
the  day,  the  city  resounded  with  the  noise 
of  kettledrum  and  trumpet ;  the  high- 
mettled  steeds  stamped  and  neighed  in 
their  stalls,  as  if  they  shared  the  impa 
tience  for  the  foray  ;  while  the  Christian 
captives  sighed,  as  the  varied  din  of  pre 
paration  reached  to  their  rocky  dungeons, 
denoting  that  a  fresh  assault  was  prepar 
ing  against  their  countrymen. 

The  infidel  host  sallied  forth,  full  ot 
spirits  ;  anticipating  an  easy  ravage,  and 
abundant  booty.  They  encouraged  each 
other  in  a  contempt  for  the  prowess  of 
the  foe.  Many  of  the  warriors  of  Mala 
ga,  and  of  some  of  the  mountain  towns, 
had  insultingly  arrayed  themselves  in  the 
splendid  armour  of  the  Christian  knights, 
slain  or  taken  prisoners  in  the  famous 
massacre ;  and  some  of  them  rode  the 
Andalusian  steeds  which  had  been  cap 
tured  on  that  occasion. 

The  wary  Bexir  had  concerted  his 
plans  so  secretly  and  expeditiously,  that 
the  Christian  towns  of  Andalusia  had  not 
the  least  suspicion  of  the  storm  that  had 
gathered  beyond  the  mountains.  The 
vast  and  rocky  range  of  the  Serrania  de 
Ronda  extended  like  a  screen,  covering 
all  their  movements  from  observation. 

The  army  made  its  way  as  rapidly  as 
the  rugged  nature  of  the  mountains  would 
permit,  guided  by  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the 
bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  who  knew  every 
pass  and  defile.  Not  a  drum,  nor  the 
clash  of  a  cymbal,  nor  the  blast  of  a 


242 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


trumpet,  was  permitted  to  be  heard.  The 
mass  of  war  rolled  quietly  on,  as  the 
gathering  cloud  to  the  brow  of  the  moun 
tains,  intending  to  burst  down,  like  the 
thunderbolt,  upon  the  plain. 

Never  let  the  most  wary  commander 
fancy  himself  secure  from  discovery ; 
for  rocks  have  eyes,  and  trees  have  ears, 
and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  tongues,  to 
betray  the  most  secret  enterprise.  There 
chanced,  at  this  time,  to  be  six  Christian 
scouts  prowling  about  the  savage  heights 
of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda.  They  were 
of  that  kind  of  lawless  ruffians  who  infest 
the  borders  of  belligerent  countries,  ready 
at  any  time  to  fight  for  pay,  or  prowl  for 
plunder.  The  wild  mountain  passes  of 
Spain  have  ever  abounded  with  loose, 
rambling  vagabonds  of  the  kind:  soldiers 
in  war,  robbers  in  peace  ;  guides,  guards, 
smugglers,  or  cut-throats,  according  to 
the  circumstances  of  the  case. 

"  These  six  marauders,"  says  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  were,  on  this  occa 
sion,  chosen  instruments,  sanctified  by 
the  righteousness  of  their  cause.  They 
were  lurking  among  the  mountains,  to 
entrap  Moorish  cattle,  or  Moorish  pri 
soners  ;  both  of  which  were  equally 
saleable  in  the  Christian  market." 

They  had  ascended  one  of  the  loftiest 
cliffs,  and  were  looking  out,  like  birds  of 
prey,  ready  to  pounce  upon  any  thing 
that  might  offer  in  the  valley,  when  they 
descried  the  Moorish  army  emerging  from 
a  mountain  glen.  They  watched  it  in 
silence,  as  it  wound  below  them,  remark 
ing  the  standards  of  the  various  towns, 
and  the  pennons  of  the  commanders. 
They  hovered  about  on  its  march,  skulk 
ing  from  cliff  to  cliff,  until  they  saw  the 
route  by  which  it  intended  to  enter  the 
Christian  country.  They  then  dispersed, 
each  making  his  way,  by  secret  passes  of 
the  mountains,  to  some  different  alcayde, 
that  they  might  spread  the  alarm  far  and 
wide,  and  each  get  a  separate  reward. 

One  hastened  to  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto 
Carrero,  the  same  valiant  alcayde  who 
had  repulsed  Muley  Aben  Hassan  from 
the  walls  of  Alhama,  and  who  now  com 
manded  at  Ecija,  in  the  absence  of  the 
Master  of  Santiago.  Others  roused  the 
town  of  Utrera,  and  the  places  of  that 
neighbourhood,  putting  them  all  on  the 
alert. 


Puerto  Carrero  was  a  cavalier  of  con 
summate  vigour  and  activity.  He  imme 
diately  sent  couriers  to  the  alcaydes  of 
the  neighbouring  fortresses,  to  Herman 
Carrello,  captain  of  a  body  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood,  and  to  certain  knights  of 
the  order  of  Alcantara.  Puerto  Carrero 
was  the  first  to  take  the  field.  Knowing 
the  hard  and  hungry  service  of  these 
border  scampers,  he  made  every  man 
take  a  hearty  repast,  and  see  that  his 
horse  was  well  shod,  and  perfectly  ap 
pointed.  Then,  all  being  refreshed,  and 
in  valiant  heart,  he  sallied  forth  to  seek 
the  Moors.  He  had  but  a  handful  of 
men,  the  retainers  of  his  household,  and 
troops  of  his  captaincy  ;  but  they  were 
well  armed  and  mounted,  and  accustomed 
to  the  sudden  rouses  of  the  border,  men 
with  whom  the  cry  of  "Arm  and  out !  to 
horse  and  to  the  field  !"  was  sufficient  at 
any  time  to  put  them  in  a  fever  of  ani 
mation.. 

While  the  northern  part  of  Andalusia 
was  thus  on  the  alert,  one  of  the  scouts 
had  hastened  southward,  to  the  city  of 
Xercs,  and  given  the  alarm  to  the  valiant 
Marquis  of  Cadiz.  When  the  marquis 
heard  that  the  Moor  was  over  the  bor 
der,  and  that  the  standard  of  Malaga  was 
in  the  advance,  his  heart  bounded  with  a 
momentary  joy  ;  for  he  remembered  the 
massacre  in  the  mountains,  where  his 
valiant  brothers  had  been  mangled  before 
his  eyes.  The  very  authors  of  his  cala 
mity  were  now  at  hand,  and  he  flattered 
himself  that  the  day  of  vengeance  had 
arrived. 

He  made  a  hasty  levy  of  his  retainers, 
and  of  the  fighting  men  of  Xeres,  and 
hurried  off,  with  three  hundred  horse  and 
two  hundred  foot,  all  resolute  men,  and 
panting  for  revenge. 

In  the  mean  time  the  veteran  Bexir 
had  accomplished  his  march,  as  he  ima 
gined,  undiscovered.  From  the  opening 
of  the  craggy  defiles,  he  pointed  out  the 
fertile  plains  of  Andalusia,  and  regaled 
the  eyes  of  his  soldiery  with  the  rich 
country  they  were  about  to  ravage.  The 
fierce  Gomcres  of  Ronda  were  flushed 
with  joy  at  the  sight ;  and  even  their 
steeds  seemed  to  prick  up  their  ears,  and 
snuff  the  breeze,  as  they  beheld  the 
scenes  of  their  frequent  forays. 

When  they  came  to  where  the  moun- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


243 


tain  defile  opened  into  the  low  land, 
Bexir  divided  his  force  into  three  parts : 
one,  composed  of  foot-soldiers,  and  of 
such  as  were  weakly  mounted,  he  left  to 
guard  the  pass ;  being  too  experienced  a 
veteran  not  to  know  the  importance  of 
securing  a  retreat.  A  second  body  he 
placed  in  ambush,  among  the  groves  and 
thickets  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Lopera. 
The  third,  consisting  of  light  cavalry,  he 
sent  forth  to  ravage  the  Campiiia,  or 
great  plain  of  Utrera.  Most  of  this 
latter  force  was  composed  of  the  fiery 
Gomeres  of  Ronda,  mounted  on  the  fleet 
steeds  bred  among  the  mountains.  It 
was  led  by  the  bold  alcayde  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  who  was  ever  eager  to  be  foremost 
in  the  foray. 

Little  suspecting  that  the  country  on 
both  sides  was  on  the  alarm,  and  rushing 
from  all  directions,  to  close  upon  them  in 
the  rear,  this  fiery  troop  dashed  forward, 
until  they  came  within  two  leagues  of 
Utrera.  Here  they  scattered  themselves 
about  the  plain,  careering  round  the  great 
herds  of  cattle,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  and 
sweeping  them  in  droves,  to  be  hurried 
to  the  mountains. 

While  they  were  thus  dispersed  in 
every  direction,  a  troop  of  horse,  and 
body  of  foot,  from  Utrera,  came  suddenly 
upon  them.  The  Moors  rallied  together 
in  small  parties,  and  endeavoured  to  de 
fend  themselves :  but  they  were  without 
a  leader ;  for  Hamet  el  Zegri  was  at  a 
distance,  having,  like  a  hawk,  made  a 
wide  circuit  in  pursuit  of  prey.  The 
marauders  soon  gave  way,  and  fled  to 
wards  the  ambush  on  the  banks  of  the 
Lopera,  being  hotly  pursued  by  the  men 
of  Utrera. 

When  they  reached  the  Lopera,  the 
Moors  in  ambush  rushed  forth,  with  fu 
rious  cries ;  and  the  fugitives,  recovering 
courage  from  this  reinforcement,  rallied, 
and  turned  upon  their  pursuers.  The 
Christians  stood  their  ground,  though 
greatly  inferior  in  number.  Their  lances 
were  soon  broken,  and  they  came  to 
sharp  work  with  sword  and  cimeter. 
The  Christians  fought  valiantly,  but  were 
in  danger  of  being  overwhelmed.  The 
bold  Hamet  had  collected  a  handful  of 
his  scattered  Gomeres ;  and,  leaving  his 
prey,  had  galloped  towards  the  scene  of 
action.  His  little  troop  of  horsemen  had 


reached  the  crest  of  a  rising  ground,  at 
no  great  distance,  when  trumpets  were 
heard  in  another  direction,  and  Luis  Fer 
nandez  Puerto  Carrero,  and  his  followers, 
came  galloping  into  the  field,  and  charged 
upon  the  infidels  in  flank. 

The  Moors  were  astounded,  at  finding 
war  thus  breaking  upon  them  from  vari 
ous  quarters  of  what  they  had  expected 
to  find  an  unguarded  country.  They 
fought  for  a  short  time  with  desperation, 
and  resisted  a  vehement  assault  from  the 
knights  of  Alcantara,  and  the  men-at- 
arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood.  At  length 
the  veteran  Bexir  was  struck  from  his 
horse  by  Puerto  Carrero,  and  taken  pri 
soner,  and  the  whole  force  gave  way  and 
fled.  In  their  flight  they  separated,  and 
took  two  roads  to  the  mountains  ;  think 
ing,  by  dividing  their  forces,  to  distract 
the  enemy.  The  Christians  were  too 
few  to  separate.  Puerto  Carrero  kept 
them  together,  pursuing  one  division  of 
the  enemy  with  great  slaughter.  This 
battle  took  place  at  the  fountain  of  the 
fig-tree,  near  to  the  Lopera.  Six  hundred 
Moorish  cavaliers  were  slain,  and  many 
taken  prisoners.  Much  spoil  was  col 
lected  on  the  field,  with  which  the  Chris 
tians  returned  in  triumph  to  their  homes. 

The  larger  body  of  the  enemy  had 
retreated  along  a  road,  leading  more  to 
the  south,  by  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 
When  they  reached  that  river,  the  sound 
of.pursuit  had  died  away ;  and  they  ral 
lied,  to  breathe  and  refresh  themselves 
on  the  margin  of  the  stream.  Their  force 
was  reduced  to  about  a  thousand  horse, 
and  a  confused  multitude  of  foot.  While 
they  were  scattered,  and  partly  dismount 
ed,  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  a  fresh 
storm  of  war  burst  upon  them  from  an 
opposite  direction.  It  was  the  Marquis 
of  Cadiz,  leading  on  his  household  troops, 
and  the  fighting  men  of  Xeres.  When 
the  Christian  warriors  came  in  sight  of 
the  Moors,  they  were  roused  to  fury  at 
beholding  many  of  them  arrayed  in  the 
armour  of  the  cavaliers  who  had  been 
slain  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga. 
Nay,  some,  who  had  been  in  that  defeat, 
beheld  their  own  armour,  which  they  had 
cast  away  in  their  flight,  to  enable  them 
selves  to  climb  the  mountains.  Exaspe 
rated  at  the  sight,  they  rushed  upon  the 
foe,  with  the  ferocity  of  tigers,  rather 


244 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


than  the  temperate  courage  of  cavaliers. 
Each  man  felt  as  if  he  were  avenging 
the  death  of  a  relative,  or  wiping  out  his 
own  disgrace.  The  good  marquis  himself 
beheld  a  powerful  Moor  bestriding  the 
horse  of  his  brother  Beltran  :  giving  a 
cry  of  rage  and  anguish  at  the  sight,  he 
rushed  through  the  thickest  of  the  enemy, 
attacked  the  Moor  with  resistless  fury, 
and,  after  a  short  combat,  hurled  him 
breathless  to  the  earth. 

The  Moors,  already  vanquished  in 
spirit,  could  not  withstand  the  assault  of 
men  thus  madly  excited.  They  soon 
gave  way,  and  fled  for  the  defile  of  the 
Serrania  de  Ronda,  where  the  body  of 
troops  had  been  stationed  to  secure  a 
retreat.  These,  seeing  them  come  gal 
loping  wildly  up  the  defile,  with  Christian 
banners  in  pursuit,  and  the  flash  of  wea 
pons  at  their  deadly  work,  thought  all 
Andalusia  was  upon  them,  and  fled,  with 
out  awaiting  an  attack.  The  pursuit 
continued  among  glens  and  defiles ;  for 
the  Christian  warriors,  eager  for  revenge, 
had  no  compassion  on  the  foe. 

When  the  pursuit  was  over,  the  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz  and  his  followers  reposed 
themselves  upon  the  banks  of  the  Guada- 
lete,  where  they  divided  the  spoil.  Among 
this  were  found  many  rich  corslets,  hel 
mets,  and  weapons,  the  Moorish  trophies 
of  the  defeat  in  the  mountains  of  Malaga. 
Several  were  claimed  by  their  owners, 
others  were  known  to  have  belonged  to 
noble  cavaliers,  who  had  been  slain,  or 
taken  prisoners.  There  were  several 
horses  also,  richly  caparisoned,  which 
had  pranced  proudly  with  the  unfortunate 
warriors,  as  they  sallied  out  of  Antequera 
upon  that  fatal  expedition.  Thus  the  ex 
ultation  of  the  victors  was  dashed  with 
melancholy,  and  many  a  knight  was  seen 
lamenting  over  the  helmet  or  corslet  of 
some  loved  companion  in  arms. 

The  good  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was  rest 
ing  under  a  tree,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Guadalete,  when  the  horse,  which  had 
belonged  to  his  slaughtered  brother  Bel 
tran,  was  brought  to  him.  He  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  mane,  and  looked  wist 
fully  at  the  empty  saddle.  His  bosom 
heaved  with  violent  agitation,  and  his  lip 
quivered,  and  was  pale.  "  Ay  de  mi,  mi 
hermano  !"  "  Wo  is  me,  my  brother !" 
was  all  that  he  said,  for  the  grief  of  a 


warrior  has  not  many  words.  He  looked 
around  on  the  field  strewn  with  the  bo 
dies  of  the  enemy;  and,  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  wo,  he  felt  consoled  by  the  idea, 
that  his  brother  had  not  been  unre- 
venged.* 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Retreat  of  Hamet  el  Zegri,  Alcayde  of  Ronda. 

THE  bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  had  careered  wide  over  the  cam- 
pina  of  Utrera,  encompassing  the  flocks 
and  herds,  when  he  heard  the  burst  of 
war  at  a  distance.  There  were  with  him 
but  a  handful  of  his  Gome  res.  He  saw 
the  scamper  and  pursuit  afar  off,  and 
beheld  the  Christian  horsemen  spurring 
madly  on  towards  the  ambuscade,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Lopera.  Hamet  tossed  his 
hand  triumphantly  aloft  for  his  men  to 
follow  him.  "  The  Christian  dogs  are 
ours !"  said  he  as  he  put  spurs  to  his 
horse,  to  take  the  enemy  in  rear. 

The  little  band  which  followed  Hamet 
scarcely  amounted  to  thirty  horsemen. 
They  spurred'  across  the  plain,  and 
reached  a  rising  ground,  just  as  the  force 
of  Puerto  Carrero  had  charged  with  sound 
of  trumpet  upon  the  flank  of  the  party  in 
ambush.  Hamet  beheld  the  headlong 
rout  of  the  army  with  rage  and  conster 
nation.  They  found  the  country  was 
pouring  forth  its  legions  from  every  quar 
ter,  and  perceived  that  there  was  no 
safety  but  in  precipitate  flight.  But  which 
way  to  fly?  an  army  was  between  him 
and  the  mountain  pass  :  all  the  forces  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  rushing  to  the 
borders ;  the  whole  route  by  which  he 
had  come  was,  by  this  time,  occupied  by 
the  foe.  He  checked  his  steed,  rose  in 
his  stirrups,  and  rolled  a  stern  and 
thoughtful  eye  over  the  country ;  then, 
sinking  into  his  saddle,  he  seemed  to 
commune  for  a  moment  with  himself. 
Turning  quickly  to  his  troop,  he  singled 

*  "  En  el  despojo  de  la  batalla  se  vieron  muchas 
ricas  corazas  e  capacetes  e  barberas  de  las  que  se 
habian  perdido  en  el  Axarquia,  e  otras  muchas 
armas,  e  algunas  fueron  conocidas  de  sus  duenos 
que  las  habian  dejado  para  fuir,  e  otras  fueron 
conocidas,  que  eran  muy  sefialadasde  hombresprin- 
cipales  que  habian  quedado  muertos  e  cautivos,  e 
fueron  tornados  muchos  de  los  mismos  caballos  con 
sus  ricas  sillas,  de  los  que  quedaron  en  la  Axarquia, 
e  fueron  conocidos  cuyos  eran." — Cura  de  los  Pa- 
lacios,  c.  67. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


245 


out  a  renegade  Christian,  a  traitor  to  his 
religion  and  his  king.  "  Come  hither," 
said  Hamet :  "  thou  knowest  all  the  se 
cret  passes  of  this  country  ?"  "  I  do," 
replied  the  renegade.  "  Dost  thou  know 
any  circuitous  route,  solitary  and  untra- 
velled,  by  which  we  can  pass  wide  within 
these  troops,  and  reach  the  Serrania?" 
The  renegade  paused  :  "  Such  a  route  I 
know,  but  it  is  full  of  peril ;  for  it  leads 
through  the  heart  of  the  Christian  land." 
"  It  is  well,"  said  Hamet :  "  the  more 
dangerous  in  appearance,  the  less  it  will 
be  suspected.  Now,  hearken  to  me.  Ride 
by  my  side.  Thou  seest  this  purse  of 
gold  and  this  cimeter.  Take  us,  by  the 
route  thou  hast  mentioned,  safe  to  the 
pass  of  the  Serrania,  and  this  purse  shall 
be  thy  reward  :  betray  us,  and  this  ci 
meter  shall  cleave  thee  to  the  saddle 
bow."* 

The  renegado  obeyed,  trembling.  They 
turned  off  from  the  direct  road  to  the 
mountains,  and  struck  southward  towards 
Lebrixa,  passing  by  the  most  solitary 
roads,  and  along  those  deep  ramblas  and 
ravines  by  which  the  country  is  inter 
sected.  It  was  indeed  a  daring  course. 
Every  now  and  then  they  heard  the  dis 
tant  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  alarm- 
bells  of  towns  and  villages,  and  found 
that  the  war  was  still  hurrying  to  the 
borders.  They  hid  themselves  in  thick 
ets  and  the  dry  beds  of  rivers,  until  the 
danger  had  passed  by,  and  then  resumed 
their  course.  Hamet  el  Zegri  rode  on  in 
silence,  his  hand  upon  his  cimeter,  and 
his  eyes  upon  the  renegado  guide,  pre 
pared  to  sacrifice  him  on  the  least  sign 
of  treachery ;  while  his  band  followed, 
gnawing  their  lips  with  rage,  at  having 
thus  to  skulk  through  a  country  they  had 
come  to  ravage. 

When  night  fell  they  struck  into  more 
practicable  roads,  always  keeping  wide 
of  the  villages  and  hamlets,  lest  the 
watchdogs  should  betray  them.  In  this 
way  they  passed,  in  deep  midnight,  by 
Acros,  crossed  the  Guadalete,  and  effect 
ed  their  retreat  to  the  mountains.  The 
day  dawned  as  they  made  their  way  up 
the  savage  defiles.  Their  comrades  had 
been  hunted  up  these  very  glens  by  the 
enemy.  Every  now  and  then  they  came 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  ubi  supra. 


to  where  there  had  been  a  partial  fight, 
or  a  slaughter  of  the  fugitives  ;  and  the 
rocks  were  red  with  blood,  and  strewed 
with  mangled  bodies.  The  alcayde  of 
Ronda  was  almost  frantic  with  rage  at 
seeing  many  of  his  bravest  warriors, 
lying  stiff  and  stark,  a  prey  to  the  hawks 
and  vultures  of  the  mountains.  Now  and 
then  some  wretched  Moor  would  crawl 
out  of  a  cave  or  glen,  whither  he  had 
fled  for  refuge ;  for,  in  the  retreat,  many 
of  the  horsemen  had  abandoned  their 
steeds,  thrown  away  their  armour,  and 
clambered  up  the  cliffs,  where  they 
could  not  be  pursued  by  the  Christian 
cavalry. 

The  Moorish  army  had  sallied  forth 
from  Ronda  amidst  shouts  and  acclama 
tions  ;  but  wailings  were  heard  within 
its  walls  as  the  alcayde  and  his  broken 
band  returned,  without  banner  or  trumpet, 
and  haggard  with  famine  and  fatigue. 
The  tidings  of  their  disaster  had  preceded 
them,  borne  by  the  fugitives  of  the  army. 
No  one  ventured  to  speak  to  the  stern 
Hamet  el  Zegri  as  he  entered  the  city, 
for  they  saw  a  dark  cloud  gathered  upon 
his  brow. 

"  It  seemed,"  says  the  pious  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  as  if  Heaven  meted  out  this 
defeat,  in  exact  retribution  for  the  ills 
inflicted  upon  the  Christian  warriors  in 
the  heights  of  Malaga."  It  was  equally 
signal  and  disastrous.  Of  the  brilliant 
array  of  Moorish  chivalry,  which  de 
scended  so  confidently  into  Andalusia, 
not  more  than  two  hundred  escaped. 
The  choicest  troops  of  the  frontier  were 
either  taken  or  destroyed :  the  Moorish 
garrisons  enfeebled,  and  many  alcaydes 
and  cavaliers  of  noble  lineage  carried 
into  captivity,  who  were  afterwards 
obliged  to  redeem  themselves  with  heavy 
ransoms. 

This  was  called  the  battle  of  Lopera, 
and  was  fought  on  the  17th  of  September, 
1483.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  at  Vit- 
toria,  in  Old  Castile,  when  they  received 
news  of  the  victory,  and  the  standards 
taken  from  the  enemy.  They  celebrated 
the  event  with  processions,  illuminations, 
and  other  festivities.  Ferdinand  sent  to 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  the  royal  raiment 
which  he  had  worn  on  that  day,  and  con 
ferred  on  him,  and  on  all  those  who 
should  inherit  his  title,  the  privilege  of 
21* 


246 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


wearing  royal  robes  on  our  Lady's  day 
in  September,  in  commemoration  of  this 
victory. 

Queen  Isabella  was  equally  mindful  of 
the  great  services  of  Don  Luis  Fernandez 
Puerto  Carrero.  Besides  many  enco 
miums  and  favours,  she  sent  to  his  wife 
the  royal  vestments  and  robe  of  brocade 
which  she  had  worn  on  the  same  day,  to 
be  worn  by  her,  during  her  life,  on  the 
anniversary  of  that  battle.* 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Of  the  high  and  ceremonious  reception  at  court  of 
the  Count  de  Cabra  and  the  Alcayde  de  Los 
Donzeles. 

IN  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of  warlike 
affairs,  the  worthy  chronicler  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida  pauses  to  note,  with  curious 
accuracy,  the  distinguished  reception 
given  to  the  Count  de  Cabra,  and  his 
nephew,  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles,  at 
!  the  stately  and  ceremonious  court  of  Cas 
tile,  in  reward  for  the  capture  of  the 
Moorish  king  Boabdil. 

"  The  court,"  he  observes,  "  was  held, 
at  the  time,  in  the  ancient  Moorish  palace 
of  the  city  of  Cordova ;  and  the  ceremo 
nials  were  arranged  by  that  venerable 
prelate  Don  Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza, 
Bishop  of  Toledo,  and  Grand  Cardinal  of 
Spain. 

"  It  was  on  Wednesday,  the  fourteenth 
of  October,"  continues  the  precise  Anto 
nio  Agapida,  "  that  the  good  Count  de 
Cabra,  according  to  arrangement,  ap 
peared  at  the  gate  of  Cordova.  Here  he 
was  met  by  the  grand  cardinal,  and  the 
Duke  of  Villahermosa,  illegitimate  bro 
ther  of  the  king,  together  with  many  of 
the  first  grandees  and  prelates  of  the 
kingdom.  By  this  august  train  was  he 
attended  to  the  palace,  amidst  triumphant 
strains  of  martial  music,  and  the  shouts 
of  a  prodigious  multitude. 

"  When  the  count  arrived  in  presence 
of  the  sovereigns,  who  were  seated  in 
state,  on  a  dais,  or  raised  part  of  the 
hall  of  audience,  they  both  arose.  The 
king  advanced  exactly  five  steps  toward 
the  count,  who  knelt,  and  kissed  his 
majesty's  hand;  but  the  king  would 
not  receive  him  as  a  mere  vassal,  but 
embraced  him  with  affectionate  cordiality. 

*  Mariana.     Abarca.    Zurita.     Pulgar,  etc. 


The  queen,  also,  advanced  two  steps,  and 
received  the  count  with  a  countenance 
full  of  sweetness  and  benignity.  After 
he  had  kissed  her  hand,  the  king  and 
queen  returned  to  their  thrones ;  and 
cushions  being  brought,  they  desired  the 
worthy  count  to  be  seated  in  their  pre 
sence."  This  last  circumstance  is  writ 
ten  in  large  letters,  and  followed  by  seve 
ral  notes  of  admiration,  in  the  manuscript 
of  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  ; 
who  considers  the  extraordinary  privi 
lege  of  sitting  in  the  presence  of  the 
catholic  sovereigns  an  honour  well  worth 
fighting  for. 

"  The  good  count  took  his  seat  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  king ;  and  near 
him  was  seated  the  Duke  of  Najera,  then 
the  Bishop  of  Palencia,  then  the  Count 
of  Aguilar,  the  Count  Luna,  and  Don 
Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  commander 
of  Leon. 

"  On  the  side  of  the  queen  were  seated 
the  Grand  Cardinal  of  Spain,  the  Duke  of 
Villahermosa,  the  Count  of  Monte  Key, 
and  the  Bishops  of  Jaen  and  Cuenca, 
each  in  the  order  in  which  they  are 
named.  The  Infanta  Isabella  was  pre 
vented,  by  indisposition,  from  attending 
this  ceremony. 

"  And  now  festive  music  resounded 
through  the  sumptuous  hall ;  and,  behold, 
twenty  ladies  of  the  queen's  retinue  en 
tered,  magnificently  attired  ;  upon  which 
twenty  youthful  cavaliers,  very  gay  and 
galliard  in  their  array,  stepped  forth  ; 
and,  each  taking  his  fair  partner,  they 
commenced  a  stately  dance.  The  court, 
in  the  mean  time,"  observes  Fray  Anto 
nio  Agapida,  "  looked  on  with  lofty  and 
becoming  gravity. 

"  When  the  dance  was  concluded,  the 
king  and  queen  rose,  to  retire  to  supper, 
and  dismissed  the  court  with  many  gra 
cious  expressions.  He  was  then  attend 
ed,  by  all  the  grandees  present,  to  the 
palace  of  the  grand  cardinal,  where  they 
partook  of  a  sumptuous  banquet. 

"  On  the  following  Saturday,  the  al 
cayde  de  los  Donzeles  was  received 
likewise  with  great  honours ;  but  the 
ceremonies  were  so  arranged,  as  to  be  a 
degree  less  in  dignity  than  those  shown 
to  his  uncle  ;  the  latter  being  considered 
the  principal  actor  in  this  great  achieve 
ment.  Thus,  the  grand  cardinal  and  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


247 


Duke  of  Villahermosa  did  not  meet  him 

at  the  gate  of  the  city,  but  received  him 

in  the   palace,  and   entertained   him    in 

I  conversation  until  summoned  to  the  so- 

!  vereigns. 

"  When  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles 
entered  the  presence-chamber,  the  king 
and  queen  rose  from  their  chairs  ;  but, 
without  advancing,  they  embraced  him 
graciously,  and  commanded  him  to  be 
seated  next  to  the  Count  de  Cabra. 

"  The  Infanta  Isabella  came  forth  to 
this  reception,  and  took  her  seat  beside 
the  queen.  When  the  court  were  all 
seated,  the  music  again  sounded  through 
the  hall,  and  the  twenty  ladies  came 
forth,  as  on  the  preceding  occasion, 
richly  attired,  but  in  different  raiment. 
They  danced,  as  before ;  and  the  In 
fanta  Isabella,  taking  a  young  Portuguese 
damsel  for  a  partner,  joined  in  the  dance. 
When  this  was  concluded,  the  king  and 
queen  dismissed  the  alcayde  de  los  Don 
zeles  with  great  courtesy,  and  the  court 
broke  up." 

The  worthy   Fray  Antonio    Agapida 

|  here  indulges  in  a  long  eulogy  on  the 

!  scrupulous  discrimination  of  the  Castilian 

|  court,  in  the  distribution  of  its  honours 

I  and  rewards ;    by  which    means   every 

•  smile,    and  gesture,    and    word,   of  the 

;  sovereigns  had  its  certain  value,  and  con- 

!  veyed  its  equivalent  of  joy  to  the  heart 

I  of  the  subject :  "  a  matter  well  worthy 

the  study,"  says  he,  "  of  all  monarchs  ; 

who  are  too   apt  to   distribute  honours 

with    a   heedless    caprice,   that    renders 

them  of  no  avail. 

*«  On  the  following  Sunday,  both  the 
Count  de  Cabra  and  the  alcayde  de  los 
Donzeles  were  invited  to  sup  with  the 
sovereigns.  The  court,  that  evening, 
was  attended  by  the  highest  nobility,  ar 
rayed  with  that  cost  and  splendour  for 
which  the  Spanish  nobility  of  those  days 
was  renowned. 

"  Before  supper,  there  was  a  stately 
and  ceremonious  dance,  befitting  the  dig 
nity  of  so  august  a  court.  The  king  led 
forth  the  queen,  in  grave  and  graceful 
measure ;  the  Count  de  Cabra  was  ho 
noured  with  the  hand  of  the  Infanta  Isa 
bella  ;  and  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles 
danced  with  a  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
de  Astorga. 

"  The    dance    beinsr    concluded,    the 


royal  party  repaired  to  the  supper-table, 
which  was  placed  on  an  elevated  part  of 
the  saloon.  Here,  in  full  view  of  the 
court,  the  Count  de  Cabra  and  the  alcayde 
de  los  Donzeles  supped  at  the  same  table 
with  the  king,  the  queen,  and  the  infanta. 
The  royal  family  were  served  by  the 
Marquis  of  Villena.  The  cup-bearer  to 
the  king  was  his  nephew,  Fadrique  de 
Toledo,  son  to  the  Duke  of  Alva.  Don 
Alonso  de  Estaniga  had  the  honour  of 
fulfilling  that  office  for  the  queen,  and 
Tello  de  Aguilar  for  the  infanta.  Other 
cavaliers  of  rank  and  distinction  waited 
on  the  count  and  the  alcayde  de  los  Don 
zeles.  At  one  o'clock,  the  two  distin 
guished  guests  were  dismissed,  with  many 
courteous  expressions,  by  the  sove 
reigns.* 

"  Such,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  were  the  great  honours,  paid  at  our 
most  exalted  and  ceremonious  court,  to 
these  renowned  cavaliers.  But  the  gra 
titude  of  the  sovereigns  did  not  end  here. 
A  few  days  afterwards,  they  bestowed 
upon  them  large  revenues  for  life,  and 
others  to  descend  to  their  heirs  ;  with  the 
privilege,  for  them  and  their  descendants, 
to  prefix  the  title  of  Don  to  their  names. 
They  gave  them,  moreover,  as  armorial 
bearings,  a  Moor's  head  crowned,  with  a 
golden  chain  round  the  neck,  in  a  san 
guine  field,  and  twenty-two  banners  round 
the  margin  of  the  escutcheon.  Their 
descendants,  of  the  houses  of  Cabra  and 
Cordova,  continue  to  bear  these  arms  at 
the  present  day,  in  memorial  of  the  vic 
tory  of  Lucena,  and  the  capture  of  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico." 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

How  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  concerted  to  surprise 
Zahara,  and  the  result  of  his  enterprise. 

THE  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon, 
JMarquis  of  Cadiz,  was  one  of  the  most 
vigilant  of  commanders.  He  kept  in  his 
pay  a  number  of  converted  Moors,  to 
serve  as  adalides  or  armed  guides.  These 
mongrel  Christians  were  of  great  service 
in  procuring  information.  Availing  them- 

*  The  account  given  by  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
of  this  ceremonial,  so  characteristic  of  the  old  Spa 
nish  court,  agrees,  in  almost  every  particular,  with 
an  ancient  manuscript,  made  up  from  the  Chroni 
cles  of  the  Curate  of  Los  Palacios,  and  other  old 
Spanish  writers. 


248 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


selves  of  their  Moorish  character  and 
tongue,  they  penetrated  into  the  enemy's 
country,  prowled  about  the  castles  and 
fortresses,  noticed  the  state  of  the  walls, 
the  gates,  and  towers ;  the  strength  of 
their  garrisons,  and  the  vigilance  or  ne 
gligence  of  their  commanders.  All  this 
they  reported  minutely  to  the  marquis ; 
who  thus  knew  the  state  of  every  fortress 
upon  the  frontier,  and  when  it  might  be 
attacked  with  advantage.  Besides  the 
various  towns  and  cities  over  which  he 
held  a  feudal  sway,  he  had  always  an 
armed  force  about  him,  ready  for  the 
field.  A  host  of  retainers  fed  in  his  hall, 
who  were  ready  to  follow  him  to  danger, 
and  death  itself,  without  inquiring  who, 
or  why,  they  fought.  The  armories  of 
his  castles  were  supplied  with  helms,  and 
cuirasses,  and  weapons  of  all  kinds, 
ready  burnished  for  use  ;  and  his  stables 
were  filled  with  hardy  steeds,  that  could 
stand  a  mountain  scamper. 

The  marquis  was  aware,  that  the  late 
defeat  of  the  Moors,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Lopera,  had  weakened  their  whole  fron 
tier  ;  for  many  of  the  castles  and  for 
tresses  had  lost  their  alcaydes  and  their 
choicest  troops.  He  sent  out  his  war- 
hounds,  therefore,  upon  the  range,  to  as 
certain  where  a  successful  blow  might 
be  struck ;  and  they  soon  returned  with 
word,  that  Zahara  was  weakly  garrison 
ed,  and  short  of  provisions. 

This  was  the  very  fortress  which, 
about  two  years  before,  had  been  storm 
ed  by  Muley  Aben  Hassan ;  and  its  cap 
ture  had  been  the  first  blow  of  this  event 
ful  war.  It  had  ever  since  remained  a 
thorn  in  the  side  of  Andalusia.  All  the 
Christians  had  been  carried  away  cap 
tive,  and  no  civil  population  had  been 
introduced  in  their  stead.  There  were 
no  women  or  children  in  the  place.  It 
was  kept  up  as  a  mere  military  post, 
commanding  one  of  the  most  important 
passes  of  the  mountains,  and  was  a  strong 
hold  of  Moorish  marauders.  The  mar 
quis  was  animated  by  the  idea  of  regain 
ing  this  fortress  for  his  sovereigns,  and 
wresting  from  the  old  Moorish  king  this 
boasted  trophy  of  his  prowess. 

He  sent  missives,  therefore,  to  the 
brave  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero, 
who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  late 
victory,  and  to  Juan  Almaraz,  captain  of 


the  men-at-arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood, 
informing  them  of  his  designs,  and  in 
viting  them  to  meet  him  with  their  forces 
on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 

"  It  was  on  the  day,"  says  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida,  "  of  the  glorious  apostles 
St.  Simon  and  Judas,  the  28th  of  October, 
in  the  year  of  grace  1483,  that  this  chosen 
band  of  Christian  soldiers  assembled,  sud 
denly  and  secretly,  at  the  appointed  place. 
Their  forces,  when  united,  amounted  to 
six  hundred  horse  and  fifteen  hundred 
foot.  Their  gathering-place  was  at  the 
entrance  of  the  defile  leading  to  Zahara. 
That  ancient  town,  renowned  in  Moorish 
warfare,  is  situated  in  one  of  the  roughest 
passes  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda.  It  is 
built  round  the  craggy  cone  of  a  hill,  on 
the  lofty  summit  of  which  is  a  strong 
castle.  The  country  around  is  broken 
into  deep  barrancas  or  ravines,  some  of 
which  approach  its  very  walls.  The 
place  had,  until  recently,  been  considered 
impregnable ;  but,"  as  the  worthy  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida  observes,  "  the  walls  of 
impregnable  fortresses,  like  the  virtue  of 
self-confident  saints,  have  their  weak 
points  of  attack." 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  advanced  with 
his  little  army  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
marching  silently  up  the  deep  and  dark 
defiles  of  the  mountains,  and  stealing  up 
the  ravines,  which  extended  to  the  walls 
of  the  town.  Their  approach  was  so 
noiseless,  that  the  Moorish  sentinels 
upon  the  walls  heard  not  a  voice  or  a 
foot  fall.  The  Marquis  was  accompanied 
by  his  old  escalador,  Ortega  de  Prado, 
who  had  distinguished  himself  at  the 
scaling  of  Alhama.  This  hardy  veteran 
was  stationed,  with  ten  men,  furnished 
with  scaling-ladders,  in  a  cavity  among 
the  rocks,  close  to  the  walls :  at  a  little 
distance  severity  men  were  hid  in  a 
ravine,  to  be  at  hand  to  second  him, 
when  he  should  have  fixed  his  ladders. 
The  rest  of  the  troops  were  concealed  in 
another  ravine,  commanding  a  fair  ap 
proach  to  the  gate  of  the  fortress.  A 
shrewd  and  wary  adalide,  well  acquainted 
with  the  place,  was  appointed  to  give  sig 
nals  ;  and  was  so  stationed,  that  he  could 
be  seen  by  the  various  parties  in  ambush, 
but  was  hidden  from  the  garrison. 

The  remainder  of  the  night  passed 
away  in  profound  quiet.  The  Moorish 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


249 


sentinels  could  be  heard  tranquilly  pa 
trolling  the  walls,  in  perfect  security. 
The  day  dawned,  and  the  rising  sun  be 
gan  to  shine  against  the  lofty  peaks  of 
the  Serrania  de  Ronda.  The  sentmels 
looked,  from  their  battlements,  over  a 
savage  but  quiet  mountain  country,  where 
not  a  human  being  was  stirring.  They 
little  dreamed  of  the  mischief  that  lay 
lurking  in  every  ravine  and  chasm  of 
the  rocks  around  them.  Apprehending 
no  danger  of  surprise  in  broad  day,  the 
greater  part  of  the  soldiers  abandoned 
the  walls  and  towers,  and  descended  into 
the  city. 

By  orders  of  the  marquis,  a  small 
body  of  light  cavalry  passed  along  the 
glen,  and,  turning  round  a  point  of  rock, 
showed  themselves  before  the  town. 
They  skirred  the  fields  almost  to  the 
gates,  as  if  by  way  of  bravado,  and  to 
defy  the  garrison  to  a  skirmish.  The 
Moors  were  not  slow  in  replying  to  it. 
About  seventy  horse  and  a  number  of 
foot-,  who  had  guarded  the  walls,  sallied 
forth  impetuously,  thinking  to  make  easy 
prey  of  these  insolent  marauders.  The 
Christian  horsemen  fled  for  the  ravine ;  the 
Moors  pursued  them  down  the  hill,  until 
they  heard  a  great  shouting  and  tumult 
behind  them.  Looking  round,  they  beheld 
their  town  assailed,  and  a  scaling  party 
mounting  the  walls,  sword  in  hand. 
Wheeling  about,  they  galloped  furiously 
for  the  gate.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and 
Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero  rushed 
forth  at  the  same  time,  with  their  ambus 
cade,  and  endeavoured  to  cut  them  off,  but 
the  Moors  succeeded  in  throwing  them 
selves  within  the  walls. 

While  Puerto  Carrero  stormed  at  the 
gate  the  marquis  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  galloped  to  the  support  of  Ortega  de 
Prado  and  his  scaling  party.  He  arrived 
at  a  moment  of  imminent  peril,  when  the 
party  was  assailed  by  fifty  Moors,  armed 
with  cuirasses  and  lances,  who  were  on 
the  point  of  thrusting  them  from  the 
walls.  The  marquis  sprang  from  his 
horse,  mounted  a  ladder,  sword  in  hand, 
followed  by  a  number  of  his  troops,  and 
made  a  vigorous  attack  upon  the  enemy.* 
They  were  soon  driven  from  the  walls, 
and  the  gates  and  towers  remained  in 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  68. 


possession  of  the  Christians.  The  Moors 
defended  themselves  for  a  short  time  in 
the  street ;  but  at  length  took  refuge  in 
the  castle,  the  walls  of  which  were  strong, 
and  capable  of  holding  out  until  relief 
should  arrive.  The  marquis  had  no 
desire  to  carry  on  a  siege,  and  he  had  not 
provisions  sufficient  for  many  prisoners  : 
he  granted  them,  therefore,  favourable 
terms.  They  were  permitted,  on  leaving 
their  arms  behind  them,  to  march  out, 
with  as  much  of  their  effects  as  they 
could  carry;  and  it  was  stipulated,  that 
they  should  pass  over  to  Barbary.  The 
marquis  remained  in  the  place,  until  both 
town  and  castle  were  put  in  a  perfect 
state  of  defence,  and  strongly  garrisoned. 
Thus  did  Zahara  return  once  more 
into  the  possession  of  tlie  Christians,  to 
the  great  confusion  of  old  Muley  Aben 
Hassan;  who,  having  paid  the  penalty  of 
his  ill-timed  violence,  was  now  deprived 
of  its  vaunted  fruits.  The  Castilian 
sovereigns  were  so  gratified  by  this 
achievement  of  the  valiant  Ponce  de 
Leon,  that  they  authorized  him,  thence 
forth,  to  entitle  himself  Duke  of  Cadiz 
and  Marquis  of  Zahara.  The  warrior, 
however,  was  so  proud  of  the  original 
title,  under  which  he  had  so  often  sig 
nalized  himself,  that  he  gave  it  the  pre 
cedence,  and  always  signed  himself 
Marquis  Duke  of  Cadiz.  As  the  reader 
may  have  acquired  the  same  predilec 
tion,  we  shall  continue  to  call  him  by  his 
ancient  title. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Of  the  fortress  of  Alhama ;  and  how  wisely  it  was 
governed  by  the  Count  de  Tendilla. 

IN  this  part  of  his  chronicle  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  indulges  in  tri 
umphant  exultation  over  the  downfall  of 
Zahara.  "  Heaven  sometimes  speaks," 
says  he,  "  through  the  mouths  of  false 
prophets,  for  the  confusion  of  the  wicked. 
By  the  fall  of  the  fortress  was  the  predic 
tion  of  the  santon  of  Granada  in  some 
measure  fulfilled,  that  the  ruins  of  Za 
hara  should  fall  upon  the  heads  of  the 
infidels." 

Our  zealous  chronicler  scoffs  at  the 
Moorish  alcayde,  who  lost  his  fortress  by 
surprise,  in  broad  daylight ;  and  con 
trasts  the  vigilance  of  the  Christian  go- 


250 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


vernor   of  Alhama,  the   town  taken  in 
retaliation  for  the  storming  of  Zahara. 

The  important  post  of  Alhama  was  at 
this  time  confided,  by  King  Ferdinand, 
to  Don  Diego  Lopez  de  Mendoza,  Count 
de  Tendilla  ;  a  cavalier  of  noble  blood, 
brother  to  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spam. 
He  had  been  instructed  by  the  king,  not 
merely  to  maintain  his  post,  but  also  to 
make  sallies,  and  lay  waste  the  surround 
ing  country.  His  fortress  was  critically 
stationed.  It  was  within  seven  leagues 
of  Granada,  and  at  no  great  distance  from 
the  warlike  city  of  Loxa.  It  was  nestled 
in  the  lap  of  the  mountains,  commanding 
the  high  road  to  Malaga,  and  a  view  over 
the  extensive  vega.  Thus  situate,  in  the 
heart  of  the  enemy's  country,  surrounded 
by  foes  ready  to  assail  him,  and  a  rich 
country  for  him  to  ravage,  it  behoved  this 
cavalier  to  be  for  ever  on  the  alert.  He  was 
in  fact  an  experienced  veteran,  a  shrewd 
and  wary  officer,  and  a  commander  amaz 
ingly  prompt  and  fertile  in  expedients. 

On  assuming  the  command,  he  found, 
that  the  garrison  consisted  but  of  one 
thousand  men,  horse  and  foot.  They 
were  hardy  troops,  seasoned  in  rough 
mountain  campaigning ;  but  reckless  and 
dissolute,  as  soldiers  are  apt  to  be,  when 
accustomed  to  predatory  warfare.  They 
would  fight  hard  for  booty,  and  then 
gamble  it  heedlessly  away,  or  squan 
der  it  in  licentious  revellings.  Alhama 
abounded  with  hawking,  sharping,  idle 
hangers-on,  eager  to  profit  by  the  vices 
and  follies  of  the  garrison.  The  soldiers 
were  oftener  gambling  and  dancing  be 
neath  the  walls,  than  keeping  watch  upon 
the  battlements ;  and  nothing  was  heard 
from  morning  till  night,  but  the  noisy 
contest  of  cards  and  dice,  mingled  with 
the  sound  of  the  bolero  or  fandango,  the 
drowsy  strumming  of  the  guitar,  and  the 
rattling  of  the  castanets  ;  while  often  the 
whole  was  interrupted  by  the  loud  brawl 
and  fierce  and  bloody  contest. 

The   Count   de   Tendilla  set   himself  j 
vigorously    to    reform    these    excesses,  j 
He  knew,  that  laxity  of  morals  is  gene 
rally  attended  by  neglect  of  duty  ;  and  • 
that  the  least  breach  of  discipline,  in  the 
exposed  situation  of  his  fortress,  might '. 
be  fatal.     "Here   is    but  a   handful   of 
men,"   said  he :    "  it   is  necessary  that 
each  man  should  be  a  hero." 


He  endeavoured  to  awaken  a  proper 
ambition  in  the  minds  of  his  soldiers,  and 
to  instil  into  them  the  high  principles  of 
chivalry.  "  A  just  war,"  he  observed, 
"  is  often  rendered  wicked  and  disastrous 
by  the  manner  in  which  it  is  conducted : 
for  the  righteousness  of  the  cause  is  not 
sufficient  to  sanction  the  profligacy  of  the 
means  ;  and  the  want  of  order  and  subor 
dination  among  the  troops  may  bring 
ruin  and  disgrace  upon  the  best  concerted 
plans."  But  we  cannot  describe  the 
character  and  conduct  of  this  renowned 
commander  in  more  forcible  language 
than  that  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  ex 
cepting,  that  the  pious  father  places,  in 
the  foreground  of  his  virtues,  his  hatred 
of  the  Moors. 

"The  Count  de  Tendilla,"  says  he, 
"  was  a  mirror  of  Christian  knighthood  : 
watchful,  abstemious,  chaste,  devout,  and 
thoroughly  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the 
cause.  He  laboured  incessantly  and 
strenuously  for  the  glory  of  the  faith,  and 
the  prosperity  of  their  most  catholic 
majesties ;  and,  above  all,  he  hated  the 
infidels  with  a  pure  and  holy  hatred. 
This  worthy  cavalier  discountenanced 
all  idleness,  rioting,  chambering,  and 
wantonness,  among  his  soldiers.  He 
kept  them  constantly  to  the  exercise  of 
arms,  making  them  adroit  in  the  use  of 
their  weapons  and  management  of  their 
steeds,  and  prompt  for  the  field  at  a 
moment's  notice.  He  permitted  no  sound 
of  lute,  or  harp,  or  song,  or  other  loose 
minstrelsy,  to  be  heard  in  his  fortress ; 
debauching  the  ear  and  softening  the 
valour  of  the  soldier :  no  other  music  was 
allowed  but  the  wholesome  rolling  of  the 
drums  and  braying  of  the  trumpet,  and 
such  like  spirit-stirring  instruments,  as 
fill  the  mind  with  thoughts  of  iron  war. 
All  wandering  minstrels,  sharping  ped- 
lers,  sturdy  trulls,  and  other  camp  trum 
pery,  were  ordered  to  pack  up  their 
baggage,  and  were  drummed  out  of  the 
gates  of  Alhama.  In  place  of  such  rab 
ble,  he  introduced  a  train  of  holy  friars, 
to  inspirit  his  people  by  exhortation,  and 
prayer,  and  choral  chanting ;  and  to  spur 
them  on  to  fight  the  good  fight  of  faith. 
All  games  of  chance  were  prohibited, 
except  the  game  of  war ;  and  this  he 
laboured,  by  vigilance  and  vigour,  to  re 
duce  to  a  game  of  certainty.  Heaven 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


251 


smiled  upon  the  efforts  of  this  righteous 
cavalier.  His  men  became  soldiers  at 
all  points,  and  terrors  to  the  Moors.  The 
good  count  never  set  forth  on  a  ravage 
without  observing  the  rights  of  confes 
sion,  absolution,  and  communion,  and 
obliging  his  followers  to  do  the  same. 
Their  banners  were  blessed  by  the  holy 
friars  whom  he  maintained  in  Alhama ; 
and,  in  this  way,  success  was  secured  to 
his  arms ;  and  he  was  enabled  to  lay 
waste  the  land  of  the  heathen. 

"  The  fortress  of  Alhama,"  continues 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  overlooked, 
from  its  lofty  site,  a  great  part  of  the 
fertile  vega,  watered  by  the  Cazin  and 
the  Xenil.  From  this  he  made  frequent 
sallies,  sweeping  away  the  flocks  and 
herds  from  the  pasture,  the  labourer 
from  the  field,  and  the  convoy  from  the 
road ;  so  that  it  was  said  by  the  Moors, 
that  a  beetle  could  not  crawl  across  the 
vega  without  being  seen  by  the  Count 
de  Tendilla.  The  peasantry,  therefore, 
were  fain  to  betake  themselves  to  watch- 
towers  and  fortified  hamlets,  where  they 
shut  up  their  cattle,  garnered  their  corn, 
and  sheltered  their  wives  and  children. 
Even  there  they  were  not  safe :  the 
count  would  storm  these  rustic  for 
tresses  with  fire  and  sword  ;  make  cap 
tives  of  their  inhabitants ;  carry  off  the 
corn,  the  oil,  the  silks,  and  cattle ;  and 
leave  the  ruins  blazing  and  smoking, 
within  the  very  sight  of  Granada. 

"  It  was  a  pleasing  and  refreshing 
sight,"  continues  the  good  father,  "  to 
behold  the  pious  knight  and  his  fol 
lowers  returning  from  one  of  these  cru 
sades,  leaving  the  rich  land  of  the  infi 
del  in  smoking  desolation  behind  them. 
To  behold  the  long  line  of  mules  and 
asses,  laden  with  the  plunder  of  the 
Gentiles,  the  hosts  of  captive  Moors, 
men,  women,  and  children ;  droves  of 
sturdy  beeves,  lowing  kine,  and  bleating 
sheep ;  all  winding  up  the  steep  acclivity 
to  the  gates  of  Alhama,  pricked  on  by 
the  catholic  soldiery.  His  garrison  thus 
thrived  on  the  fat  of  the  land  and  the 
spoil  of  the  infidel :  nor  was  he  unmind 
ful  of  the  pious  fathers,  whose  blessings 
crowned  his  enterprises  with  success ;  a 
large  portion  of  the  spoil  was  always 
dedicated  to  the  church,  and  the  good 
friars  were  ever  ready  at  the  gates  to 


hail  him  on  his  return,  and  receive  the 
share  allotted  them.  Besides  these  al 
lotments,  he  made  many  votive  offerings, 
either  in  time  of  peril  or  on  the  eve  of  a 
foray ;  and  the  chapels  of  Alhama  were 
resplendent  with  chalices,  crosses,  and 
other  precious  gifts,  made  by  this  catho 
lic  cavalier." 

Thus  eloquently  does  the  venerable 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  dilate  in  praise 
of  the  good  Count  de  Tendilla;  and 
other  historians,  of  equal  veracity  but 
less  unction,  agree  in  pronouncing  him 
one  of  the  ablest  of  Spanish  generals. 
So  terrible,  in  fact,  did  he  become  in  the 
land,  that  the  Moorish  peasantry  could 
not  venture  a  league  from  Granada  or 
Loxa,  to  labour  in  the  fields,  without  peril 
of  being  carried  into  captivity.  The  peo 
ple  of  Granada  clamoured  against  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  for  suffering  his  lands  to 
be  thus  outraged  and  insulted,  and  de 
manded  to  have  this  bold  marauder  shut 
up  in  his  fortress.  The  old  monarch 
was  roused  by  their  remonstrances.  He 
sent  forth  powerful  troops  of  horse  to 
protect  the  country  during  the  season 
that  the  husbandmen  were  abroad  in  the 
fields.  These  troops  patrolled,  in  formi 
dable  squadrons,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Alhama,  keeping  strict  watch  upon 
its  gates,  so  that  it  was  impossible  for 
the  Christians  to  make  a  sally,  without 
being  seen  and  interrupted. 

While  Alhama  was  thus  blockaded  by 
a  roving  force  of  Moorish  cavalry,  the 
inhabitants  were  awakened  one  night, 
by  a  tremendous  crash,  that  shook  the 
fortress  to  its  foundations.  The  garri 
son  flew  to  arms,  supposing  it  some 
assault  of  the  enemy.  The  alarm 
proved  to  have  been  caused  by  a  rup 
ture  of  a  portion  of  the  wall,  which, 
undermined  by  heavy  rains,  had  sud 
denly  given  way,  leaving  a  large  chasm 
yawning  towards  the  plain. 

The  Count  de  Tendilla  was  for  a  time 
in  great  anxiety.  Should  this  breach  be 
discovered  by  the  blockading  horsemen, 
they  would  arouse  the  country.  Gra 
nada  and  Loxa  would  pour  out  an  over 
whelming  force,  and  they  would  find 
his  walls  ready  sapped  for  an  assault. 
In  this  fearful  emergency,  the  count  dis 
played  his  noted  talent  for  expedients. 
He  ordered  a  quantity  of  linen  cloth  to 


13— 


252 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


be  stretched  in  front  of  the  breach, 
painted  in  imitation  of  stone,  and  in 
dented  with  battlements,  so  as,  at  a 
distance,  to  resemble  the  other  parts  of 
the  walls.  Behind  this  screen,  he  em 
ployed  workmen,  day  and  night,  in  re 
pairing  the  fracture.  No  one  was  per 
mitted  to  leave  the  fortress,  lest  informa 
tion  of  its  defenceless  plight  should  be 
carried  to  the  Moors.  Light  squadrons 
of  the  enemy  were  seen  hovering  about 
the  plain,  but  none  approached  near 
enough  to  discover  the  deception  ;  and 
thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  the 
wall  was  rebuilt  stronger  than  before. 

There  was  another  expedient  of  this 
shrewd  veteran,  which  greatly  excites 
the  marvel  of  Agapida.  "  It  happened," 
he  observes,  "  that  this  catholic  cavalier 
at  one  time  was  destitute  of  gold  and 
silver,  wherewith  to  pay  the  wages  of 
his  troops ;  and  the  soldiers  murmured 
greatly,  seeing  that  they  had  not  the 
means  of  purchasing  necessaries  from 
the  people  of  the  town.  In  this  dilemma, 
what  does  this  most  sagacious  com 
mander?  He  takes  him  a  number  of 
little  morsels  of  paper,  on  which  he 
inscribed  various  sums,  large  and  small, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  case,  and 
signs  them  with  his  own  hand  and  name. 
These  did  he  give  to  the  soldiery,  in 
earnest  of  their  pay.  How  !  you  will 
say,  are  soldiers  to  be  paid  with  scraps 
of  paper  ?  Even  so,  I  answer,  and  well 
paid  too,  as  I  will  presently  make  mani 
fest  :  for  the  good  count  issued  a  pro 
clamation,  ordering  the  inhabitants  of 

|  Alhama  to  take  these  morsels  of  paper 
for  the  full  amount  thereon  inscribed, 

|  promising  to  redeem  them,  at  a  future 
time,  with  silver  and  gold,  and  threaten 
ing  a  severe  punishment,  to  all  who 
should  refuse.  The  people,  having  full 
confidence  in  his  words,  and  trusting, 
that  he  would  be  as  willing  to  perform 
the  one  promise,  as  he  certainly  was 
able  to  perform  the  other,  took  these 
curious  morsels  of  paper  without  hesita 
tion  or  demur. 

"  Thus,  by  a  subtle  and  most  miracu 
lous  kind  of  alchymy,  did  this  catholic 
cavalier  turn  worthless  paper  into  pre 
cious  gold,  and  make  his  late  impo 
verished  garrison  abound  in  money." 
It  is  but  just  to  add,  that  the  Count 


de  Tendilla  redeemed  his  promises  like 
a  loyal  knight ;  and  this  miracle,  as  it 
appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  is  the  first  instance  on  record 
of  paper  money,  which  has  since  inun 
dated  the  civilized  world  with  unbounded 
opulence. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Foray  of  Christian  knights  into  the  territories  of 
the  Moors. 

THE  Spanish  cavaliers,  who  had  sur 
vived  the  memorable  massacre  among 
the  mountains  of  Malaga,  although  they 
had  repeatedly  avenged  the  death  of 
their  companions,  yet  could  not  forget 
the  horror  and  humiliation  of  their  de 
feat.  Nothing  would  satisfy  them  but 
to  undertake  a  second  expedition  of  the 
kind,  to  carry  fire  and  sword  throughout 
a  wide  part  of  the  Moorish  territories, 
a»d  to  leave  all  those  regions,  which 
had  triumphed  in  their  disaster,  a  black 
and  burning  monument  of  their  ven 
geance.  Their  wishes  accorded  with 
the  policy  of  the  king,  who  desired  to 
lay  waste  the  country,  and  destroy  the 
resources  of  the  enemy ;  every  assist 
ance  was  therefore  given,  to  promote 
and  accomplish  their  enterprise. 

In  the  spring  of  1484,  the  ancient 
city  of  Antequera  again  resounded  with 
arms.  Numbers  of  the  same  cavaliers, 
who  had  assembled  there  so  gaily  the 
preceding  year,  again  came  wheeling 
into  the  gates,  with  their  steeled  and 
shining  warriors,  but  with  a  more  dark 
and  solemn  brow  than  on  that  disastrous 
occasion ;  for  they  had  the  recollection 
of  their  slaughtered  friends  present  to 
their  minds,  whose  deaths  they  were  to 
avenge. 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  chosen 
force  of  six  thousand  horse  and  twelve 
thousand  foot  assembled  in  Antequera, 
many  of  them  the  very  flower  of  Spa 
nish  chivalry,  troops  of  the  established 
military  and  religious  orders,  and  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood. 

Every  precaution  had  been  taken  to 
provide  this  army  with  all  things  needful 
for  its  extensive  and  perilous  inroad. 
Numerous  surgeons  accompanied  it,  who 
were  to  attend  upon  the  sick  and  wound 
ed,  without  charge,  being  paid  for  their 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


253 


services  by  the  queen.  Isabella  also, 
in  her  considerate  humanity,  provided 
six  spacious  tents,  furnished  with  beds, 
and  all  things  requisite  for  the  wounded 
and  infirm.  These  continued  to  be  used 
in  all  great  expeditions  throughout  the 
war,  and  were  called  the  Queen's  Hos 
pital.  The  worthy  father,  Fray  Anto 
nio  Agapida,  vaunts  this  benignant  pro 
vision  of  the  queen,  as  the  first  intro 
duction  of  a  regular  camp  hospital  in 
campaigning  service. 

Thus  thoroughly  prepared,  the  cava 
liers  issued  forth  from  Antequera  in 
splendid  and  terrible  array,  but  with 
less  exulting  confidence  and  vaunting 
ostentation  than  on  their  former  foray : 
and  this  was  the  order  of  the  army. 

Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar  led  the  ad 
vanced  guard,  accompanied  by  Don 
Diego  Fernandez  de  Cordova,  alcayde 
de  los  Donzeles,  and  Luis  Fernandez 
Puerto  Carrero,  Count  of  Palma,  with 
their  household  troops.  They  were 
followed  by  Juan  de  Merlo,  Juan  de 
Almara,  and  Carlos  de  Biezman,  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood,  with  the  men-at-arms 
of  their  captaincies. 

The  second  battalion  was  commanded 
by  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  the  Master 
of  Santiago,  with  the  cavaliers  of  San 
tiago,  and  the  troops  of  the  house  of 
Ponce  de  Leon :  with  these  also  went 
the  senior  commander  of  Calatrava,  and 
the  knights  of  that  order,  and  various 
other  cavaliers  and  their  retainers. 

The  right  wing  of  this  second  batta 
lion  was  led  by  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova, 
afterwards  renowned  as  grand  captain 
of  Spain  :  the  left  wing,  by  Diego  Lopez 
de  Avila.  They  were  accompanied  by 
several  cavaliers,  and  certain  captains  of 
the  Holy  Brotherhood,  with  their  men- 
at-arms. 

The  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  and  the 
Count  de  Cabra  commanded  the  third 
battalion,  with  the  troops  of  their  re 
spective  houses.  They  were  accompa 
nied  by  other  commanders  of  note,  with 
their  forces. 

The  rearguard  was  brought  up  by  the 
senior  commander  and  knights  of  Alcan 
tara,  followed  by  the  Andalusian  chi 
valry,  from  Xeres,  Ecija,  and  Carmona. 

Such  was  the  army  that  issued  forth 
from  the  gates  of  Antequera,  on  one  of 
VOL.  ii.  22 


the  most  extensive  tolas,  or  devastating 
inroads,  that  ever  laid  waste  the  kingdom 
of  Granada. 

The  army  entered  the  Moorish  terri 
tory  by  the  way  of  Alora,  destroying 
all  the  cornfields,  vineyards,  and  or 
chards,  and  plantations  of  olives,  round 
that  city.  It  then  proceeded  through 
the  rich  valleys  and  fertile  uplands  of 
Coin,  Cazaraboncla,  Almexia,  and  Car- 
tama,  and,  in  ten  days,  all  those  fertile 
regions  were  a  smoking  and  frightful 
desert.  From  hence  it  pursued  its  slow 
and  destructive  course,  like  the  stream 
of  lava  of  a  volcano,  through  the  re 
gions  of  Pupiana,  and  Alhendin,  and  so 
on  to  the  vega  of  Malaga,  laying  waste 
the  groves  of  olives  and  almonds,  and 
the  fields  of  grain,  and  destroying  every 
green  thing.  The  Moors  of  some  of 
those  places  interceded  in  vain  for  their 
groves  and  fields,  offering  to  deliver  up 
their  Christian  captives.  One  part  of  the 
army  blockaded  the  towns,  while  the 
other  ravaged  the  surrounding  country. 
Sometimes  the  Moors  sallied  forth  des 
perately  to  defend  their  property,  but 
were  driven  back  to  their  gates  with 
slaughter,  and  their  suburbs  pillaged  and 
burnt.  It  was  an  awful  spectacle  at 
night,  to  behold  the  volumes  of  black 
smoke,  mingled  with  lurid  flames,  that 
rose  from  the  burning  suburbs,  and  the 
women  on  the  walls  of  the  town,  wring 
ing  their  hands,  and  shrieking  at  the 
desolation  of  their  dwellings. 

The  destroying  army,  on  arriving  at 
the  sea-coast,  found  vessels  lying  off 
shore,  laden  with  all  kinds  of  provisions 
and  munitions  for  its  use,  which  had 
been  sent  from  Seville  and  Xeres.  It 
was  thus  enabled  to  continue  its  deso 
lating  career.  Advancing  to  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Malaga,  it  was  bravely 
assailed  by  the  Moors  of  that  city,  and 
there  was  severe  skirmishing  for  a  whole 
day  ;  but  while  the  main  part  of  the 
army  encountered  the  enemy,  the  rest 
ravaged  the  whole  vega,  and  destroyed 
all  the  mills.  As  the  object  of  the  expe 
dition  was  not  to  capture  places,  but 
merely  to  burn,  ravage,  and  destroy,  the 
host,  satisfied  with  the  mischief  they 
had  done  in  the  vega,  turned  their  backs 
upon  Malaga,  and  again  entered  the 
mountains.  They  passed  by  Coin,  and 


254 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


through  the  regions  of  Allagagna,  and 
Gatero,  and  Alhamin  ;  all  which  were 
likewise  desolated.  In  this  way  did 
they  make  the  circuit  of  that  chain  of 
rich  and  verdant  valleys,  the  glory  of 
those  mountains,  and  the  pride  and  de 
light  of  the  Moors.  For  forty  days  did 
they  continue  on,  like  a  consuming  fire, 
leaving  a  smoking  and  howling  waste  to 
mark  their  course,  until,  weary  with  the 
work  of  destruction,  and  having  fully 
sated  their  revenge  for  the  massacre  of 
the  Axarquia,  they  returned  in  triumph 
to  the  meadows  of  Antequera. 

In  the  month  of  June,  King  Ferdinand 
took  command  in  person  of  this  destruc 
tive  army.  He  increased  its  force  ;  and 
he  added  to  its  means  of  mischief  several 
lombards,  and  other  heavy  artillery,  in 
tended  for  the  battering  of  towns,  and 
managed  by  engineers  from  France  and 
Germany.  With  these,  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  assured  the  king,  he  would  soon 
be  able  to  reduce  the  Moorish  fortresses. 
They  were  only  calculated  for  defence 
against  the  engines  anciently  used  in 
warfare.  Their  walls  and  towers  were 
high  and  thin,  depending  on  their  rough 
and  rocky  situations.  The  stone  and 
iron  balls,  thundered  from  the  lombards, 
would  soon  tumble  them  in  ruins  upon 
the  heads  of  their  defenders. 

The  fate  of  Alora  speedily  proved  the 
truth  of  this  opinion.  It  was  strongly 
posted  on  a  rock,  washed  by  a  river. 
The  artillery  soon  battered  down  two  of 
the  towers,  and  a  part  of  the  wall.  The 
Moors  were  thrown  into  consternation  at 
the  vehemence  of  the  assault,  and  the 
effect  of  these  tremendous  engines  upon 
their  vaunted  bulwarks.  The  roaring  of 
the  artillery,  and  the  tumbling  of  the 
walls,  terrified  the  women  ;  who  beset 
the  alcayde  with  vociferous  supplications 
to  surrender.  The  place  was  given  up 
on  the  20th  of  June,  on  condition  that 
the  inhabitants  might  depart  with  their 
effects.  The  people  of  Malaga,  as  yet 
unacquainted  with  the  power  of  this  bat 
tering  ordnance,  were  so  incensed  at 
those  of  Alora,  for  what  they  considered 
a  tame  surrender,  that  they  would  not 
admit  them  into  their  city. 

A  similar  fate  attended  the  town  of 
Setenil,  built  on  a  lofty  rock,  and  es 
teemed  impregnable.  Many  times  had 


K- 


it  been  besieged  under  former  Christian 
kings,  but  never  had  it  been  taken. 
Even  now,  for  several  days,  the  artillery 
was  directed  against  it  without  effect; 
and  many  of  the  cavaliers  murmured  at 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  for  having  coun 
selled  the  king  to  attack  this  unconquer 
able  place.* 

On  the  same  night  that  these  re 
proaches  were  uttered,  the  marquis 
directed  the  artillery  himself.  He  level 
led  the  lombards  at  the  bottom  of  the 
walls,  and  at  the  gates.  In  a  little  while, 
the  gates  were  battered  to  pieces ;  a  great 
breach  was  effected  in  the  walls  ;  and  the 
Moors  were  fain  to  capitulate.  Twenty- 
four  Christian  captives,  who  had  been 
taken  in  the  defeat  of  the  mountains  of 
Malaga,  were  rescued  from  the  dungeons 
of  this  fortress,  and  hailed  the  Marquis 
of  Cadiz  as  their  deliverer. 

Needless  is  it  to  mention  the  capture 
of  various  other  places,  which  surren 
dered  without  waiting  to  be  attacked. 
The  Moors  had  always  shown  great 
bravery  and  perseverance  in  defending 
their  towns ;  they  were  formidable  in 
their  sallies  and  skirmishes,  and  patient 
in  enduring  hunger  and  thirst  when  be 
sieged:  but  this  terrible  ordnance,  which 
demolished  their  walls  with  such  ease 
and  rapidity,  overwhelmed  them  with 
confusion  and  dismay,  and  rendered  vain 
all  resistance.  King  Ferdinand  was  so 
struck  with  the  force  of  this  artillery, 
that  he  ordered  the  number  of  lombards 
to  be  increased ;  and  these  potent  engines 
had  henceforth  a  great  influence  on  the 
fortunes  of  the  war. 

The  last  operation  of  this  year,  so 
disastrous  to  the  Moors,  was  an  inroad 
by  King  Ferdinand,  in  the  latter  part  of 
summer,  into  the  vega ;  in  which  he 
ravaged  the  country,  burned  two  vil 
lages  near  to  Granada,  and  destroyed 
the  mills  close  to  the  very  gates  of  the 
city. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  over 
whelmed  with  dismay  at  this  desolation  ; 
which,  during  the  whole  year,  had  been 
raging  throughout  his  territories,  and 
now  reached  to  the  walls  of  his  capital. 
His  fierce  spirit  was  broken  by  misfor 
tunes  and  infirmity :  he  offered  to  pur- 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


=a 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


255 


chase  a  peace,  and  to  hold  his  crown  as 
a  tributary  vassal.  Ferdinand  would 
listen  to  no  propositions ;  the  absolute 
conquest  of  Granada  was  the  great 
object  of  the  war  ;  and  he  was  resolyed 
never  to  rest  content  without  its  complete 
fulfilment.  Having  supplied  and  strength 
ened  the  garrisons  of  the  places  he  had 
taken  in  the  heart  of  the  Moorish  terri 
tories,  he  enjoined  their  commanders  to 
render  every  assistance  to  the  younger 
Moorish  king,  in  the  civil  war  against 
his  father.  He  then  returned  with  his 
army  to  Cordova,  in  great  triumph ; 
closing  a  series  of  ravaging  campaigns, 
that  had  filled  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
with  grief  and  consternation. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Attempt  of  El  Zagal  to  surprise  Boabdil  in 
Almeria. 

DURING  this  year  of  sorrow  and  dis 
aster  to  the  Moors,  the  younger  king, 
Boabdil,  most  truly  called  the  unfortu 
nate,  held  a  diminished  and  feeble  court 
in  the  maritime  city  of  Almeria.  He 
retained  little  more  than  the  name  of 
king ;  and  was  supported,  in  even  this 
shadow  of  royalty  by  the  countenance 
and  treasures  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 
Still  he  trusted  that,  in  the  fluctuation  of 
events,  the  inconstant  nation  might  once 
more  return  to  his  standard,  and  replace 
him  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra. 

His  mother,  the  high-spirited  sultana 
Ayxa  la  Horra,  endeavoured  to  rouse 
him  from  this  passive  state.  "  It  is  a 
feeble  mind,"  said  she,  "  that  waits  for 
the  turn  of  fortune's  wheel ;  the  brave 
mind  seizes  upon  it,  and  turns  it  to  its 
purpose.  Take  the  field,  and  you  may 
drive  danger  before  you  ;  remain  cower 
ing  at  home,  and  it  besieges  you  in  your 
dwelling.  By  a  bold  enterprise,  you  may 
regain  your  splendid  throne  in  Granada  ; 
by  passive  forbearance,  you  will  forfeit 
even  this  miserable  throne  in  Almeria." 

Boabdil  had  not  the  force  of  soul  to 
follow  these  courageous  counsels  ;  and, 
in  a  little  time,  the  evils  his  mother  had 
predicted  fell  upon  him. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  almost 
extinguished  by  age  and  infirmity.  He 
had  nearly  lost  his  sight,  and  was  com 
pletely  bed-ridden.  His  brother  Abdalla, 


surnamed  El  Zagal,  or  "  the  valiant,"  the 
same  who  had  assisted  in  the  massacre  of 
the  Spanish  chivalry  among  the  moun 
tains  of  Malaga,  was  commander-in-chief 
of  the  Moorish  armies ;  and  gradually 
took  upon  himself  most  of  the  cares  of 
sovereignty.  Among  other  things,  he 
was  particularly  zealous  in  espousing 
his  brother's  quarrel  with  his  son  ;  and 
he  prosecuted  it  with  such  vehemence, 
that  many  affirmed  there  was  something 
more  than  fraternal  sympathy  at  the  bot 
tom  of  his  zeal. 

The  disasters  and  disgraces  inflicted 
on  the  country  by  the  Christians,  during 
this  year,  had  wounded  the  national  feel 
ings  of  the  people  of  Almeria;  and  many 
had  felt  indignant,  that  Boabdil  should 
remain  passive  at  such  a  time  ;  or  rather, 
should  appear  to  make  a  common  cause 
with  the  enemy.  His  uncle  Abdalla  dili 
gently  fomented  this  feeling  by  his  agents. 
The  same  arts  were  made  use  of,  that  had 
been  successful  in  Granada.  Boabdil  was 
secretly,  but  actively,  denounced  by  the 
alfaquis  as  an  apostate,  leagued  with  the 
Christians  against  his  country  and  his 
early  faith.  The  affections  of  the  popu 
lace  and  soldiery  were  gradually  alien 
ated  from  him,  and  a  deep  conspiracy 
concerted  for  his  destruction.  In  the 
month  of  February,  1485,  El  Zagal  sud 
denly  appeared  before  Almeria,  at  the 
head  of  a  troop  of  horse.  The  alfaquis 
were  prepared  for  his  arrival,  and  the 
gates  were  thrown  open  to  him.  He 
entered,  with  his  band,  and  galloped  to 
the  citadel.  The  alcayde  would  have 
made  resistance;  but  the  garrison  put 
him  to  death,  and  received  El  Zagal  with 
acclamations.  El  Zagal  rushed  through 
the  apartments  of  the  alcazar,  but  he 
sought  in  vain  for  Boabdil.  He  found 
the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra  in  one  of  the 
saloons,  with  Ben  Ahagete,  a  younger 
brother  of  the  monarch,  a  valiant  Aben- 
cerrage,  and  several  attendants,  who 
rallied  round  them  to  protect  them. 
"  Where  is  the  traitor  Boabdil  ?"  ex 
claimed  El  Zagal.  «  I  know  no  traitor 
more  perfidious  than  thyself,"  exclaimed 
the  intrepid  sultana :  "  and  I  trust  my 
son  is  in  safety,  to  take  vengeance  on 
thy  treason."  The  rage  of  El  Zagal 
was  without  bounds,  when  he  learned 
that  his  intended  victim  had  escaped. 


256 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


In  his  fury  he  slew  the  prince,  Ben 
Ahagete :  and  his  followers  fell  upon 
and  massacred  the  Abencerrage  and 
attendants.  As  to  the  proud  sultana, 
she  was  borne  away  prisoner,  and  load 
ed  with  revilings  ;  as  having  upheld  her 
son  in  his  rebellion,  and  fomented  a  civil 
war. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  been  ap 
prised  of  his  danger  by  a  faithful  soldier, 
just  in  time  to  make  his  escape.  Throw 
ing  himself  on  one  of  the  fleetest  horses 
of  his  stables,  and  followed  by  a  handful 
of  adherents,  he  had  galloped,  in  the 
confusion,  out  of  the  gates  of  Almeria. 
Several  of  the  cavalry  of  El  Zagal,  who 
were  stationed  without  the  walls,  per 
ceived  his  flight,  and  attempted  to  pursue 
him.  Their  horses  were  jaded  with  tra 
vel,  and  he  soon  left  them  far  behind. 
But  whither  was  he  to  fly  ?  Every  for 
tress  and  castle  in  the  kingdom  was 
closed  against  him.  He  knew  not  whom 
among  the  Moors  to  trust ;  for  they  had 
been  taught  to  detest  him,  as  a  traitor 
and  an  apostate.  He  had  no  alternative 
but  to  seek  refuge  among  the  Christians, 
his  hereditary  enemies.  With  a  heavy 
heart,  he  turned  his  horse's  head  towards 
Cordova.  He  had  to  lurk,  like  a  fugi 
tive,  through  a  part  of  his  own  dominions ; 
nor  did  he  feel  himself  secure  until  he 
had  passed  the  frontier,  and  beheld  the 
mountain  barrier  of  his  country  towering 
behind  him.  Then  it  was  that  he  be 
came  conscious  of  his  humiliating  state : 
a  fugitive  from  his  throne ;  an  outcast 
from  his  nation  ;  a  king  without  a  king 
dom.  He  smote  his  breast  in  an  agony 
of  grief.  "  Evil  indeed,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  was  the  day  of  my  birth ;  and  truly 
was  I  named  El  Zogoybi,  the  unlucky !" 

He  entered  the  gates  of  Cordova  with 
downcast  countenance,  and  with  a  train 
of  only  forty  followers.  The  sovereigns 
were  absent ;  but  the  cavaliers  of  Anda 
lusia  manifested  that  sympathy  in  the 
misfortunes  of  the  monarch,  that  becomes 
men  of  lofty  and  chivalrous  souls.  They 
received  him  with  the  greatest  distinction, 
attended  him  with  the  utmost  courtesy; 
and  he  was  honourably  entertained  by 
the  civil  and  military  commanders  of 
that  ancient  city. 

In  the  mean  time,  El  Zagal  put  a  new 
alcayde  over  Almeria,  to  govern  in  the 


& 


name  of  his  brother;  and  having  strongly 
garrisoned  the  place,  he  repaired  to  Mala 
ga,  where  an  attack  of  the  Christians  was 
apprehended.  The  young  monarch  being 
driven  out  of  the  land,  and  the  old  mo 
narch  blind  and  bed-ridden,  El  Zagal,  at 
the  head  of  the  armies,  was  virtually  the 
sovereign  of  Granada.  The  people  were 
pleased  with  having  a  new  idol  to  look 
up  to,  and  a  new  name  to  shout  forth ; 
and  El  Zagal  was  hailed  with  acclama 
tions,  as  the  main  hope  of  the  nation. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

How  King  Ferdinand  commenced  another  cam 
paign  against  the  Moors,  and  how  he  laid  siege 
to  Coin  and  Cartama. 

THE  great  effect  of  the  battering  ord 
nance,  in  demolishing  the  Moorish  for 
tresses,  in  the  preceding  year,  induced 
King  Ferdinand  to  procure  a  powerful 
train  for  the  campaign  of  1485;  in  the 
course  of  which  he  resolved  to  assault 
some  of  the  most  formidable  holds  of 
the  enemy.  An  army  of  nine  thousand 
cavalry  and  twenty  thousand  infantry  as 
sembled  at  Cordova  early  in  the  spring ; 
and  the  king  took  the  field  on  the  5th  of 
April.  It  had  been  determined,  in  secret 
council,  to  attack  the  city  of  Malaga,  that 
ancient  and  important  seaport,  on  which 
Granada  depended  for  foreign  aid  and 
supplies.  It  was  thought  proper  pre 
viously,  however,  to  get  possession  of 
various  towns  and  fortresses  in  the 
valleys  of  Santa  Maria  and  Cartama, 
through  which  pass  the  roads  to  Malaga. 

The  first  place  assailed  was  the  town 
of  Benamaquex.  It  had  submitted  to  the 
catholic  sovereigns  in  the  preceding  year, 
but  had  since  renounced  its  allegiance. 
King  Ferdinand  was  enraged  at  the  re 
bellion  of  the  inhabitants.  "  I  will  make 
their  punishment,"  said  he,  "  a  terror  to 
others  :  they  shall  be  loyal  through  force, 
if  not  through  faith."  The  place  was 
carried  by  storm  ;  one  hundred  and  eight 
of  the  principal  inhabitants  were  either 
put  to  the  sword  or  hanged  on  the  battle 
ments.  The  rest  were  carried  into  cap 
tivity.* 

The  towns  of  Coin  and  Cartama  were 
besieged  on  the  same  day ;  the  first  by  a 

*  Pulgar.   Garibay.   Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


257 


division  of  the  army  led  on  by  the  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz ;  the  second  by  another 
division,  commanded  by  Don  Alonso  de 
Aguilar,  and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto 
Carrero,  the  brave  senior  of  Palma.  -The 
king,  with  the  rest  of  the  army,  remained 
posted  between  the  two  places,  to  render 
assistance  to  either  division.  The  bat 
teries  opened  upon  both  places  at  the 
same  time ;  and  the  thunder  of  the  lom- 
bards  was  mutually  heard  from  one  camp 
to  the  other.  The  Moors  made  frequent 
sallies,  and  a  valiant  defence ;  but  they 
were  confounded  by  the  tremendous  up 
roar  of  the  batteries,  and  the  destruction 
of  their  walls.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
alarm-fires  gathered  together  the  Moorish 
mountaineers  of  the  Serrania,  who  as 
sembled  in  great  numbers  in  the  city  of 
Monda,  about  a  league  from  Coin. 

They  made  several  attempts  to  enter 
the  besieged  town,  but  in  vain  ;  they 
were  each  time  intercepted  and  driven 
back  by  the  Christians,  and  were  reduced 
to  gaze  at  a  distance,  in  despair,  on  the 
destruction  of  the  place.  While  thus 
situated,  there  rode  one  day  into  Monda 
a  fierce  and  haughty  Moorish  chieftain, 
at  the  head  of  a  band  of  swarthy  African 
horsemen.  It  was  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the 
fiery-spirited  atcayde  of  Ronda,  at  the 
head  of  his  band  of  Gomeres.  He  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  rage  and  mor 
tification  of  his  defeat  on  the  banks  of 
the  Lopera,  in  the  disastrous  foray  of  old 
Bexir,  when  he  had  been  obliged  to  steal 
back  to  his  mountains,  with  the  loss  of 
his  bravest  followers.  He  had  ever  since 
panted  for  revenge.  He  now  rode  among 
the  host  of  warriors  assembled  at  Monda. 
"  Who  among  you,"  cried  he,  "  feels 
pity  for  the  women  and  children  of  Coin, 
exposed  to  captivity  and  death  '!  Who 
ever  he  is,  let  him  follow  me,  who  am 
ready  to  die  as  a  Moslem  for  the  relief 
of  Moslems  !"  So  saying,  he  seized  a 
white  banner,  and,  waving  it  over  his 
head,  rode  forth  from  the  town,  followed 
by  the  Gomeres.  Many  of  the  warriors, 
roused  by  his  words  and  his  example, 
spurred  resolutely  after  his  banner.  The 
people  of  Coin,  being  prepared  for  this 
attempt,  sallied  forth  as  they  saw  the 
white  banner,  and  made  an  attack  upon 
the  Christian  camp ;  and,  in  the  confu 
sion  of  the  moment,  Hamet  and  his  fol 


lowers  galloped  into  the  gates.  This 
reinforcement  animated  the  besieged,  and 
Hamet  exhorted  them  to  hold  out  obsti 
nately  in  defence  of  life  and  the  town. 
As  the  Gomeres  were  veteran  warriors, 
the  more  they  were  attacked,  the  harder 
they  fought. 

At  length,  a  great  breach  was  made 
in  the  walls  ;  and  Ferdinand,  who  was 
impatient  of  the  resistance  of  the  place, 
ordered  the  Duke  of  Naxera  and  the 
Count  of  Benavente  to  enter  with  their 
troops ;  and,  as  their  forces  were  not 
sufficient,  he  sent  word  to  Luis  de  Cerda, 
Duke  of  Medina  Celi,  to  send  a  part  of 
his  people  to  their  assistance. 

The  feudal  pride  of  the  duke  was 
roused  at  this  demand.  "  Tell  my  lord 
the  king,"  said  the  haughty  grandee, 
"  that  I  have  come  to  succour  him  with 
my  household  troops.  If  my  people  are 
ordered  to  any  place,  I  am  to  go  with 
them ;  but  if  I  am  to  remain  in  the  camp, 
they  must  remain  with  me  :  for  troops 
cannot  serve  without  their  commander, 
nor  their  commander  without  his  troops." 

The  reply  of  the  high-spirited  grandee 
perplexed  the  cautious  Ferdinand,  who 
knew  the  jealous  pride  of  his  powerful 
nobles.  In  the  mean  time,  the  people 
of  the  camp,  having  made  all  prepara 
tions  for  the  assault,  were  impatient  to  be 
led  forward.  Upon  this  Pero  Ruyz  de 
Alarcon  put  himself  at  their  head,  and, 
seizing  their  mantas,  or  portable  bul 
warks,  and  their  other  defences,  they 
made  a  gallant  assault,  and  fought  their 
way  in  at  the  breach.  The  Moors  were 
so  overcome  by  the  fury  of  their  assault, 
that  they  retreated  fighting  to  the  square 
of  the  town.  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alarcon 
thought  the  place  was  carried,  when  sud 
denly  Hamet  and  his  Gomeres  came 
scouring  through  the  streets  with  wild 
war-cries,  and  fell  furiously  upon  the 
Christians.  The  latter  were,  in  their 
turn,  beaten  back  ;  and,  while  attacked 
in  front  by  the  Gomeres,  were  assailed 
by  the  inhabitants  with  all  kinds  of  mis 
siles,  from  their  roofs  and  windows. 
They  at  length  gave  way,  and  retreated 
through  the  breach.  Pero  Ruyz  de 
Alarcon  still  maintained  his  ground  in 
one  of  the  principal  streets.  The  few 
cavaliers  that  stood  by  him  urged  him  to 
fly  :  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  came  here  to 

2-2* 


258 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


fight,  and  not  to  fly !"  He  was  presently 
surrounded  by  the  Gomeres.  His  com 
panions  fled  for  their  lives.  Before  they 
fled,  they  saw  him  covered  with  wounds, 
but  still  fighting  desperately  for  the  fame 
of  a  good  cavalier.*' 

The  resistance  of  the  inhabitants, 
though  aided  by  the  valour  of  the  Go- 
meres,  was  of  no  avail.  The  battering 
artillery  of  the  Christians  demolished 
their  walls;  combustibles  were  thrown 
into  their  town,  which  set  it  on  fire  in 
various  places,  and  they  were  at  length 
compelled  to  capitulate.  They  were  per 
mitted  to  depart  with  their  effects,  and 
the  Gomeres  with  their  arms.  Hamet  el 
Zegri  and  his  African  band  sallied  forth, 
and  rode  proudly  through  the  Christian 
camp ;  nor  could  the  Spanish  cavaliers 
refrain  from  regarding  with  admiration 
that  haughty  warrior  and  his  devoted 
and  dauntless  adherents. 

The  capture  of  Coin  was  accompanied 
by  that  of  Cartama.  The  fortifications 
of  the  latter  were  repaired  and  garrison 
ed  ;  but  Coin  being  too  extensive  to  be 
defended  by  a  moderate  force,  its  walls 
were  demolished.  The  siege  of  these 
places  struck  such  terror  into  the  sur 
rounding  country,  that  the  Moors  of 
many  of  the  neighbouring  towns  aban 
doned  their  homes,  and  fled,  with  such 
of  their  effects  as  they  could  carry  away : 
upon  which  the  king  gave  orders  to  de 
molish  their  walls  and  towers. 

King  Ferdinand  now  left  his  camp  and 
his  heavy  artillery  near  Cartama,  and 
proceeded  with  his  lighter  troops  to  re 
connoitre  Malaga.  By  this  time  the 
secret  plan  of  attack,  arranged  in  the 
council  of  war  at  Cordova,  was  known 
to  all  the  world.  The  vigilant  warrior, 
El  Zagal,  had  thrown  himself  into  the 
place.  He  had  put  all  the  fortifications, 
which  were  of  vast  strength,  into  a  state 
of  defence,  and  had  sent  orders  to  the 
alcaydes  of  the  mountain  towns  to  hasten 
with  their  forces  to  his  assistance. 

The  very  day  that  King  Ferdinand 
appeared  before  the  place,  El  Zagal  sal 
lied  forth  to  receive  him  at  the  head  of  a 
thousand  cavalry,  the  choicest  warriors 
of  Granada.  A  hot  skirmish  took  place 
among  the  gardens  and  olive  trees  near 

»  Pulgar,  part  iii.  cap.  42. 


the  city.  Many  were  killed  on  both 
sides,  and  this  gave  the  Christians  a 
sharp  foretaste  of  what  they  might  ex 
pect,  if  they  attempted  to  besiege  the 
place. 

When  the  skirmish  was  over,  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz  had  a  private  confer 
ence  with  the  king.  He  represented  the 
difficulty  of  besieging  Malaga  with  their 
present  force,  especially  as  their  plans 
had  been  discovered  and  anticipated,  and 
the  whole  country  was  marching  over 
the  mountains  to  oppose  them.  The 
marquis,  who  had  secret  intelligence 
from  all  quarters,  had  received  a  letter 
from  Juceph  Xerife,  a  Moor  of  Ronda,  of 
Christian  lineage,  apprising  him  of  the 
situation  of  that  important  place  and  its 
garrison,  which  at  that  moment  laid  it 
open  to  attack ;  and  the  marquis  was 
urgent  with  the  king  to  seize  upon  this 
critical  moment,  and  secure  a  place, 
which  was  one  of  the  most  powerful 
Moorish  fortresses  on  the  frontiers,  and, 
in  the  hands  of  Hamet  el  Zegri,  had 
been  the  scourge  of  Andalusia.  The 
good  marquis  had  another  motive  for  his 
advice,  becoming  a  true  and  loyal  knight. 
In  the  deep  dungeons  of  Ronda  languish 
ed  several  of  his  companions  in  arms, 
who  had  been  captured  in  the  defeat  in 
the  Axarquia.  To  break  their  chains, 
and  restore  them  to  liberty  and  light,  he 
felt  to  be  his  peculiar  duty,  as  one  of 
those  who  had  most  promoted  that  disas 
trous  enterprise. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  to  the  advice 
of  the  marquis.  He  knew  the  importance 
of  Ronda,  which  was  considered  one  of 
the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada  ; 
and  he  was  disposed  to  punish  the  inha 
bitants,  for  the  aid  they  had  rendered  to 
the  garrison  at  Coin.  The  siege  of  Ma 
laga,  therefore,  was  abandoned  for  the 
present,  and  preparations  made  for  a 
rapid  and  secret  move  against  the  city 
of  Ronda. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Siege  of  Ronda. 

THE  bold  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  alcayde 
of  Ronda,  had  returned  sullenly  to  his 
stronghold  after  the  surrender  of  Coin. 
He  had  fleshed  his  sword  in  battle  with 
the  Christians ;  but  his  thirst  for  ven- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


259 


geance  was  still  unsatisfied.  Hamet 
gloried  in  the  strength  of  his  fortress 
and  the  valour  of  his  people.  A  fierce 
and  warlike  populace  was  at  his  com 
mand  ;  his  signal-fires  would  summon-all 
the  warriors  of  the  Serrania  ;  his  Go- 
meres  almost  subsisted  on  the  spoils  of 
Andalusia ;  and  in  the  rock  on  which 
his  fortress  was  built  were  hopeless  dun 
geons,  filled  with  Christian  captives,  who 
had  been  carried  off  by  these  war-hawks 
of  the  mountains. 

Ronda  was  considered  as  impregnable. 
It  was  situate  in  the  heart  of  wild  and 
rugged  mountains,  and  perched  upon  an 
isolated  rock,  crested  by  a  strong  citadel, 
with  triple  walls  and  towers.  A  deep 
ravine,  or  rather  a  perpendicular  chasm 
of  rocks,  of  frightful  depth,  surrounded 
three  parts  of  the  city ;  through  this 
flowed  the  Rio  Verde,  or  Green  River. 
There  were  two  suburbs  to  the  city,  for 
tified  by  walls  and  towers,  and  almost 
inaccessible,  from  the  natural  asperity  of 
the  rocks.  Around  this  rugged  city  were 
deep  rich  valleys,  sheltered  by  the  moun 
tains,  refreshed  by  constant  streams, 
abounding  with  grain  and  the  most  deli 
cious  fruits,  and  yielding  verdant  mea 
dows  ;  in  which  was  reared  a  renowned 
breed  of  horses,  the  best  in  the  whole 
kingdom  for  a  foray. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  had  scarcely  returned 
to  Ronda,  when  he  received  intelligence, 
that  the  Christian  army  was  marching 
to  the  siege  of  Malaga,  and  orders  from 
El  Zagal  to  send  troops  to  his  assistance. 
Hamet  sent  a  part  of  his  garrison  for 
that  purpose.  In  the  mean  time,  he 
meditated  an  expedition  to  which  he  was 
stimulated  by  pride  and  revenge.  All 
Andalusia  was  now  drained  of  its  troops : 
there  was  an  opportunity,  therefore,  for 
an  inroad,  by  which  he  might  wipe  out 
the  disgrace  of  his  defeat  at  the  battle  of 
Lopera.  Apprehending  no  danger  to  his 
mountain  city,  now  that  the  storm  of 
war  had  passed  down  into  the  vega  of 
Malaga,  he  left  but  a  remnant  of  his 
garrison  to  man  its  walls ;  and,  putting 
himself  at  the  head  of  his  band  of  Go- 
meres,  swept  down  suddenly  into  the 
plains  of  Andalusia.  He  careered,  al 
most  without  resistance,  over  those  vast 
campinas,  or  pasture-lands,  which  form 
a  part  of  the  domains  of  the  Duke  of 


Medina  Sidonia.  In  vain  the  bells  were 
rung,  and  the  alarm-fires  kindled ;  the 
band  of  Hamet  had  passed  by  before  any 
force  could  be  assembled  ;  and  was  only 
to  be  traced,  like  a  hurricane,  by  the  de 
vastation  it  had  made. 

Hamet  regained  in  safety  the  Serrania 
de  Ronda,  exulting  in  his  successful  in 
road.  The  mountain  glens  were  filled 
with  long  droves  of  cattle,  and  flocks  of 
sheep,  from  the  campinas  of  Medina 
Sidonia.  There  were  mules,  too,  laden 
with  the  plunder  of  the  villages ;  and 
every  warrior  had  some  costly  spoil  of 
jewels  for  his  favourite  mistress. 

As  El  Zegri  drew  near  to  Ronda,  he 
was  roused  from  his  dream  of  triumph 
by  the  sound  of  heavy  ordnance,  bellow 
ing  through  the  mountain  defiles.  His 
heart  misgave  him :  he  put  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  galloped  in  advance  of  his 
lagging  cavalgada.  As  he  proceeded, 
the  noise  of  the  ordnance  increased, 
echoing  from  cliff  to  cliff.  Spurring  his 
horse  up  a  craggy  height,  which  com 
manded  an  extensive  view,  he  beheld, 
to  his  consternation,  the  country  about 
Ronda  white  with  the  tents  of  a  besieg 
ing  army.  The  royal  standard,  dis 
played  before  a  proud  encampment, 
showed  that  Ferdinand  himself  was  pre 
sent;  while  the  incessant  blaze  and 
thunder  of  artillery,  and  the  volumes  of 
overhanging  smoke,  told  the  work  of 
destruction  that  was  going  on. 

The  royal  army  had  succeeded  in 
coming  upon  Ronda  by  surprise,  during 
the  absence  of  its  alcayde,  and  most  of 
its  garrison  ;  but  its  inhabitants  were 
warlike,  and  defended  themselves  brave 
ly,  trusting  that  Hamet  and  his  Go- 
meres  would  soon  return  to  their  assist 
ance. 

The  fancied  strength  of  their  bulwarks 
had  been  of  little  avail  against  the  bat 
teries  of  the  besiegers.  In  the  space  of 
four  days,  three  towers,  and  great  masses 
of  the  walls  which  defended  the  suburbs, 
were  battered  down,  and  the  suburbs 
taken  and  plundered.  Lombards  and 
other  heavy  ordnance  were  now  levelled 
at  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  stones  and 
missiles  of  all  kinds  hurled  into  the 
streets.  The  very  rock  on  which  the 
city  stood  shook  with  the  thunder  of 
the  artillery  ;  and  the  Christian  captives, 


260 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


deep  within  its  dungeons,  hailed  the  sound 
as  the  promise  of  deliverance. 

When  Hamet  el  Zegri  beheld  his  city 
thus  surrounded  and  assailed,  he  called 
upon  his  men  to  follow  him  and  make 
a  desperate  attempt  to  cut  their  way 
through  to  its  relief.  They  proceeded 
stealthily  through  the  mountains,  until 
they  came  to  the  nearest  heights  above 
the  Christian  camp.  When  night  fell, 
and  part  of  the  army  was  sunk  in  sleep, 
they  descended  the  rocks,  and  rushing 
suddenly  upon  the  weakest  part  of  the 
camp,  endeavoured  to  break  their  way 
through,  and  gain  the  city.  The  camp 
was  too  strong  to  be  forced ;  they  were 
driven  back  to  the  crags  of  the  moun 
tains,  whence  they  defended  themselves 
by  showering  down  darts  and  stones 
upon  their  pursuers. 

Hamet  now  lighted  alarm-fires  about 
the  heights  ;  his  standard  was  joined  by 
the  neighbouring  mountaineers,  and  by 
troops  from  Malaga.  Thus  reinforced, 
he  made  repeated  assaults  upon  the 
Christians,  cutting  off  all  stragglers  from 
the  camp.  All  his  attempts,  however, 
to  force  his  way  into  the  city  were  fruit 
less.  Many  of  his  bravest  men  were 
slain,  and  he  was  obliged  to  retreat  into 
the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  distress  of 
Ronda  was  hourly  increasing.  The  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz,  having  possession  of  the 
suburbs,  was  enabled  to  approach  to  the 
very  foot  of  the  perpendicular  precipice, 
rising  from  the  river,  on  the  summit  of 
which  the  city  is  built.  At  the  foot  of 
this  rock  is  a  living  fountain  of  limpid 
water,  gushing  into  a  great  natural  basin. 
A  secret  mine  led  down  from  within  the 
city  to  this  fountain,  by  several  hundred 
steps,  cut  in  the  solid  rock.  From  this 
the  city  obtained  its  chief  supply  of 
water ;  and  the  steps  were  deeply  worn 
by  the  weary  feet  of  Christian  captives 
employed  in  the  painful  labour.  The 
Marquis  of  Cadiz  discovered  this  sub 
terranean  passage,  and  directed  his  pio 
neers  to  countermine  it  through  the  solid 
body  of  the  rock.  They  pierced  to  the  j 
shaft ;  and,  stopping  it  up,  deprived  the  | 
city  of  the  benefit  of  this  precious  foun-  i 
tain. 

While  the  brave  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was 
thus  pressing  the  siege  with  zeal,  and  ' 


glowing  with  the  generous  thoughts  of 
soon  delivering  his  companions  in  arms 
from  the  Moorish  dungeons,  far  other 
were  the  feelings  of  the  alcayde,  Hamet 
el  Zegri.  He  smote  his  breast,  and 
gnashed  his  teeth,  in  impotent  fury,  as 
he  beheld,  from  the  mountain  cliffs,  the 
destruction  of  the  city.  Every  thunder 
of  the  Christian  ordnance  seemed  to 
batter  against  his  heart.  He  saw  tower 
after  tower  tumbling  by  day,  and  at 
night  the  city  blazed  like  a  volcano. 
"They  fired- not  merely  stones  from 
their  ordnance,"  says  a  chronicler  of  the 
times,  "  but  likewise  great  balls  of  iron, 
cast  in  moulds,  which  demolished  every 
thing  they  struck."  They  threw  also 
balls  of  tow,  steeped  in  pitch  and  oil  and 
gunpowder,  which,  when  once  on  fire, 
were  not  to  be  extinguished,  and  which 
set  the  houses  in  flames. 

Great  was  the  horror  of  the  inhabi 
tants.  They  knew  not  where  to  flee  for 
refuge :  their  houses  were  in  a  blaze,  or 
shattered  by  the  ordnance.  The  streets 
were  perilous,  from  the  falling  ruins 
and  the  bounding  balls,  which  dashed  to 
pieces  every  thing  they  encountered.  At 
night  the  city  looked  like  a  fiery  furnace : 
the  cries  and  wail  ings  of  the  women 
were  heard  between  the  thunders  of  the 
ordnance,  and  reached  even  to  the  Moors 
on  the  opposite  mountains,  who  answered 
them  by  yells  of  fury  and  despair. 

All  hope  of  external  succour  being  at 
an  end,  the  inhabitants  of  Ronda  were 
compelled  to  capitulate.  Ferdinand  was 
easily  prevailed  upon  to  grant  them  fa 
vourable  terms.  The  place  was  capable 
of  longer  resistance ;  and  he  feared  for 
the  safety  of  his  camp,  as  the  forces 
were  daily  augmenting  on  the  mountains, 
and  making  frequent  assaults.  The  in 
habitants  were  permitted  to  depart  with 
their  effects,  either  to  Barbary  or  else 
where  ;  and  those  who  chose  to  reside 
in  Spain  had  lands  assigned  them,  and 
were  indulged  in  the  exercise  of  their 
religion. 

No  sooner  did  the  place  surrender, 
than  detachments  were  sent  to  attack 
the  Moors,  who  hovered  about  the  neigh 
bouring  mountains.  Hamet  el  Zegri, 
however,  did  not  remain,  to  try  a  fruit 
less  battle.  He  gave  up  the  game  as 
lost,  and  retreated  with  his  Gomeres, 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


261 


filled  with  grief  and  rage,  but  trusting 
to  fortune  to  give  him  future  vengeance. 

The  first  care  of  the  good  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  on  entering  Ronda,  was  to  deliver 
his  unfortunate  companions  in  arms  from 
the  dungeons  of  the  fortress.  What  a 
difference  in  their  looks,  from  the  time, 
when,  flushed  with  health  and  hope,  and 
arrayed  in  military  pomp,  they  had 
sallied  forth  upon  the  mountain  foray  ! 
Many  of  them  were  almost  naked,  with 
irons  at  their  ankles,  and  beards  reach 
ing  to  their  waists.  Their  meeting  with 
the  marquis  was  joyful,  yet  it  had  the 
look  of  grief;  for  their  joy  was  mingled 
with  many  bitter  recollections.  There 
was  an  immense  number  of  other  cap 
tives,  among  whom  were  several  young 
men  of  noble  families,  who,  with  filial 
piety,  had  surrendered  themselves  pri 
soners  in  place  of  their  fathers. 

The  captives  were  all  provided  with 
mules,  and  sent  to  the  queen  at  Cordova. 
The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  melted  at 
the  sight  of  the  piteous  cavalcade.  They 
were  all  supplied  by  her  with  food  and 
raiment,  and  money  to  pay  their  expenses 
to  their  homes.  Their  chains  were  hung 
as  pious  trophies  against  the  exterior  of 
the  church  of  St.  Juan  de  los  Reyes  in 
Toledo,  where  the  Christian  traveller 
may  regale  his  eyes  with  the  sight  of 
them  at  this  very  day. 

Among  the  Moorish  captives  was  a 
young  infidel  maiden  of  great  beauty, 
who  desired  to  become  a  Christian,  and 
to  remain  in  Spain.  She  had  been  in 
spired  with  the  light  of  the  true  faith, 
through  the  ministry  of  a  young  man, 
who  had  been  a  captive  in  Ronda.  He 
was  anxious  to  complete  his  good  work 
by  marrying  her.  The  queen  consented 
to  their  pious  wishes,  having  first  taken 
care  that  the  young  maiden  should  be 
properly  purified  by  the  holy  sacrament 
of  baptism. 

"  Thus  this  pestilent  nest  of  warfare 
and  infidelity,  the  city  of  Ronda,"  says 
the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  was 
converted  to  the  true  faith  by  the  thunder 
of  our  artillery.  An  example  which  was 
soon  followed  by  Casanbonelas,  AlaV 
bella,  and  other  towns  in  these  parts ; 
insomuch  that,  in  the  course  of  this  ex- 
pedition,  no  less  than  seventy-two  places 
were  rescued  from  the  vile  sect  of  Maho 


met,  and  placed  under  the  benignant  do 
mination  of  the  cross." 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

How  the  people  of  Granada  invited  El  Zagal  to  the 
throne ;  and  how  he  marched  to  the  capital. 

THE  people  of  Granada  were  a  versa 
tile,  unsteady  race,  and  exceedingly  given 
to  make  and  unmake  kings.  They  had, 
for  a  long  time,  vacillated  between  old 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  and  his  son,  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico  ;  sometimes  setting  up  the 
one,  sometimes  the  other,  and  sometimes 
both  at  once,  according  to  the  pinch  and 
pressure  of  external  evils.  They  found, 
however,  that  the  evils  still  went  on  in 
creasing,  in  defiance  of  every  change ; 
and  were  at  their  wits'  end  to  devise 
some  new  combination  or  arrangement, 
by  which  an  efficient  government  might 
be  wrought  out  of  two  bad  kings. 

When  the  tidings  arrived  of  the  fall  of 
Ronda,  and  the  consequent  ruin  of  the 
frontier,  a  tumultuous  assemblage  took 
place  in  one  of  the  public  squares.  As 
usual,  the  people  attributed  the  misfor 
tunes  of  the  country  exclusively  to  the 
faults  of  their  rulers :  for  the  populace 
never  imagine,  that  any  part  of  their 
miseries  can  originate  with  themselves. 
A  crafty  alfaqui,  named  Alyme  Mazer, 
who  had  watched  the  current  of  their 
discontents,  rose,  and  harangued  them. 

"  You  have  been  choosing  and  chang 
ing,"  said  he,  "  between  two  monarchs  ; 
and  who  and  what  are  they?  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  for  one ;  a  man  worn  out 
by  age  and  infirmities ;  unable  to  sally 
forth  against  the  foe,  even  when  ravaging 
to  the  very  gates  of  the  city :  and  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico  for  the  other ;  an  apostate, 
a  traitor,  a  deserter  from  his  throne,  a 
fugitive  among  the  enemies  of  his  nation  j 
a  man  fated  to  misfortune,  and  pro« 
verbially  named  *  the  unlucky.' 

"  In  a  time  of  overwhelming  war,  like 
the  present,  he  only  is  fit  to  sway  a 
sceptre  who  can  wield  a  sword.  Would 
you  seek  such  a  man?  You  need  not 
look  far.  Allah  has  sent  such  a  one,  in 
this  time  of  distress,  to  retrieve  the  for 
tunes  of  Granada.  You  already  know 
whom  I  mean.  You  know  it  can  be  no 
other  than  your  general,  the  invincible 
Abdalla ;  whose  surname  of  El  Zagal  has 


262 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


become  a  watchword  in  battle,  rousing 
the  courage  of  the  faithful,  and  striking 
terror  into  the  unbelievers." 

The  multitude  received  the  words  of 
the  alfaqui  with  acclamations  ;  they  were 
delighted  with  the  idea  of  a  third  king 
over  Granada ;  and  Abdalla  el  Zagal, 
being  of  the  royal  family,  and  already  in 
the  virtual  exercise  of  royal  power,  the 
measure  had  nothing  in  it  that  appeared 
either  rash  or  violent.  A  deputation  was 
therefore  sent  to  El  Zagal  at  Malaga, 
inviting  him  to  repair  to  Granada,  to 
receive  the  crown. 

El  Zagal  expressed  great  surprise  and 
repugnance,  when  the  mission  was  an 
nounced  to  him  ;  and  nothing  but  his 
patriotic  zeal  for  the  public  safety,  and 
his  fraternal  eagerness  to  relieve  the  aged 
Aben  Hassan  from  the  cares  of  govern 
ment,  prevailed  upon  him  to  accept  the 
offer  of  the  crown.  Leaving,  therefore, 
Rodovan  de  Vanegas,  one  of  the  bravest 
Moorish  generals,  in  command  of  Malaga, 
he  departed  for  Granada,  attended  by 
three  hundred  trusty  cavaliers. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  did  not  wait 
for  the  arrival  of  his  brother.  Unable 
any  longer  to  buffet  with  the  storms  of 
the  times,  his  only  solicitude  was  to  seek 
some  safe  and  quiet  harbour  of  repose. 
In  one  of  the  deep  valleys  which  indent 
the  Mediterranean  coast,  and  which  are 
shut  up,  on  the  land  side,  by  stupendous 
mountains,  stood  the  little  city  of  Almu- 
necar.  The  valley  was  watered  by  the 
river  Frio,  and  abounded  with  fruits,  with 
grain,  and  with  pasturage.  The  city 
was  strongly  fortified ;  and  the  garrison 
and  alcayde  were  devoted  to  the  old  mo 
narch.  This  was  the  place  chosen  by 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  for  his  asylum.  His 
first  care  was  to  send  thither  all  his  trea 
sures  ;  his  next,  to  take  refuge  there  him 
self;  his  third,  that  his  sultana  Zorayna, 
and  their  two  sons,  should  follow  him. 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Abdalla  el 
Zagal  pursued  his  journey  towards  the 
capital,  attended  by  his  three  hundred 
cavaliers.  The  road  from  Malaga  to 
Granada  winds  close  by  Alhama,  and  is 
commanded  by  that  fortress.  This  had 
been  a  most  perilous  pass  for  the  Moors 
during  the  time  that  Alhama  was  com 
manded  by  the  Count  de  Tendilla.  Not 
a  traveller  could  escape  his  eagle  eye  ; 


and  his  garrison  was  ever  ready  for  a 
sally.  The  Count  de  Tendilla,  however, 
had  been  relieved  from  this  arduous  post  ; 
and  it  had  been  given  in  charge  to  Don 
Gutiere  de  Padilla,  clavero  or  treasurer 
of  the  order  of  Calatrava :  an  easy,  in 
dulgent  man,  who  had  with  him  three 
hundred  gallant  knights  of  his  order,  be 
side  other  mercenary  troops.  The  gar 
rison  had  fallen  off  in  discipline ;  the 
cavaliers  were  hardy  in  fight  and  daring 
in  foray,  but  confident  in  themselves, 
and  negligent  of  proper  precautions.  Just 
before  the  journey  of  El  Zagal,  a  number 
of  these  cavaliers,  with  several  soldiers 
of  fortune  of  the  garrison,  in  all  one  hun 
dred  and  seventy  men,  had  sallied  forth 
to  harass  the  Moorish  country,  during 
its  present  distracted  state ;  and  having 
ravaged  the  valleys  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
or  snowy  mountains,  were  returning  to 
Alhama,  in  gay  spirits,  and  laden  with 
booty. 

As  El  Zagal  passed  through  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Alhama,  he  recollected  the 
ancient  perils  of  the  road,  and  sent  light 
corredors  in  advance,  to  inspect  each 
rock  and  ravine  where  a  foe  might  lurk 
in  ambush.  One  of  these  scouts,  over 
looking  a  narrow  valley,  which  opened 
upon  the  road,  descried  a  troop  of  horse 
men,  on  the  banks  of  a  little  stream. 
They  were  dismounted,  and  had  taken 
the  bridles  from  their  steeds,  that  they 
might  crop  the  fresh  grass  on  the  banks 
of  the  river.  The  horsemen  were  scat 
tered  about ;  some  reposing  in  the  shade 
of  rocks  and  trees,  others  gambling  for 
the  spoil  they  had  taken.  Not  a  senlinel 
was  posted  to  keep  guard  ;  every  thing 
showed  the  perfect  security  of  men  who 
consider  themselves  beyond  the  reach  of 
danger. 

These  careless  cavaliers  were,  in  fact, 
the  knights  of  Calatrava,  with  a  part  of 
their  companions  in  arms,  returning  from 
their  foray.  A  part  of  their  force  had 
passed  on  with  the  cavalgada  ;  ninety  of 
the  principal  cavaliers  had  halted,  to  re 
pose  and  refresh  themselves  in  this  val 
ley.  El  Zagal  smiled  with  ferocious  joy, 
when  he  heard  of  their  negligent  secu 
rity.  "  Here  will  be  trophies,"  said  he, 
"  to  grace  our  entrance  into  Granada." 
Approaching  the  valley  with  cautious 
silence,  he  wheeled  into  it  at  full  speed, 


PI- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


263 


at  the  head  of  his  troop,  and  attacked  the 
Christians  so  suddenly  and  furiously,  that 
they  had  not  time  to  put  the  bridles  upon 
their  horses,  or  even  to  leap  into  the  sad 
dles.  They  made  a  confused  but  valiant 
defence,  fighting  among  the  rocks,  and 
in  the  rugged  bed  of  the  river.  Their 
defence  was  useless  ;  seventy-nine  were 
slain,  the  remaining  eleven  were  taken 
prisoners. 

A  party  of  the  Moors  galloped  in  pur 
suit  of  the  cavalgada  :  they  soon  overtook 
it,  winding  slowly  up  a  hill.  The  horse 
men,  who  convoyed  it,  perceiving  the 
enemy  at  a  distance,  made  their  escape, 
and  left  the  spoil  to  be  retaken  by  the 
Moors. 

El  Zagal  gathered  together  his  captives 
and  his  booty,  and  proceeded,  elate  with 
success,  to  Granada.  He  paused  before 
the  gate  of  Elvira  ;  for  as  yet  he  had  not 
been  proclaimed  king.  This  ceremony 
was  immediately  performed ;  for  the  fame 
of  his  recent  exploit  had  preceded  him, 
and  had  intoxicated  the  minds  of  the 
giddy  populace. 

He  entered  Granada  in  a  sort  of  tri 
umph.  The  eleven  captive  knights  of 
Calatrava  walked  in  front.  Next  were 
paraded  the  ninety  captured  steeds,  bear 
ing  the  armour  and  weapons  of  their  late 
owners,  and  mounted  by  as  many  Moors. 
Then  came  seventy  Moorish  horsemen, 
with  as  many  Christian  heads  hanging 
at  their  saddle-bows.  Muley  Abdalla  el 
Zagal  followed,  surrounded  by  a  number 
of  distinguished  cavaliers,  richly  attired  ; 
and  the  pageant  was  closed  by  a  long  ca 
valgada  of  the  flocks,  and  herds,  and  other 
booty,  recovered  from  the  Christians.* 

The  populace  gazed  with  almost  savage 
triumph  at  these  captive  cavaliers,  and 
the  gory  heads  of  their  companions  ; 
knowing  them  to  have  been  part  of  the 
formidable  garrison  of  Albania,  so  long 
the  scourge  of  Granada,  and  the  terror 
of  the  vega.  They  hailed  this  petty  tri 
umph  as  an  auspicious  opening  of  the 
reign  of  their  new  monarch.  For  seve 
ral  days  the  names  of  Muley  Aben  Has 
san  and  Boabdil  el  Chico  were  never 
mentioned  but  with  contempt ;  and  the 
whole  city  resounded  with  the  praises  of 
El  Zagal,  or  "  the  valiant." 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx.  c.  62.  Mariana,  Hist.  Espana. 
Abarca,  Anales  de  Aragon. 


CHAFFER  XXXII. 

How  the  Count  de  Cabra  attempted  to  capture  an 
other  king,  and  how  he  fared  in  his  attempt. 

THE  elevation  of  a  bold  and  active 
veteran  to  the  throne  of  Granada,  in 
place  of  its  late  bedridden  king,  made  a 
vast  difference  in  the  aspect  of  the  war, 
and  called  for  some  blow  that  should 
dash  the  confidence  of  the  Moors  in  their 
new  monarch,  and  animate  the  Christians 
to  fresh  exertions. 

Don  Diego  de  Cordova,  the  brave 
Count  de  Cabra,  was  at  this  time  in  his 
castle  of  Vaena,  where  he  kept  a  wary 
eye  upon  the  frontier.  It  was  now  the 
latter  part  of  August ;  and  he  grieved, 
that  the  summer  should  pass  away  with 
out  any  inroad  into  the  country  of  the 
foe.  He  sent  out  his  scouts  on  the  prowl, 
and  they  brought  him  word,  that  the  im 
portant  post  of  Moclin  was  but  weakly 
garrisoned.  This  was  a  castellated  town, 
strongly  situate  upon  a  high  mountain, 
partly  surrounded  by  thick  forests,  and 
partly  girdled  by  a  river.  It  defended 
one  of  the  rugged  and  solitary  passes  by 
which  the  Christians  were  wont  to  make 
their  inroads  ;  insomuch  that  the  Moors, 
in  their  figurative  way,  denominated  it 
the  shield  of  Granada. 

The  Count  de  Cabra  sent  word  to  the 
monarchs  of  the  feeble  state  of  the  gar 
rison,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that, 
by  a  secret  and  rapid  expedition,  the 
place  might  be  surprised.  King  Ferdi 
nand  asked  the  advice  of  his  counsellors. 
Some  cautioned  him  against  the  sanguine 
temperament  of  the  count,  and  his  heed- 
lessness  of  danger.  Moclin,  they  ob 
served,  was  near  to  Granada,  and  might 
be  promptly  reinforced.  The  opinion  of 
the  count,  however,  prevailed ;  the  king 
considering  him  almost  infallible  in  mat 
ters  of  border  warfare,  since  his  capture 
of  Boabdil  el  Chico. 

The  king  departed  from  Cordova,  there 
fore,  and  took  post  at  Alcala  la  Real,  for 
the  purpose  of  being  near  to  Moclin.  The 
queen  also  proceeded  to  Vaena,  accom 
panied  by  her  children,  Prince  Juan  and 
the  Princess  Isabella,  and  her  great  coun 
sellor  in  all  matters,  public  and  private, 
spiritual  and  temporal,  the  venerable 
grand  cardinal  of  Spain. 


•264 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Nothing  could  exceed  the  pride  and 
satisfaction  of  the  loyal  Count  de  Cabra, 
when  he  saw  this  stately  train  winding 
along  the  dreary  mountain  roads,  and 
entering  the  gates  of  Vaena.  He  received 
his  royal  guests  with  all  due  ceremony, 
and  lodged  them  in  the  best  apartments 
that  the  warrior  castle  afforded ;  being 
the  same  that  had  formerly  been  occu 
pied  by  the  royal  captive  Boabdil. 

King  Ferdinand  had  concerted  a  wary 
plan  to  insure  the  success  of  the  enter 
prise.  The  Count  de  Cabra  and  Don 
Martin  Alonso  de  Montemayor  were  to 
set  forth  with  their  troops,  so  as  to  reach 
Moclin  by  a  certain  hour,  and  to  inter 
cept  all  who  should  attempt  to  enter,  or 
should  sally  from  the  town.  The  Master 
of  Calatrava,  the  troops  of  the  grand  car 
dinal  commanded  by  the  Count  of  Buen- 
dia,  and  the  forces  of  the  Bishop  of  Jaen, 
led  by  that  belligerent  prelate,  amounting 
in  all  to  four  thousand  horse  and  six 
thousand  foot,  were  to  set  off  in  time  to 
co-operate  with  the  Count  de  Cabra,  so 
as  to  surround  the  town.  The  king  was 
to  follow  with  his  whole  force,  and  en 
camp  before  the  place. 

And  here  the  worthy  Padre  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida  breaks  forth  into  a  tri 
umphant  eulogy  of  the  pious  prelates, 
who  thus  mingled  personally  in  these 
scenes  of  warfare.  "  As  this  was  a  holy 
crusade,"  says  he,  "  undertaken  for  the 
advancement  of  the  faith,  and  the  glory 
of  the  church,  so  was  it  always  counte 
nanced  and  upheld  by  saintly  men.  For 
the  victories  of  their  most  catholic  ma 
jesties  were  not  followed,  like  those  of 
more  worldly  sovereigns,  by  erecting  cas 
tles  and  towers,  and  appointing  alcaydes 
and  garrisons,  but  by  founding  of  con 
vents  and  cathedrals,  and  the  establish 
ment  of  wealthy  bishoprics.  Wherefore 
their  majesties  were  always  surrounded, 
in  court  or  camp,  in  the  cabinet  or  in  the 
field,  by  a  crowd  of  ghostly  advisers,  in 
spiriting  them  to  the  prosecution  of  this 
most  righteous  war.  Nay,  the  holy  men 
of  the  church  did  not  scruple,  at  times, 
to  buckle  on  the  cuirass  over  the  cassock, 
to  exchange  the  crosier  for  the  lance ; 
and  thus,  with  corporal  hands,  and  tem 
poral  weapons,  to  fight  the  good  fight  of 
the  faith." 

But  to  return  from  this  rhapsody  of 


the  worthy  friar.  The  Count  de  Cabra, 
being  instructed  in  the  complicated  ar 
rangements  of  the  king,  marched  forth 
at  midnight  to  execute  them  punctually. 
He  led  his  troops  by  the  little  river,  which 
winds  below  Vaena,  and  so  up  the  wild 
defiles  of  the  mountains ;  marching  all 
night,  and  stopping  only  in  the  heat  of 
the  following  day,  to  repose  under  the 
shadowy  cliffs  of  a  deep  barranca,  cal 
culating  to  arrive  at  Moclin  exactly  in 
time  to  co-operate  with  the  other  forces. 

The  troops  had  scarcely  stretched 
themselves  on  the  earth  to  take  repose, 
when  a  scout  arrived,  bringing  word,  that 
El  Zagal  had  suddenly  sallied  out  of  Gra 
nada,  with  a  strong  force,  and  had  en 
camped  in  the  vicinity  of  Moclin.  It 
was  plain,  that  the  wary  Moor  had  re 
ceived  information  of  the  intended  attack. 
This,  however,  was  not  the  idea  that  pre 
sented  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  Count  de 
Cabra.  He  had  captured  one  king  :  here 
was  a  fair  opportunity  to  secure  another. 
What  a  triumph,  to  lodge  a  second  cap 
tive  monarch  in  his  castle  of  Vaena ! 
What  a  prisoner  to  deliver  into  the  hands 
of  his  royal  mistress !  Fired  with  the 
thought,  the  good  count  forgot  all  the  ar 
rangements  of  the  king ;  or  rather,  blind 
ed  by  former  success,  he  trusted  every 
thing  to  courage  and  fortune  ;  and  thought 
that,  by  one  bold  swoop,  he  might  again 
bear  off  the  royal  prize,  and  wear  his 
laurels  without  competition.  His  only 
fear  was,  that  the  Master  of  Calatrava, 
and  the  belligerent  bishop,  might  come 
up  in  time  to  share  the  glory  of  the  vic 
tory.  So  ordering  every  one  to  horse, 
this  hot-spirited  cavalier  pushed  on  for 
Moclin,  without  allowing  his  troops  the 
necessary  time  for  repose.* 

The  evening  closed  as  the  count  arrived 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Moclin.  It  was 
the  full  of  the  moon,  and  a  bright  and 
cloudless  night.  The  count  was  marching 
through  one  of  those  deep  valleys  or 
ravines,  worn  in  the  Spanish  mountains 
by  the  brief  but  tremendous  torrents, 
which  prevail  during  the  autumnal  rains. 
It  was  walled,  on  both  sides,  by  lofty  and 
almost  perpendicular  cliffs  ;  but  the  strong 
gleams  of  moonlight  that  penetrated  to  the 
bottom  of  the  glen,  glittered  on  the  armour 

*  Mariana,  lib.  xxv.  c.  17.    Abarca.    Zurita,  etc. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


265 


of  the  squadrons,  as  they  silently  passed  j 
through  it.     Suddenly  the  warcry  of  the  ! 
Moors  rose  in  various  parts  of  the  valley.  | 
"  El  Zagal !    El   Zagal !"   was   shouted  j 
from  every  cliff,  accompanied  by  showers  | 
of  missiles,  that  struck  down  several  of  j 
the  Christian  warriors.    The  count  lifted  ( 
up  his   eyes,  and   beheld,   by  the  light  j 
that  prevailed,  every  cliff  glistening  with  { 
Moorish  soldiery.     The  deadly  shower  j 
fell  thickly  round  him ;  and  the  shining 
armour  of  his  followers  made  them  fair 
objects  for  the  aim  of  the  enemy.      The 
count  saw  his    brother  Gonzalo  struck 
dead  by  his  side ;  his  own  horse  sunk 
under    him,   pierced    by    four    Moorish 
lances  ;  and  he  received  a  wound  in  the 
hand  from  an  arquebuse.     He  remem 
bered  the  horrible  massacre  of  the  moun 
tains  of  Malaga,  and  feared   a  similar 
catastrophe.      There    was   no    time    to 
pause.     His  brother's  horse,  freed  from 
his   slaughtered   rider,  was   running   at 
large  ;  seizing  the  reins,  he  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  called  upon  his  men  to  follow 
him,  and,  wheeling  round,  retreated  out 
of  the  fatal  valley. 

The  Moors,  rushing  down  from  the 
heights,  pursued  the  retreating  Christians. 
The  chase  endured  for  a  league ;  but  it 
was  a  league  of  rough  and  broken  ground, 
where  the  Christians  had  to  turn  and  fight 
at  almost  every  step.  In  these  short  but 
fierce  combats,  the  enemy  lost  many 
cavaliers  of  note ;  but  the  loss  of  the 
Christians  was  infinitely  more  grievous, 
comprising  numbers  of  the  noblest  war 
riors  of  Vaena  and  its  vicinity.  Many 
of  the  Christians,  disabled  by  wounds,  or 
exhausted  by  fatigue,  turned  aside,  and 
endeavoured  to  conceal  themselves  among 
rocks  and  thickets,  but  never  more  re 
joined  their  companions  ;  being  slain  or 
captured  by  the  Moors,  or  perishing  in 
their  wretched  retreats. 

The  arrival  of  the  troops  led  by  the  j 
Master  of  Calatrava  and  the  Bishop  of; 
Jaen,  put  an  end  to  the  rout.     El  Zagal 
contented  himself  with  the  laurels  he  had  • 
gained  ;  and,  ordering  the  trumpets  to  j 
call  off  his  men  from  the  pursuit,  returned 
in  great  triumph  to  Moclin.* 

Queen  Isabella  was  at  Vaena,  awaiting 
in  great  anxiety,  the  result  of  the  expc- 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx.  c.  4.    Pulgar,  Cronica. 
VOL.  ii.  23 


dition.  She  was  in  a  stately  apartment 
of  the  castle,  looking  towards  the  road 
that  winds  through  the  mountains  from 
Moclin,  and  regarding  the  watchtowers, 
that  crowned  the  neighbouring  heights, 
in  hopes  of  favourable  signals.  The 
prince  and  princess,  her  children,  were 
with  her,  and  her  venerable  counsellor,  the 
grand  cardinal.  All  shared  in  the  anxiety 
of  the  moment.  At  length  couriers  were 
seen  riding  down  towards  the  town. 
They  entered  its  gates  ;  but,  before  they, 
reached  the  castle,  the  nature  of  their 
tidings  was  known  to  the  queen,  by  the 
shrieks  and  waitings  that  rose  from  the 
streets  below.  The  messengers  were 
soon  followed  by  wounded  fugitives,  has 
tening  home  to  be  relieved,  or  to  die 
among  their  friends  and  families.  The 
whole  town  resounded  with  lamentations, 
for  it  had  lost  the  flower  of  its  youth,  and 
its  bravest  warriors.  Isabella  was  a 
woman  of  courageous  soul,  but  her  feel 
ings  were  overpowered  by  the  spectacle 
of  wo  which  presented  itself  on  every 
side.  Her  maternal  heart  mourned  over 
the  death  of  so  many  loyal  subjects,  who, 
so  shortly  before,  had  rallied  round  her 
with  devoted  affection;  and,  losing  her 
usual  self-command,  she  sunk  into  deep 
despondency. 

In  this  gloomy  state  of  mind,  a  thou 
sand  apprehensions  crowded  upon  her. 
She  dreaded  the  confidence  which  this 
success  would  impart  to  the  Moors.  She 
feared,  also,  for  the  important  fortress  of 
Alhama,  the  garrison  of  which  had  not 
been  reinforced  since  its  foraging  party 
had  been  cut  off  by  this  same  El  Zagal. 
On  every  side  the  queen  saw  danger  and 
disaster,  and  feared  that  a  general  rout 
was  about  to  attend  the  Castilian  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  comforted  her  with 
both  spiritual  and  worldly  counsel.  He 
told  her  to  recollect,  that  no  country  was 
ever  conquered,  without  occasional  re 
verses  to  the  conquerors  ;  that  the  Moors 
were  a  warlike  people,  fortified  in  a  rough 
and  mountainous  country  where  they 
never  could  be  conquered  by  her  ances 
tors  ;  and  that,  in  fact,  her  armies  had 
already,  in  three  years,  taken  more  cities 
than  those  of  any  of  her  predecessors  had 
been  able  to  do  in  twelve.  He  concluded 
by  offering  to  take  the  field,  with  three 
thousand  cavalry,  his  own  retainers,  paid 


266 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


and  maintained  by  himself,  and  either 
hasten  to  the  relief  of  Alhama,  or  under- 
take  any  other  expedition  her  majesty 
might  command.  The  discreet  words  of 
the  cardinal  soothed  the  spirit  of  the 
queen,  who  always  looked  to  him  for 
consolation,  and  she  soon  recovered  her 
usual  equanimity. 

Some  of  the  counsellors  of  Isabella,  of 
that  politic  class  who  seek  to  rise  by  the 
faults  of  others,  were  loud  in  their  cen 
sures  of  the  rashness  of  the  count.  The 
queen  defended  him  with  prompt  gene 
rosity.  "  The  enterprise,"  said  she, 
"  was  rash  ;  but  not  more  rash  than  that 
of  Lucena,  which  was  crowned  with  suc 
cess,  and  which  we  have  all  applauded, 
as  the  height  of  heroism.  Had  the  Count 
de  Cabra  succeeded  in  capturing  the 
uncle,  as  he  did  the  nephew,  who  is  there 
that  would  not  have  praised  him  to  the 
skies  ?" 

The  magnanimous  words  of  the  queen 
put  a  stop  to  all  invidious  remarks  in  her 
presence ;  but  certain  of  the  courtiers, 
who  had  envied  the  count  the  glory 
gained  by  his  former  achievements,  con 
tinued  to  magnify,  among  themselves,  his 
present  imprudence  ;  and  we  are  told  by 
Fray  A'ntonio  Agapida,  that  they  sneer- 
ingly  gave  the  worthy  cavalier  the 
appellation  of  "  Count  de  Cabra,  the 
king-catcher." 

Ferdinand  had  reached  the  place  on 
the  frontier  called  the  Fountain  of  the 
King,  within  three  leagues  of  Mod  in, 
when  he  heard  of  the  late  disaster.  He 
greatly  lamented  the  precipitation  of  the 
count,  but  forebore  to  express  himself 
with  severity ;  for  he  knew  the  value  of 
that  loyal  and  valiant  cavalier.*  He  held 
a  council  of  war  to  determine  what  course 
was  to  be  pursued.  Some  of  his  cava 
liers  advised  him  to  abandon  the  attempt 
upon  Moclin,  the  place  being  strongly 
reinforced,  and  the  enemy  inspirited  by 
his  recent  victory.  Certain  old  Spanish 
hidalgos  reminded  him,  that  he  had  but 
a  few  Castilian  troops  in  his  army,  with 
out  which  staunch  soldiery  his  prede 
cessors  never  presumed  to  enter  the 
Moorish  territory ;  while  others  remon 
strated,  that  it  would  be  beneath  the 
dignity  of  the  king  to  retire  from  an 

*  Abarca,  Anales  de  Aragon. 


enterprise  on  account  of  the  defeat  of  a 
single  cavalier  and  his  retainers.  In  this 
way,  the  king  was  distracted  by  a  multi 
tude  of  counsellors ;  when  fortunately  a 
letter  from  the  queen  put  an  end  to  his 
perplexities.  Proceed  we,  in  the  next 
chapter,  to  relate  what  was  the  purport  of 
that  letter. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Expedition  against  the  castles  of  Cambil  and 
Albahar. 

"  HAPPY  are  those  princes,"  exclaims 
the  worthy  Padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  who  have  women  and  priests  to  advise 
them ;  for  in  these  dwelleth  the  spirit  of 
counsel !"  While  Ferdinand  and  his 
captains  were  confounding  each  other  in 
their  deliberations  at  the  Fountain  of  the 
King,  a  quiet  but  deep  little  council  of  war 
was  held  in  the  state-apartment  of  the  old 
castle  of  Vaena,  between  Queen  Isabella, 
the  venerable  Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Men- 
doza,  Grand  Cardinal  of  Spain,  and  Don 
Garcia  Osorio,  the  belligerent  bishop  of 
Jaen.  This  last  worthy  prelate,  who 
had  exchanged  his  mitre  for  a  helm,  no 
sooner  beheld  the  defeat  of  the  enterprise 
against  Moclin,  than  he  turned  the  reins 
of  his  sleek,  stall-fed  steed,  and  hastened 
back  to  Vaena,  full  of  a  project  for  the 
employment  of  the  army,  the  advance 
ment  of  the  faith,  and  the  benefit  of  his 
own  diocese.  He  knew  that  the  actions 
of  the  king  were  influenced  by  the  opi 
nions  of  the  queen ;  and  that  the  queen 
always  inclined  a  listening  ear  to  the 
councils  of  saintly  men.  He  laid  his 
plans,  therefore,  with  the  customary 
wisdom  of  his  cloth,  to  turn  the  ideas  of 
the  queen  into  the  proper  channel ;  and 
this  was  the  purport  of  the  worthy 
bishop's  suggestions. 

The  bishopric  of  Jaen  had  for  a  long 
time  been  harassed  by  two  Moorish 
castles,  the  scourge  and  terror  of  all  that 
part  of  the  country.  They  were  situate 
on  the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom  of  Gra 
nada,  about  four  leagues  from  Jaen,  in  a 
deep,  narrow,  and  rugged  valley,  sur 
rounded  by  lofty  mountains.  Through 
this  valley  runs  the  Rio  Frio,  or  "  cold 
river,"  in  a  deep  channel,  between  high 
precipitous  rocks.  On  each  side  of  the 
stream  rise  two  vast  rocks,  nearly  per- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


267 


pendicular,  within  a  stone's-throw  of  each 
other  ;  blocking  up  the  narrow  gorge  of 
the  valley.  On  the  summits  of  these 
rocks  stood  the  two  formidable  castles  of 
Cambil  and  Albahar,  fortified  with  battle 
ments  and  towers  of  great  height  and 
thickness.  They  were  connected  toge 
ther  by  a  bridge,  thrown  from  rock  to 
rock  across  the  river.  The  road  which 
passed  through  the  valley  traversed  this 
bridge,  and  was  completely  commanded 
by  these  castles.  They  stood,  like  two 
giants  of  romance,  guarding  the  pass  and 
dominating  the  valley. 

The  kings  of  Granada,  knowing  the 
importance  of  these  castles,  kept  them 
always  well  garrisoned  and  victualled,  to 
stand  a  siege ;  with  fleet  steeds  and  hard 
riders,  to  forage  the  country  of  the 
Christians.  The  warlike  race  of  the 
Abencerrages,  the  troops  of  the  royal 
household,  and  others  of  the  choicest 
chivalry  of  Granada,  made  them  their 
strongholds,  from  whence  to  sally  forth 
on  those  predatory  and  roving  enterprises 
which  were  the  delight  of  the  Moorish 
cavaliers.  As  the  wealthy  bishopric  of 
Jaen  lay  immediately  at  hand,  it  suffered 
more  peculiarly  from  these  marauders. 
They  drove  off  the  fat  beeves,  and  the 
flocks  of  sheep  from  the  pastures,  and 
swept  the  labourers  from  the  field.  They 
scoured  the  country  to  the  very  gates  of 
Jaen ;  so  that  the  citizens  could  not  ven 
ture  from  their  walls  without  the  risk  of 
being  borne  off  captive  to  the  dungeons  of 
these  castles. 

The  worthy  bishop,  like  a  good  pas 
tor,  beheld,  with  grief  of  heart,  his  fat 
bishopric  daily  waxing  leaner  and  leaner, 
and  poorer  and  poorer ;  and  his  holy  ire 
was  kindled  at  the  thought,  that  the  pos 
sessions  of  the  church  should  thus  be  at 
the  mercy  of  a  crew  of  infidels. 

It  was  the  urgent  counsel  of  the  bishop, 
therefore,  that  the  military  force  thus 
providentially  assembled  in  the  neigh 
bourhood,  since  it  was  apparently  foiled 
in  its  attempt  upon  Moclin,  should  be 
turned  against  these  insolent  castles,  and 
the  country  delivered  from  their  domina 
tion.  The  grand  cardinal  supported  the 
suggestion  of  the  bishop,  and  declared, 
that  he  had  long  meditated  the  policy  of 
a  measure  of  the  kind.  Their  united 
opinions  found  favour  with  the  queen, 


and  she  despatched  a  letter  on  the  subject 
to  the  king.  It  came  just  in  time  to  re 
lieve  him  from  the  distraction  of  a  mul 
titude  of  counsellors,  and  he  immediately 
undertook  the  reduction  of  the  castles. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was,  accord 
ingly,  sent  in  advance,  with  two  thousand 
horse,  to  keep  watch  upon  the  garrisons, 
and  prevent  all  entrance  or  exit  until  the 
king  should  arrive  with  the  main  army 
and  the  battering  artillery.  The  queen, 
to  be  near  at  hand  in  case  of  need,  moved 
her  quarters  to  the  city  of  Jaen,  where 
she  was  received  with  martial  honours 
by  the  belligerent  bishop,  who  had 
buckled  on  his  cuirass,  and  girded  on 
his  sword,  to  fight  in  the  cause  of  his 
diocese. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz 
arrived  in  the  valley,  and  completely  shut 
up  the  Moors  within  their  walls.  The 
castles  were  under  the  command  of  Ma 
homet  Lentin  ben  Usef,  an  Abencerrage, 
and  one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Grana 
da.  In  his  garrisons  were  many  troops  of 
the  fierce  African  tribe  of  Gomeres.  Ma 
homet  Lentin,  confident  in  the  strength 
of  his  fortresses,  smiled,  as  he  looked 
down  from  his  battlements,  upon  the 
Christian  cavalry,  perplexed  in  the  rough 
and  narrow  valley.  He  sent  forth  skir 
mishing  parties  to  harass  them ;  and 
there  were  many  sharp  combats  between 
small  parties  and  single  knights ;  but  the 
Moors  were  driven  back  to  the  castles ; 
and  all  attempts  to  send  intelligence  of 
their  situation  to  Granada  were  inter 
cepted  by  the  vigilance  of  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz. 

At  length  the  legions  of  the  royal 
army  came  pouring,  with  fluttering  ban 
ner  and  vaunting  trumpet,  along  the 
defiles  of  the  mountains.  They  halted 
before  the  castles;  but  the  king  could 
not  find  room,  in  the  narrow  and  rugged 
valley,  to  form  his  camp :  he  had  to 
divide  it  into  three  parts,  which  were 
posted  on  different  heights,  and  his  tents 
whitened  the  sides  of  the  neighbouring 
hills.  When  the  encampment  was  form 
ed,  the  army  remained  gazing  idly  at  the 
castles.  The  artillery  was  upwards  of 
four  leagues  in  the  rear,  and  without 
artillery  all  attack  would  be  in  vain. 

The  alcayde,  Mahomet  Lentin,  knew 
the  nature  of  the  road  by  which  the  artil- 


268 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


lery  had  to  be  brought.  It  was  merely 
a  rugged  path,  at  times  scaling  almost 
perpendicular  crags  and  precipices,  up 
which  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  wheel- 
carriages  to  pass ;  neither  was  it  in  the 
power  of  man  or  beast  to  draw  up  the 
lombards  and  other  ponderous  ordnance. 
He  felt  assured,  therefore,  that  they  never 
could  be  brought  to  the  camp  ;  and.  with 
out  their  aid,  what  could  the  Christians 
effect  against  his  rock-built  castles?  He 
scoffed  at  them,  therefore,  as  he  saw  their 
tents  by  day,  and  their  fires  by  night, 
covering  the  surrounding  heights.  "  Let 
them  linger  here  a  little  while  longer," 
said  he,  "  and  the  autumnal  torrents  will 
wash  them  from  the  mountains." 

While  the  alcayde  was  thus  closely 
mewed  up  within  his  walls,  and  the  Chris 
tians  lay  inactive  in  their  camp,  he  no 
ticed,  one  calm  autumnal  day,  the  sound 
of  implements  of  labour  echoing  among 
the  mountains,  and  now  and  then  the 
crash  of  a  fallen  tree,  or  a  thundering 
report,  as  if  some  rock  had  been  heaved 
from  its  bed,  and  hurled  into  the  valley. 
The  alcayde  was  on  the  battlements  of 
his  castle,  surrounded  by  his  knights. 
"  Methinks,"  said  he,  "  these  Christians 
are  making  war  upon  the  rocks  and  trees 
of  the  mountains,  since  they  find  our  cas 
tles  unassailable." 

The  sounds  did  not  cease  even  during 
the  night ;  every  now  and  then  the  Moor 
ish  sentinel,  as  he  paced  the  battlements, 
heard  some  crash  echoing  among  the 
heights.  The  return  of  day  explained 
the  mystery.  Scarcely  did  the  sun  shine 
against  the  summits  of  the  mountains, 
than  shouts  burst  from  the  cliffs  oppo 
site  to  the  castles,  and  were  answered 
from  the  camp  with  joyful  sound  of 
kettledrums  and  trumpets. 

The  astonished  Moors  lifted  up  their 
eyes,  and  beheld,  as  it  were,  a  torrent  of 
war  breaking  out  of  the  narrow  defile. 
There  was  a  multitude  of  men  with  pick 
axes,  spades,  and  bars  of  iron,  clearing 
away  every  obstacle,  while  behind  them 
slowly  moved  along  great  teams  of  oxen, 
dragging  heavy  ordnance,  and  all  the 
munitions  of  battering  warfare. 

"  What  cannot  women  and  priests 
effect,  when  they  unite  in  counsel!" 
exclaims  again  the  worthy  Antonio  Aga- 
pida.  The  queen  had  held  another  con 


sultation  with  the  grand  cardinal,  and 
the  belligerent  Bishop  of  Jaen.  It  was 
clear,  that  the  heavy  ordnance  could 
never  be  conveyed  to  the  camp  by  the 
regular  road  of  the  country,  and  on  this 
must  depend  every  hope  of  success.  It 
was  suggested,  however,  by  the  zealous 
bishop,  that  another  road  might  be  open 
ed  through  a  more  practicable  part  of 
the  mountains.  It  would  be  an  under 
taking  extravagant  and  chimerical  with 
ordinary  means,  and,  therefore,  unlook 
ed-for  by  the  enemy  ;  but  what  could  not 
kings  do,  who  had  treasures  and  armies 
at  command? 

The  project  struck  the  enterprising 
spirit  of  the  queen.  Six  thousand  men, 
with  pickaxes,  crowbars,  and  every  other 
necessary  implement,  were  set  to  work, 
day  and  night,  to  break  a  road  through 
the  very  centre  of  the  mountains.  No 
time  was  to  be  lost ;  for  it  was  rumoured, 
that  El  Zagal  was  about  to  march  with  a 
mighty  host  to  the  relief  of  the  castles. 
The  bustling  Bishop  of  Jaen  acted  as 
pioneer,  to  mark  the  route  and  superin 
tend  the  labourers  ;  and  the  grand  cardi 
nal  took  care  that  the  work  should  never 
languish  through  lack  of  money.* 

"  When  kings'  treasures,"  says  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  are  dispensed  by 
priestly  hands,  there  is  no  stint,  as  the 
glorious  annals  of  Spain  bear  witness." 
Under  the  guidance  of  these  ghostly  men, 
it  seemed  as  if  miracles  were  effected. 
Almost  an  entire  mountain  was  levelled, 
valleys  filled  up,  trees  hewn  down,  rocks 
broken  and  overturned ;  in  short,  all  the 
obstacles,  which  nature  had  heaped 
around,  entirely  and  promptly  vanquish 
ed.  In  little  more  than  twelve  days  this 
gigantic  work  was  accomplished,  and  the 
ordnance  dragged  to  the  camp,  to  the 
great  triumph  of  the  Christians,  and  con 
fusion  of  the  Moors. | 

No  sooner  was  the  heavy  artillery  ar 
rived  than  it  was  disposed  in  all  haste 
upon  the  neighbouring  heights.  Fran 
cisco  Ramirez  de  Madrid,  the  first  engi 
neer  in  Spain,  superintended  the  batteries, 
and  soon  opened  a  destructive  fire  upon 
the  castles. 

When  the  valiant  alcayde,  Mahomet 

*  Zurita,  Anales  de  Aragon,  lib.  xx.  c.  64.    Pul- 
gar,  part  iii.  c.  51. 
t  Ibid, 


PI- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


269 


Lentin,  found  his  lowers  tumbling  about 
him,  and  his  bravest  men  dashed  from 
the  walls,  without  the  power  of  inflicting 
a  wound  upon  the  foe,  his  haughty  spirit 
was  greatly  exasperated.  "  Of  what 
avail,"  said  he,  "  is  all  the  prowess  of 
knighthood  against  these  cowardly  en 
gines,  that  murder  from  afar  T ' 

For  a  whole  day  a  tremendous  fire 
kept  thundering  upon  the  castle  of  Alba- 
har.  The  lombards  discharged  large 
stones,  which  demolished  two  of  the 
towers,  and  all  the  battlements  which 
guarded  the  portal.  If  any  Moors 
attempted  to  defend  the  walls,  or  repair 
the  breaches,  they  were  shot  down  by 
ribadoquines,  and  other  small  pieces  of 
artillery.  The  Christian  soldiery  issued 
forth  from  the  camp,  under  cover  of  this 
fire,  and,  approaching  the  castles,  dis 
charged  flights  of  arrows  and  stones 
through  the  openings  made  by  the  ord 
nance. 

At  length,  to  bring  the  siege  to  a  con 
clusion,  Francisco  Ramirez  elevated  some 
of  the  heaviest  artillery  on  a  mount,  that 
rose  in  form  of  a  cone  or  pyramid,  on  the 
side  of  the  river  near  to  Albahar,  and  com 
manded  both  castles.  This  was  an  opera 
tion  of  great  skill  and  excessive  labour, 
but  it  was  repaid  by  complete  success; 
for  the  Moors  did  not  dare  to  wait  until 
this  terrible  battery  should  discharge  its 
fury.  Satisfied  that  all  further  resist 
ance  was  vain,  the  valiant  alcayde  made 
signal  for  a  parley.  The  articles  of 
capitulation  were  soon  arranged.  The 
alcayde  and  his  garrison  were  per 
mitted  to  return  in  safety  to  the  city  of 
Granada,  and  the  castles  were  delivered 
into  the  possession  of  King  Ferdinand, 
on  the  day  of  the  festival  of  St.  Matthew, 
in  the  month  of  September.  They  were 
immediately  repaired,  strongly  garri 
soned,  and  given  in  charge  to  the  city 
of  Jaen. 

The  effects  of  this  triumph  were  im 
mediately  apparent.  Quiet  and  security 
once  more  settled  upon  the  bishopric. 
The  husbandmen  tilled  their  fields  in 
peace,  the  herds  and  flocks  fattened  un 
molested  in  the  pastures,  and  the  vine 
yards  yielded  corpulent  skinsful  of  rosy 
wine.  The  good  bishop  enjoyed,  in  the 
gratitude  of  his  people,  the  approbation 
of  his  conscience,  the  increase  of  his 


revenues,  and  the  abundance  of  his 
table,  a  reward  for  all  his  toils  and 
perils.  "  This  glorious  victory,"  ex 
claims  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "achieved 
by  such  extraordinary  management  and 
infinite  labour,  is  a  shining  example  of 
what  a  bishop  can  effect  for  the  promo 
tion  of  the  faith,  and  the  good  of  his 
diocese." 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Enterprise  of  the  knights  of  Calatrava  against 
Zalea. 

WHILE  these  events  were  taking  place 
on  the  northern  frontier  of  the  kingdom 
of  Granada,  the  important  fortress  of 
Alhama  was  neglected,  and  its  com 
mander,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla,  clavero 
of  Calatrava,*  -reduced  to  great  per 
plexity.  The  remnant  of  the  foraging 
party  which  had  been  surprised  and  mas 
sacred  by  the  fierce  El  Zagal,  when  on  his 
way  to  Granada  to  receive  the  crown, 
had  returned  in  confusion  and  dismay  to 
the  fortress.  They  could  only  speak  of 
their  own  disgrace,  being  obliged  to 
abandon  their  cavalgada,  and  to  fly, 
pursued  by  a  superior  force.  Of  the 
flower  of  their  party,  the  gallant  knights 
of  Calatrava,  who  had  remained  behind 
hi  the  valley,  they  knew  nothing.  A 
few  days  cleared  up  the  mystery,  and 
brought  tidings  of  their  steeds,  led  in 
triumph  into  the  gates  of  Granada ;  and 
their  bleeding  heads  borne  at  the  saddle 
bows  of  the  warriors  of  El  Zagal.  Their 
fellow-knights,  who  formed  a  part  of  the 
garrison,  were  struck  with  horror  at  the 
dismal  story,  and  panted  to  revenge  their 
death.  Their  number,  however,  was  too 
much  reduced  by  the  loss  to  take  the 
field  ;  for  the  vega  swarmed  with  the 
troops  of  El  Zagal.  They  could  not 
even  venture  forth  to  forage  for  provi 
sions  ;  and  the  defeat  of  the  Count  de 
Cabra  having  interrupted  their  customary 
supplies,  they  were  reduced  to  such  ex 
tremity,  that  they  had  to  kill  several  of 
their  horses  for  food. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla,  clavero  of 
Calatrava,  the  commander  of  the  for 
tress,  was  pondering  one  day  over  the 

*  Clavero  of  Calatrava  is  he  who  bears  the  keys 
of  the  castle,  convents,  and  archives  of  the  order. 
It  is  an  office  of  great  honour  and  distinction. 
23* 


270 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


gloomy  state  of  affairs,  when  a  Moor  was 
brought  before  him,  who  had  applied  at 
the  gate  for  an  audience.  He  bore  a 
budget,  and  appeared  to  be  one  of  those 
itinerant  merchants  who  wandered  about 
the  country  in  those  days,  hanging  on 
the  skirts  of  armies,  to  purchase  the 
spoils  of  the  soldiery,  and  who  would 
pretend  to  sell  amulets,  trinkets,  and 
perfumes,  4^ut  would  often  draw  forth 
from  their  wallets  articles  of  great  rarity 
and  value :  rich  shawls,  chains  of  gold, 
necklaces  of  pearls  and  diamonds,  and 
costly  gems,  the  plunder  of  camps  and 
cities.  The  Moor  approached  the  cla- 
vero  with  a  mysterious  look.  "Senior," 
said  he,  "  I  would  speak  with  you  alone; 
I  have  a  precious  jewel  to  dispose  of." 
"  I  need  no  jewels,"  said  the  clavero,  ab 
ruptly;  "take  thy  wares  to  the  soldiery." 
"  By  the  blood  of  him  who  died  on  the 
cross,"  exclaimed  the  Moor,  with  earnest 
solemnity,  "do  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  my 
offer  :  the  jewel  I  have  to  sell  would  be 
to  you  of  inestimable  value,  and  you 
alone  can  be  the  purchaser." 

The  clavero  was  moved  by  the  earnest 
ness  of  the  Moor,  and  perceived,  that, 
under  the  figurative  language  common  to 
his  countrymen,  he  concealed  some  mean 
ing  of  importance.  He  made  a  sign, 
therefore,  to  his  attendants  to  withdraw. 
The  Moor  looked  after  them,  until  the 
door  closed ;  then  advancing  cautiously, 
"  What  will  you  give  me,"  said  he,  "  if 
I  deliver  the  fortress  of  Zalea  into  your 
hands?" 

Zalea  was  a  strong  town  about  two 
leagues  distant,  which  had  been  a  hostile 
and  dangerous  neighbour  to  Alhama  ;  its 
warriors  laying  ambuscades  to  surprise 
the  knights  of  Calatrava,  when  out  upon 
a  forage,  and  to  intercept  and  cut  off 
their  supplies  and  cavalgadas. 

The  clavero  looked  with  mingled  sur 
prise  and  distrust  at  this  itinerant  pedler, 
who  thus  offered  to  traffic  for  a  warlike 
town.  "Thou  talkest,"  said  he,  "of  sell 
ing  me  Zalea ;  what  means  hast  thou  of 
making  good  the  sale  ?"  "  I  have  a 
brother  in  the  garrison,"  replied  the 
Moor,  "  who  for  a  proper  sum  paid  down, 
will  admit  a  body  of  troops  by  night  into 
the  citadel." 

"  And  for  a  sum  of  gold,  then,"  said 
the  clavero,  regarding  him  with  stern 


scrutiny,  "thou  art  prepared  to  betray 
thy  people  and  thy  faith  ?" 

"I  abjure  them  and  their  faith,"  replied 
the  Moor  :  "  my  mother  was  a  Castilian 
captive  ;  her  people. shall  be  my  people, 
and  her  religion  my  religion." 

The  cautious  clavero  still  distrusted 
the  sincerity  of  this  mongrel  Moor  and 
piebald  Christian.  "  What  assurance," 
continued  he,  "  have  I,  that  thou  wilt 
deal  more  truely  with  me,  than  with  the 
alcayde  of  the  fortress  thou  wouldst 
betray?  To  me  thou  hast  no  tie  of 
fealty,  to  him  thou  owest  thy  allegiance." 

"  I  owe  him  no  allegiance !"  cried  the 
Moor,  fire  flashing  from  his  eyes :  "  the 
alcayde  is  a  tyrant,  a  dog  !  he  has  robbed 
me  of  my  merchandise,  stripped  me  of 
my  lawful  booty,  and  ordered  me  the 
bastinado,  because  I  dared  to  complain. 
May  the  curse  of  God  light  upon  me,  if 
I  rest  contented,  until  I  have  ample  ven 
geance!" 

"Enough,"  said  the  clavero;  "  I  will 
trust  to  thy  vengeance,  even  more  than 
to  thy  Christianity." 

Don  Gutiere  now  summoned  a  council 
of  his  principal  knights.  They  were  all 
eager  for  the  enterprise,  as  a  mode  of 
revenging  the  death  of  their  companions, 
and  wiping  off  the  stigma  cast  upon  the 
order  by  the  late  defeat.  Spies  were 
sent  to  reconnoitre  Zalea,  and  to  commu 
nicate  with  the  brother  of  the  Moor ;  the 
sum  to  be  paid  as  a  recompense  was 
adjusted,  and  every  arrangement  made 
for  the  enterprise. 

On  the  appointed  night,  a  party  of 
cavaliers  set  out  under  the  guidance  of 
the  Moor.  When  they  came  near  to 
Zalea,  their  leader  bound  the  hands  of 
the  guide  behind  his  back,  and  pledged 
his  knightly  word  to  strike  him  dead  on 
the  least  sign  of  treachery ;  he  then  bade 
him  lead  the  way.  It  was  midnight, 
when  they  arrived  in  silence  under  the 
walls  of  the  citadel.  At  a  low  signal,  a 
ladder  of  ropes  was  let  down  :  Gutiere 
Muiioz  and  Pedro  de  Alvardo  were  the 
first  to  ascend,  followed  by  half  a  dozen 
others.  They  surprised  the  guards,  cut 
them  down,  threw  them  over  the  wall, 
and  gained  possession  of  a  tower.  The 
alarm  was  given,  the  whole  citadel  was 
in  confusion,  but  already  the  knights  of 
Calatrava  were  in  every  part.  They 


•r- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


271 


called  to  each  other  to  remember  their 
brethren  massacred  in  the  valley  of  the 
vega,  and  their  bloody  heads  borne  in 
triumph  to  Granada.  They  fought  with 
sanguinary  fury  ;  most  of  the  half-armed 
and  bewildered  garrison  were  put  to  the 
sword.;  the  rest  were  taken  prisoners;  in 
an  hour  they  were  masters  of  the  citadel, 
and  the  town  submitted  of  course. 

They  found  the  magazines  stored  with 
all  kinds  of  provisions,  with  which  they 
loaded  an  immense  train  of  beasts  of 
burden,  for  the  relief  of  the  famishing 
garrison  of  Alhama. 

Thus  did  the  gallant  knights  of  Cala- 
trava  gain  the  strong  town  of  Zalea,  with 
scarcely  any  loss,  and  atone  for  the 
inglorious  defeat  sustained  by  their  com 
panions.  Large  reinforcements  and  sup 
plies  from  the  sovereigns  arriving  soon 
after,  strengthened  them  in  their  own 
fortress,  and  enabled  them  to  keep  pos 
session  of  their  new  conquest.  This 
gallant  affair  took  place  about  the  same 
time  as  the  capture  of  Cambil  and  Alba- 
har ;  and  these  two  achievements  gave  a 
prosperous  termination  to  the  chequered 
events  of  this  important  year.  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  retired  for  the  winter  to 
Alcala  de  Henares,  where  the  queen,  on 
the  16th  of  December,  gave  birth  to  the 
infanta  Catherine,  afterwards  spouse  to 
Henry  VIII.  of  England. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Death  of  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan. 

THE  personal  exploits  with  which  El 
Zagal  had  commenced  his  reign,  in  sur 
prising  the  knights  of  Calatrava,  and  de 
feating  the  Count  de  Cabra,  had  given 
him  a  transient  popularity,  which  he  had 
promoted  by  feasts  and  tournaments,  and 
other  public  rejoicings,  in  which  the 
Moors  delighted.  Knowing,  however, 
the  uncertain  nature  of  the  people  over 
whom  he  reigned,  he  feared  some  capri 
cious  revolution  in  favour  of  his  deposed 
brother,  Muley  Aben  Hassan.  That 
once  fiery  old  monarch  was  now  blind 
and  bedridden,  and  lived  in  a  kind  of  j 
durance  in  the  city  of  Almunecar.  He 
was  treated,  however,  with  deference 
and  attention  ;  for  the  garrison  had  been 
originally  appointed  by  himself.  El 
Zagal,  having  now  a  little  leisure  during 


the  interval  of  the  campaigns,  became 
suddenly  solicitous  about  the  death  of  his 
brother,  and  had  him  removed  to  Salo- 
brena,  for  the  benefit  of  purer  and  more 
salubrious  air. 

The  small  town  of  Salobrena  was 
situate  on  a  lofty  hill,  that  rose  out  of  the 
centre  of  a  beautiful  and  fertile  valley  on 
the  Mediterranean  coast.  It  was  pro 
tected  by  a  strong  castle,  built  by  the 
Moorish  kings,  as  a  place  of  deposit  for 
their  treasures.  Here  also  they  sent 
such  of  their  sons  and  brothers  as  might 
endanger  the  security  of  their  reign. 
They  lived  here,  prisoners  at  large,  in  a 
state  of  voluptuous  repose,  under  a  serene 
sky,  in  a  soft  climate  and  luxuriant 
valley.  The  palace  was  adorned  with 
fountains,  and  delicious  gardens,  and  per 
fumed  baths ;  a  harem  of  beauties  was  at 
the  command  of  the  royal  captives,  and 
music  and  the  dance  beguiled  the  lagging 
hours.  Nothing  was  denied  them  but 
the  liberty  to  depart ;  that  alone  was 
wanting  to  render  the  abode  a  perfect 
paradise. 

Notwithstanding  the  extreme  salubrity 
of  the  air,  and  the  assiduous  attentions  of 
the  commander,  who  was  devoted  to  El 
Zagal,  and  had  been  particularly  charged 
by  him  to  be  watchful  over  the  health  of 
his  brother,  the  old  monarch  had  not 
been  here  many  days  before  he  expired. 
There  was  nothing  surprising  in  this 
event ;  for  life  with  him  had  long  glim 
mered  in  the  socket ;  but  the  measures 
immediately  taken  by  El  Zagal  roused 
the  suspicions  of  the  public.  With  inde 
cent  haste,  he  ordered  that  the  treasures 
of  the  deceased  should  be  packed  upon 
mules,  and  conveyed  to  Granada,  where 
he  took  possession  of  them  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  the  children.  The  sultana  Zo- 
rayna,  and  her  two  sons,  were  imprisoned 
in  the  Alhambra,  in  the  tower  of  Co- 
mares;  the  same  place,  where,  by  her 
instigation,  the  virtuous  Ayxa  la  Horra 
and  her  son  Boabdil  had  once  been  con 
fined.  There  she  had  leisure  to  ruminate 
on  the  disappointment  of  all  her  schemes, 
perfidiously  executed,  for  the  advance 
ment  of  those  sons,  who  were  her  fellow- 
prisoners.  The  corpse  of  old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  was  also  brought  to  Gra 
nada  ;  not  in  state,  like  the  remains  of  a 
once  powerful  sovereign,  but  transported 


272 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ignominiously  on  a  mule.  It  received 
no  funeral  honours,  but  was  borne  ob 
scurely  to  the  grave  by  two  Christian 
captives,  and  deposited  in  the  Royal 
Osario  or  charnel-house.* 

No  sooner  were  the  people  well  as 
sured  that  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was 
dead  and  buried,  than  they  all  with  one 
accord,  began  to  deplore  his  loss,  and 
extol  his  memory.  They  admitted,  that 
he  had  been  fierce  and  cruel,  but  then  he 
had  been  brave :  it  was  true,  he  had 
pulled  down  this  war  upon  their  heads; 
but  he  had  himself  also  been  crushed  by 
it.  In  a  word,  he  was  dead  ;  and  his 
death  atoned  for  every  fault :  for  a  king, 
just  deceased,  is  generally  either  a  hero 
or  a  saint.  In  proportion  as  they  ceased 
to  hate  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  they  began 
to  hate  his  brother  El  Zagal.  The  man 
ner  of  the  old  king's  death,  the  eagerness 
to  seize  upon  his  treasures,  the  scan 
dalous  neglect  of  his  corpse,  and  the  im 
prisonment  of  his  sultana  and  children, 
all  filled  the  public  mind  with  dark  sus 
picions  ;  and  the  name  of  El  Zagal  was 
often  coupled  with  the  epithets  of  fra 
tricide,  in  the  low  murmurings  of  the 
people. 

As  the  public  must  always  have  some 
leading  person  to  like,  as  well  as  to  hate, 
there  began  once  more  to  be  an  inquiry 
after  Boabdil  el  Chico.  That  unfortunate 
monarch  was  living  at  Cordova,  under 
the  shade  of  the  cold  friendship  of  Ferdi 
nand,  who  had  ceased  to  regard  him  with 
much  attention,  when  he  was  no  longer 
useful  to  his  interests.  No  sooner,  how 
ever,  did  the  public  favour  once  more 
incline  towards  him,  than  the  kindness 
of  the  catholic  monarch  immediately  re 
vived.  He  furnished  him  with  money 
and  means  again  to  elevate  his  standard, 
and  create  a  division  in  the  Moorish 
power.  By  this  assistance,  Boabdil  es 
tablished  the  shadow  of  a  court,  at  Velez 
el  Blanco,  a  strong  frontier  town  on  the 
confines  of  Murcia,  where  he  remained, 
as  it  were,  with  one  foot  over  the  border, 
and  ready  to  draw  that  back,  at  a  mo 
ment's  warning.  His  presence,  however, 
gave  new  life  to  his  faction  in  Granada. 
It  is  true,  the  more  courtly  and  opulent 
inhabitants  of  the  quarter  of  the  Alham- 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  cap.  Ixxvii. 


bra  still  rallied  round  the  throne  of  El 
Zagal,  as  the  great  seat  of  power ;  but 
then  the  inhabitants  of  the  albaycen,  the 
poorest  part  of  the  community,  who  had 
nothing  to  risk,  and  nothing  to  lose,  were 
almost  unanimous  in  favour  of  the  indi 
gent  BoabdiK  So  it  is  in  this  wonderful 
system  of  sublunary  affairs ;  the  rich 
befriend  the  rich,  the  powerful  stand  by 
the  powerful,  while  the  poor  enjoy  the 
sterile  assistance  of  their  fellows  :  thus, 
each  one  seeking  his  kind,  the  admirable 
order  of  all  things  is  maintained,  and  a 
universal  harmony  prevails. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Of  the  Christian  army,  which  assembled  at  the  city 
of  Cordova. 

GREAT  and  glorious  was  the  style  with 
which  the  catholic  sovereigns  opened 
another  year's  campaign  of  this  eventful 
war.  It  was  like  commencing  another 
act  of  stately  and  heroic  drama,  where 
the  curtain  rises  to  the  inspiring  sound 
of  martial  melody,  and  the  whole  stage 
glitters  with  the  array  of  warriors  and 
the  pomp  of  arms.  The  ancient  city  of 
Cordova  was  the  place  appointed  by  the 
sovereigns  for  the  assemblage  of  the 
troops ;  and,  early  in  the  spring  of  1486, 
the  fair  valley  of  the  Guadalquiver  re 
sounded  with  the  shrill  blast  of  trumpet, 
and  the  impatient  neighing  of  the  war- 
horse.  In  this  splendid  era  of  Spanish 
chivalry  there  was  a  rivalship  among 
the  nobles,  who  most  should  distinguish 
himself  by  the  splendour  of  his  appear 
ance,  and  the  number  and  equipments  of 
his  feudal  followers.  Every  day  beheld 
some  cavalier  of  note,  the  representative 
of  some  proud  and  powerful  house,  enter 
ing  the  gates  of  Cordova  with  sound  of 
trumpet,  and  displaying  his  banner  and 
device,  renowned  in  many  a  contest.  He 
would  appear  in  sumptuous  array,  sur 
rounded  by  pages  and  lackeys,  no  less 
gorgeously  attired,  and  followed  by  a 
host  of  vassals  and  retainers,  horse  and 
foot,  all  admirably  equipped  in  burnished 
armour. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Don  Inigo  Lopez 
de  Mendoza,  Duke  del  Infantado ;  who 
may  be  cited  as  a  picture  of  a  warlike 
noble  of  those  times.  He  brought  with 
him  five  hundred  men-at-arms  of  his 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


273 


household,  equipped  and  mounted  a  la 
gencta  and  d  lei  guisa.  The  cavaliers 
who  attended  him  were  both  magnifi 
cently  armed  and  dressed.  The  housings 
of  fifty  of  his  horses  were  of  rich  cloth, 
embroidered  with  gold ;  and  others  were 
of  brocade.  The  sumpter-mules  had 
housings  of  the  same,  with  halters  of 
silk ;  while  the  bridles,  head-pieces,  and 
all  the  harnessing,  glittered  with  silver. 

The  camp  equipage  of  these  noble  and 
luxurious  warriors  was  equally  magnifi 
cent.  Their  tents  were  gay  pavilions, 
of  various  colours,  fitted  up  with  silken 
hangings,  and  decorated  with  fluttering 
pennons.  They  had  vessels  of  gold 
and  silver  for  the  service  of  their  tables, 
as  if  they  were  about  to  engage  in  a 
course  of  stately  feasts  and  courtly 
revels,  instead  of  the  stern  encounters  of 
rugged  and  mountainous  warfare.  Some 
times  they  passed  through  the  streets  of 
Cordova  at  night,  in  splendid  cavalcade, 
with  great  numbers  of  lighted  torches, 
the  rays  of  which,  falling  upon  polished 
armour,  and  nodding  plumes,  and  silken 
scarfs,  and  trappings  of  golden  em 
broidery,  filled  all  beholders  with  admi 
ration.* 

But  it  was  not  the  chivalry  of  Spain 
alone  which  thronged  the  streets  of  Cor 
dova.  The  fame  of  this  war  had  spread 
throughout  Christendom  :  it  was  consi 
dered  a  kind  of  crusade ;  and  catholic 
knights  from  all  parts  hastened  to  sig 
nalize  themselves  in  so  holy  a  cause. 
There  were  several  valiant  chevaliers 
from  France,  among  whom  the  most  dis 
tinguished  was  Gaston  de  Leon,  senes 
chal  of  Toulouse.  With  him  came  a 
gallant  train,  well  armed  and  mounted, 
and  decorated  with  rich  surcoats  and 
panaches  of  feathers.  These  cavaliers, 
it  is  said,  eclipsed  all  others  in  the  light 
festivities  of  the  court.  They  were  de 
voted  to  the  fair  ;  but  not  after  the  solemn 
and  passionate  manner  of  the  Spanish 
lovers :  they  were  gay,  gallant,  and 
joyous,  in  their  amours,  and  captivated 
by  the  vivacity  of  their  attacks.  They 
were  at  first  held  in  light  estimation  by 
the  grave  and  stately  Spanish  knights, 
until  they  made  themselves  to  be  re 
spected  by  their  wonderful  prowess  in 
the  field. 

*  Pulgar,  part  iii,  cap.  41,  56. 


The  most  conspicuous  of  the  volun 
teers,  however,  who  appeared  in  Cor 
dova  on  this  occasion,  was  an  English 
knight  of  royal  connexion.  This  was 
the  Lord  Scales,  Earl  of  Rivers,  related 
to  the  Queen  of  England,  wife  of  Henry 
VII.  He  had  distinguished  himself,  in 
the  preceding  year,  at  the  battle  of  Bos- 
worth  Field,  where  Henry  Tudor,  then 
Earl  of  Richmond,  overcame  Richard 
III.  That  decisive  battle  having  left  the 
country  at  peace,  the  Earl  of  Rivers,  re 
taining  a  passion  for  warlike  scenes,  re 
paired  to  the  Castilian  court,  to  keep  his 
arms  in  exercise  in  a  campaign  against 
the  Moors.  He  brought  with  him  a  hun 
dred  archers,  all  dexterous  with  the 
long-bow  and  the  cloth-yard  arrow ; 
also  two  hundred  yeomen,  armed  cap-a- 
pie,  who  fought  with  pike  and  battle-axe  ; 
men  robust  of  frame,  and  of  prodigious 
strength. 

The  worthy  Padre  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida  describes  this  stranger  knight  and 
his  followers  with  his  accustomed  accu 
racy  and  minuteness.  "  This  cavalier," 
he  observes,  "  was  from  the  island  of 
England,  and  brought  with  him  a  train 
of  his  vassals ;  men  who  had  been  har 
dened  in  certain  civil  wars  which  had 
raged  in  their  country.  They  were  a 
comely  race  of  men,  but  too  fair  and 
fresh  for  warriors ;  not  having  the  sun 
burnt,  martial  hue  of  our  old  Castilian 
soldiery.  They  were  huge  feeders,  also, 
and  deep  carousers ;  and  could  not  ac 
commodate  themselves  to  the  sober  diet 
of  our  troops,  but  must  fain  eat  and 
drink  after  the  manner  of  their  own 
country.  They  were  often  noisy  and 
unruly,  also,  in  their  wassail ;  and  their 
quarter  of  the  camp  was  prone  to  be  a 
scene  of  loud  revel  and  sudden  brawl. 
They  were  withal  of  great  pride  ;  yet  it 
was  not  like  our  inflammable  Spanish 
pride :  they  stood  not  much  upon  the 
pundonor  and  high  punctilio,  and  rarely 
drew  the  stiletto  in  their  disputes :  but 
their  pride  was  silent  and  contumelious. 
Though  from  a  remote  and  somewhat 
barbarous  island,  they  yet  believed  them 
selves  the  most  perfect  men  upon  earth  ; 
and  magnified  their  chieftain,  the  Lord 
Scales,  beyond  the  greatest  of  our  gran 
dees.  With  all  this,  it  must  be  said  of 
them,  that  they  were  marvellous  good 


274 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


men  in  the  field,  dexterous  archers,  and 
powerful  with  the  battle-axe.  In  their 
great  pride  and  self-will,  they  always 
sought  to  press  in  the  advance,  and  take 
the  post  of  danger,  trying  to  outvie  our 
Spanish  chivalry.  They  did  not  rush 
forward  fiercely,  or  make  a  brilliant 
onset,  like  the  Moorish  and  Spanish 
troops,  but  they  went  into  the  fight  de 
liberately,  and  persisted  obstinately,  and 
were  slow  to  find  out  when  they  were 
beaten.  Withal,  they  were  much  es 
teemed,  yet  little  liked,  by  our  soldiery, 
who  considered  them  staunch  compa 
nions  in  the  field,  yet  coveted  but  little 
fellowship  with  them  in  the  camp. 

"  Their  commander,  the  Lord  Scales, 
was  an  accomplished  cavalier,  of  gracious 
and  noble  presence,  and  fair  speech.  It 
was  a  marvel  to  see  so  much  courtesy 
in  a  knight  brought  up  so  far  from  our 
Castilian  court.  He  was  much  honoured 
by  the  king  and  queen,  and  found  great 
favour  with  the  fair  dames  about  the 
court ;  who,  indeed,  are  rather  prone  to 
be  pleased  with  foreign  cavaliers.  He 
went  always  in  costly  state,  attended  by 
pages  and  esquires,  and  accompanied  by 
noble  young  cavaliers  of  his  country, 
who  had  enrolled  themselves  under  his 
banner,  to  learn  the  gentle  exercise  of 
arms.  In  all  pageants  and  festivals, 
the  eyes  of  the  populace  were  attracted 
by  the  singular  bearing  and  rich  array 
of  the  English  earl  and  his  train,  who 
prided  themselves  in  always  appearing 
in  the  garb  and  manner  of  their  country  ; 
and  were  indeed  something  very  mag 
nificent,  delectable,  and  strange  to  be 
hold." 

The  worthy  chronicler  is  no  less  ela 
borate  in  his  description  of  the  masters 
of  Santiago,  Calatrava,  and  Alcantara, 
and  their  valiant  knights ;  armed  at  all 
points,  and  decorated  with  the  badges 
of  their  orders.  "  These,"  he  affirms, 
"  were  the  flower  of  Christian  chivalry. 
Being  constantly  in  service,  they  became  j 
more  steadfast  and  accomplished  in  disci 
pline  than  the  irregular  and  temporary 
levies  of  the  feudal  nobles.  Calm, 
solemn,  and  stately,  they  sat  like  towers  j 
upon  their  powerful  chargers.  On  pa 
rades,  they  manifested  none  of  the  show 
and  ostentation  of  the  other  troops. 
Neither,  in  battle,  did  they  endeavour 


to  signalize  themselves  by  any  fiery 
vivacity,  or  desperate  and  vainglorious 
exploit ;  every  thing  with  them  was 
measured  and  sedate;  yet  it  was  ob 
served,  that  none  were  more  warlike 
in  their  appearance  in  the  camp,  or 
more  terrible  for  their  achievements  in 
the  field." 

The  gorgeous  magnificence  of  the  Spa 
nish  nobles  found  but  little  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  the  sovereigns.  They  saw  that 
it  caused  a  competition  in  expense,  ruin 
ous  to  cavaliers  of  moderate  fortune ; 
and  they  feared  that  a  softness  and 
effeminacy  might  thus  be  introduced, 
incompatible  with  the  stern  nature  of 
the  war.  They  signified  their  disap 
probation  to  several  of  the  principal 
noblemen,  and  recommended  a  more 
sober  and  soldierlike  display  while  in 
actual  service. 

"  These  are  rare  troops  for  a  tourney, 
my  lord,"  said  Ferdinand  to  the  Duke 
del  Infantado,  as  he  beheld  his  retainers 
glittering  in  gold  and  embroidery  :  "  but 
gold,  though  gorgeous,  is  soft  and  yield 
ing  :  iron  is  the  metal  for  the  field." 

"  Sire,"  replied  the  duke,  "  if  my  men 
parade  in  gold,  your  majesty  will  find 
they  fight  with  steel."  The  king  smiled, 
but  shook  his  head ;  and  the  duke  trea 
sured  up  his  speech  in  his  heart. 

It  remains  now  to  reveal  the  immediate 
object  of  this  mighty  and  chivalrous  pre 
paration  ;  which  had,  in  fact,  the  gratifi 
cation  of  a  royal  pique  at  bottom.  The 
severe  lesson  which  Ferdinand  had  re 
ceived  from  the  veteran  Ali  Atar,  before 
the  walls  of  Loxa,  though  it  had  been  of 
great  service  in  rendering  him  wary  in 
his  attacks  upon  fortified  places,  yet 
rankled  sorely  in  his  mind ;  and  he  had 
ever  since  held  Loxa  in  peculiar  odium. 
It  was,  in  truth,  one  of  the  most  belli 
gerent  and  troublesome  cities  on  the 
borders ;  incessantly  harassing  Anda 
lusia  by  its  incursions.  It  also  inter 
vened  between  the  Christian  territories 
and  Alhama,  and  other  important  places, 
gained  in  the  kingdom  of  Granada.  For 
all  these  reasons,  King  Ferdinand  had 
determined  to  make  another  grand  at 
tempt  upon  this  warrior  city ;  and  for 
this  purpose  he  had  summoned  to  the 
field  his  most  powerful  chivalry. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  May  that  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA.   * 


275 


king  sallied  from  Cordova,  at  the  head 
of  his  army.  He  had  twelve  thousand 
cavalry,  and  forty  thousand  foot-soldiers, 
with  crossbows,  lances,  and  arquebuses. 
There  were  six  thousand  pioneers,  with 
hatchets,  pickaxes,  and  crowbars,  for 
levelling  roads.  He  took  with  him,  also, 
a  great  train  of  lombards  and  other  heavy 
artillery;  with  a  body  of  Germans, 
skilled  in  the  service  of  ordnance,  and 
the  art  of  battering  walls. 

"  It  was  a  glorious  spectacle,"  says 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  to  behold  this 
pompous  pageant  issuing  forth  from  Cor 
dova  :  the  pennons  and  devices  of  the 
proudest  houses  of  Spain,  with  those  of 
gallant  stranger  knights,  fluttering  above 
a  sea  of  crests  and  plumes  ;  to  see  it 
slowly  -  moving,  with  flash  of  helmet, 
and  cuirass,  and  buckler,  across  the 
ancient  bridge,  and  reflected  in  the 
waters  of  the  Guadalquivir  :  while  the 
neigh  of  steed,  and  the  blast  of  trumpet, 
vibrated  in  the  air,  and  resounded  to  the 
distant  mountains.  But,  above  all," 
concludes  the  good  father,  with  his  ac 
customed  zeal,  "  it  was  triumphant  to 
behold  the  standard  of  the  faith  every 
where  displayed  ;  and  to  reflect,  that  this 
was  no  worldly-minded  army,  intent  upon 
some  temporal  scheme  of  ambition  or 
revenge  ;  but  a  Christian  host,  bound  on 
a  crusade  to  extirpate  the  vile  seed  of 
Mahomet  from  the  land,  and  to  extend 
the  pure  dominion  of  the  church." 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

How  fresh  commotions  broke  out  in  Granada,  and 
how  the  people  undertook  to  allay  them. 

WHILE  perfect  unity  of  object,  and 
harmony  of  operation,  gave  power  to 
the  Christian  arms,  the  devoted  kingdom 
of  Granada  continued  a  prey  to  internal 
feuds.  The  transient  popularity  of  El 
Zagal  had  declined  ever  since  the  death 
of  his  brother,  and  the  party  of  Boabdil 
el  Chico  was  daily  gaining  strength. 
The  albaycen  and  the  Alhambra  were 
again  arrayed  against  each  other  in 
deadly  strife,  and  the  streets  of  unhappy 
Granada  were  daily  dyed  in  the  blood  of 
her  children. 

In  the  midst  of  these  dissensions, 
tidings  arrived  of  the  formidable  army 
assembling  at  Cordova.  The  rival  fac 


tions  paused  in  their  infatuated  brawls, 
and  were  roused  to  a  temporary  sense  of 
the  common  danger.  They  forthwith 
resorted  to  their  old  expedient  of  new- 
modelling  their  government,  or  rather, 
of  making  and  unmaking  kings.  The 
elevation  of  El  Zagal  to  the  throne  had 
not  produced  the  desired  effect.  What, 
then,  was  to  be  done  ?  Recall  Boabdil 
el  Chico,  and  acknowledge  him  again  as 
sovereign  ?  While  they  were  in  a  popu 
lar  tumult  of  deliberation,  Hamet  Aben 
Zarrax,  surnamed  El  Santo,  arose  among 
them.  This  was  the  same  wild,  melan 
choly  man,  who  had  predicted  the  woes 
of  Granada.  He  issued  from  one  of  the 
caverns  of  the  adjacent  height,  which 
overhangs  the  Darro,  and  has  since 
been  called  the  Holy  Mountain.  His 
appearance  was  more  haggard  than 
ever;  for  the  unheeded  spirit  of  pro 
phecy  seemed  to  have  turned  inwardly, 
and  preyed  upon  his  vitals.  "  Beware, 
O  Moslems !"  exclaimed  he,  "  of  men, 
who  are  eager  to  govern,  yet  are  unable 
to  protect !  Why  slaughter  each  other 
for  El  Chico  or  El  Zagal]  Let  your 
kings  renounce  their  contests,  and  unite 
for  the  salvation  of  Granada,  or  let  them 
be  deposed !" 

Hamet  Aben  Zarrax  had  long  been 
revered  as  a  saint ;  he  was  now  con 
sidered  an  oracle.  The  old  men  and 
nobles  immediately  consulted  together 
how  the  two  rival  kings  might  be 
brought  to  accord.-  They  had  tried 
most  expedients  :  it  was  now  determined 
to  divide  the  kingdom  between  them  ; 
giving  Granada,  Malaga,  Velez  Malaga, 
Almeri,  Alumnecar,  and  their  dependen 
cies,  to  El  Zagal,  and  the  residue  to 
Boabdil  el  Chico.  Among  the  cities 
granted  to  the  latter,  Loxa  was  particu 
larly  specified,  with  a  condition  that  he 
should  immediately  take  command  of  it 
in  person  ;  for  the  council  thought  the 
favour  he  enjoyed  with  the  Castilian 
monarchs  might  avert  the  threatened 
attack. 

El  Zagal  readily  accorded  to  this  ar 
rangement.  He  had  been  hastily  ele 
vated  to  the  throne  by  an  ebullition  of 
the  people,  and  might  be  as  hastily  cast 
down  again.  It  secured  him  one  half  of 
a  kingdom  to  which  he  had  no  heredi 
tary  right,  and  he  trusted  to  force  or 


276 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


fraud  to  gain  the  other  half  hereafter. 
The.  wily  old  monarch  even  sent  a  depu 
tation  to  his  nephew,  making  a  merit  of 
offering  him  cheerfully  the  half,  which 
he  had  thus  been  compelled  to  relin 
quish,  and  inviting  him  to  enter  into  an 
amicable  coalition  for  the  good  of  the 
country. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil  shrunk  from  all 
connexion  with  a  man  who  had  sought 
his  life,  and  whom  he  regarded  as  the 
murderer  of  his  kindred.  Fie  accepted 
one  half  of  the  kingdom  as  an  offer  from 
the  nation,  not  to  be  rejected  by  a  prince, 
who  scarcely  held  possession  of  the 
ground  he  stood  on.  He  asserted,  never 
theless,  his  absolute  right  to  the  whole, 
and  only  submitted  to  the  partition  out 
of  anxiety  for  the  present  good  of  his 
people.  He  assembled  his  handful  of 
adherents,  and  prepared  to  hasten  to 
Loxa.  As  he  mounted  his  horse  to  de 
part,  Hamet  Aben  Zarrax  stood  suddenly 
before  him.  "Be  true  to  thy  country 
and  thy  faith,"  cried  he,  "  hold  no  further 
communication  with  these  Christian  dogs. 
Trust  not  the  hollow-hearted  friendship 
of  the  Castilian  king :  he  is  mining  the 
earth  beneath  thy  feet.  Choose  one  of 
two  things :  be  a  sovereign  or  a  slave ; 
thou  canst  not  be  both !" 

Boabdil  ruminated  on  these  words :  he 
made  many  wise  resolutions  ;  but  he  was 
I  prone  always  to  act  from  the  impulse  of 
[  the  moment,  and  was  unfortunately  given 
to  temporize  in  his  policy.     He  wrote  to 
Ferdinand,  informing  him  that  Loxa  and 
certain  other  cities  had  returned  to  their 
j  allegiance,  and   that   he    held   them   as 
vassal  to  the  Castilian  crown,  according 
to  their  convention.     He  conjured  him, 
therefore,  to  refrain  from  any  meditated 
attack,  offering  free  passage  to  the  Spa 
nish  army  to  Malaga,  or  any  other  place 
under  the  dominion  of  his  uncle.* 

Ferdinand  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
entreaty,  and  to  all  professions  of  friend 
ship  and  vassalage.  Boabdil  was  no 
thing  to  him,  but  as  an  instrument  for 
stirring  up  the  flames  of  civil  discord. 
He  now  insisted,  that  he  had  entered 
into  a  hostile  league  with  his  uncle,  and 
had,  consequently,  forfeited  all  claims  to 
his  indulgence ;  and  he  prosecuted  with 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx.  c.  68. 


greater  earnestness  his  campaign  against 
the  city  of  Loxa. 

"  Thus,"  observes  the  worthy  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  did  this  most  saga 
cious  sovereign  act  upon  the  text  in  the 
eleventh  chapter  of  the  evangelist  St. 
Luke,  that  l  a  kingdom  divided  against 
itself  cannot  stand.'  He  had  induced 
these  infidels  to  waste  and  destroy  them 
selves  by  internal  dissensions,  and  finally 
cast  forth  the  survivor  ;  while  the  Moor 
ish  monarchs,  by  their  ruinous  contests, 
made  good  the  old  Castilian  proverb  in 
cases  of  civil  war,  '  El  vencido  vencido, 
y  el  vencidor  perdido,'  the  conquered  con 
quered,  and  the  conqueror  undone."* 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

How  King  Ferdinand  held  a  council  of  war  at  the 
Rock  of  the  Lovers. 

THE  royal  army,  on  its  march  against 
Loxa,  lay  encamped,  one  pleasant  even 
ing  in  May,  in  a  meadow,  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Yeguas,  around  the  foot  of  a 
lofty  cliff,  called  the  Rock  of  the  Lovers. 
The  quarters  of  each  nobleman,  formed, 
as  it  were,  a  separate  little  encampment  ; 
his  stately  pavilion,  surmounted  by  his 
fluttering  pennon,  rising  above  the  sur 
rounding  tents  of  his  vassals  and  re 
tainers.  A  little  apart  from  the  others, 
as  it  were  in  proud  reserve,  was  the  en 
campment  of  the  English  earl.  It  was 
sumptuous  in  its  furniture,  and  complete 
in  its  munitions.  Archers,  and  soldiers 
armed  with  battle-axes,  kept  guard  around 
it ;  while  above,  the  standard  of  England 
rolled  out  its  ample  folds,  and  flapped  in 
the  evening  breeze. 

The  mingled  sounds  of  various  tongues 
and  nations  were  heard  from  the  soldiery, 
as  they  watered  their  horses  in  the  stream, 
or  busied  themselves  round  the  fires  which 
began  to  glow,  here  and  there,  in  the 
twilight:  the  gay  chanson  of  the  French 
man,  singing  of  his  amours  on  the  plea 
sant  banks  of  the  Loire,  or  the  sunny 
regions  of  the  Garonne ;  the  broad  gut 
tural    tones   of   the    German,    chanting 
I  some  doughty  kriegerlied,    or   extolling 
|  the  vintage  of  the  Rhine ;  the  wild  ro- 
|  mance    of   the    Spaniard,    reciting   the 
'  achievements  of  the   Cid,  and  many  a 

*  Garibay,  lib.  xl.  c.  33. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


277 


famous  passage  of  the  Moorish  wars;  and 
the  long  and  melancholy  ditty  of  the  Eng 
lishman,  treating  of  some  feudal  hero  or 
redoubtable  outlaw  of  his  distant  island. 

On  a  rising  ground,  commanding  a 
view  of  the  whole  encampment,  stood  the 
ample  and  magnificent  pavilion  of  the 
king,  with  the  banner  of  Castile  and 
Aragon,  and  the  holy  standard  of  the 
cross  erected  before  it.  In  this  tent 
were  assembled  the  principal  comman 
ders  of  the  army,  having  been  summoned 
by  Ferdinand  to  a  council  of  war,  on 
receiving  tidings  that  Boabdil  had  thrown 
himself  into  Loxa,  with  a  considerable 
reinforcement.  After  some  consultation, 
it  was  determined  to  invest  Loxa  on  both 
sides :  one  part  of  the  army  was  to  seize 
upon  the  dangerous  but  commanding 
height  of  Santo  Albohacin,  in  front  of  the 
city  ;  while  the  remainder,  making  a  cir 
cuit,  should  encamp  on  the  opposite  side. 

No  sooner  was  this  resolved  upon, 
than  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  stood  forth, 
and  claimed  the  post  of  danger,  on  behalf 
of  himself  and  those  cavaliers,  his  com 
panions  in  arms,  who  had  been  compelled 
to  relinquish  it  by  the  general  retreat  of 
the  army  on  the  former  siege.  The 
enemy  had  exulted  over  them,  as  if 
driven  from  it  in  disgrace.  To  regain 
that  perilous  height,  to  pitch  their  tents 
upon  it,  and  to  avenge  the  blood  of  their 
valiant  compeer,  the  Master  of  Calatrava, 
who  had  fallen  upon  it,  was  due  to  their 
fame:  the  marquis  demanded,  therefore, 
that  they  might  lead  the  advance,  and 
secure  the  height,  engaging  to  hold  the 
enemy  employed,  until  the  main  army 
should  take  its  position  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  city. 

King  Ferdinand  readily  granted  his 
permission,  upon  which  the  Count  de 
Cabra  begged  to  be  admitted  to  a  share 
of  the  enterprise.  He  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  serve  in  the  advance; 
and  now  that  Boabdil  was  in  the  field, 
and  a  king  was  to  be  taken,  he  could  not 
content  himself  with  remaining  in  the 
rear.  Ferdinand  yielded  his  consent  ; 
for  he  was  disposed  to  give  the  good 
count  every  opportunity  to  retrieve  his 
late  disaster. 

The  English  earl,  when  he  heard  there 
was  a  work  of  danger  in  question,  was 
eager  to  be  of  the  party ;  but  the  king 
VOL.  ii.  24 


restrained  his  ardour.  "  These  cava 
liers,"  said  he,  "  conceive  that  they  have 
an  account  to  settle  with  their  pride. 
Let  them  have  the  enterprise  to  them 
selves,  my  lord :  if  you  follow  these 
Moorish  wars  long,  you  will  find  no  lack 
of  perilous  service." 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  his  compa 
nions  in  arms  struck  their  tents  before 
daybreak.  They  were  five  thousand 
horse,  and  twelve  thousand  foot,  and 
they  marched  rapidly  along  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains  ;  the  cavaliers  being 
anxious  to  strike  the  blow,  and  get  pos 
session  of  the  height  of  Albohacin,  before 
the  king,  with  the  main  army,  should 
arrive  to  their  assistance. 

The  city  of  Loxa  stands  on  a  high 
hill,  between  two  mountains,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Xenil.  To  attain  the  height  in 
question,  the  troops  had  to  pass  over  a 
tract  of  country,  rugged  and  broken, 
and  a  deep  valley,  intersected  by  the 
canals  and  water-courses,  with  which 
the  Moors  irrigated  their  lands.  They 
were  extremely  embarrassed  in  this  part 
of  their  march,  and  in  imminent  risk  of 
being  cut  up  in  detail,  before  they  could 
reach  the  height.  The  Count  de  Cabra, 
with  his  usual  eagerness,  endeavoured 
to  push  across  this  valley,  in  defiance  of 
every  obstacle.  He,  in  consequence, 
soon  became  entangled  with  his  cavalry 
among  the  canals ;  but  his  impatience 
would  not  permit  him  to  retrace  his  steps, 
and  choose  a  more  practicable  but  cir 
cuitous  route.  Others  slowly  crossed 
another  part  of  the  valley  by  the  aid  of 
pontoons ;  while  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  and  the  Count 
de  Urena,  being  more  experienced  in  the 
ground,  from  their  former  compaign, 
made  a  circuit  round  the  bottom  of  the 
height,  and,  thus  ascending,  began  to 
display  their  squadrons,  and  elevate  their 
banners,  on  the  redoubtable  post,  which, 
in  the  former  siege,  they  had  been  com 
pelled  so  reluctantly  to  abandon. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

How  the  royal  army  appeared  before  the  city  of 
Loxa,  and  how  it  was  received,  and  of  the 
doughty  achievements  of  the  English  earl. 

THE  advance  of  the  Christian  army 
upon  Loxa  threw  the  wavering  Boabdil 


278 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


el  Chico  into  one  of  his  usual  dilemmas  ; 
and  he  was  greatly  perplexed  between 
his  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Spanish 
sovereigns,  and  his  sense  of  duty  to  his 
subjects.  His  doubts  were  determined 
by  the  sight  of  the  enemy,  glittering  upon 
the  height  of  Albohacin,  and  by  the  cla 
mours  of  the  people  to  be  led  forth  to 
battle.  "Allah!"  exclaimed  he,  "thou 
knowest  my  heart ;  thou  knowest  I  have 
been  true  in  my  faith  to  this  Christian 
monarch  !  I  have  offered  to  hold  Loxa 
as  his  vassal,  but  he  has  preferred  to  ap 
proach  it  as  an  enemy :  on  his  head  be 
the  infraction  of  our  treaty  !" 

Boabdil  was  not  wanting  in  courage ; 
he  only  needed  decision.  When  he  had 
once  made  up  his  mind,  he  acted  vigor 
ously.  The  misfortune  was,  he  either 
did  not  make  it  up  at  all,  or  he  made  it  up 
too  late.  He  who  decides  tardily,  gene 
rally  acts  rashly  ;  endeavouring  to  com 
pensate,  by  hurry  of  action,  for  slowness 
of  deliberation.  Boabdil  hastily  buckled 
on  his  armour,  and  sallied  forth,  sur 
rounded  by  his  guards,  and  at  the  head 
of  five  hundred  horse,  and  four  thousand 
foot,  the  flower  of  his  army.  Some  he 
detached  to  skirmish  with  the  Christians, 
who  were  scattered  and  perplexed  in  the 
valley,  and  to  prevent  their  concen 
trating  their  forces  ;  while,  with  his  main 
body,  he  pressed  forward,  to  drive  the 
enemy  from  the  height  of  Albohacin, 
before  they  had  time  to  collect  there  in 
any  number,  or  to  fortify  themselves  in 
that  important  position. 

The  worthy  Count  de  Cabra  was  yet 
entangled,  with  his  cavalry,  among  the 
water-courses  of  the  valley,  when  he 
heard  the  war-cries  of  the  Moors,  and 
saw  their  army  rushing  over  the  bridge. 
He  recognised  Boabdil  himself  by  his 
splendid  armour,  the  magnificent  capari 
son  of  his  steed,  and  the  brilliant  guard 
which  surrounded  him.  The  royal  host 
swept  on  towards  the  height.  An  inter 
vening  hill  hid  it  from  his  sight ;  but 
loud  shouts  and  cries,  the  din  of  drums 
and  trumpets,  and  the  reports  of  arque 
buses,  gave  note  that  the  battle  had 
begun. 

Here  was  a  royal  prize  in  the  field, 
and  the  Count  de  Cabra  unable  to  share 
in  the  action !  The  good  cavalier  was 
in  an  agony  of  impatience.  Every  at 


tempt  to  force  his  way  across  the  valley 
only  plunged  him  into  new  difficulties. 
At  length,  after  many  eager  but  ineffec 
tual  efforts,  he  was  obliged  to  order  his 
troops  to  dismount,  and  slowly  and  care 
fully  to  lead  their  horses  back,  along 
slippery  paths,  and  amid  plashes  of 
mire  and  water,  where  often  there  was 
scarcely  a  foothold.  The  good  count 
groaned  in  spirit,  and  was  in  a  profuse 
sweat  with  mere  impatience  as  he  went, 
fearing  the  battle  might  be  fought,  and 
the  prize  won  or  lost,  before  he  could 
reach  the  field.  Having  at  length  toil- 
fully  unravelled  the  mazes  of  the  valley, 
and  arrived  at  firmer  ground,  he  ordered 
his  troops  to  mount,  and  led  them  full 
gallop  to  the  height.  Part  of  the  good 
count's  wishes  were  satisfied,  but  the 
dearest  were  disappointed.  He  came  in 
season  to  partake  of  the  very  hottest  of 
the  fight,  but  the  royal  prize  was  no 
longer  in  the  field. 

Boabdil  had  led  on  his  men  with  im 
petuous  valour,  or  rather  with  hurried 
rashness.  Heedlessly  exposing  himself 
in  the  front  of  battle,  he  received  two 
wounds  in  the  very  first  encounter.  His 
guards  rallied  round  him,  defended  him 
with  matchless  valour,  and  bore  him 
bleeding  out  of  the  action.  The  Count 
de  Cabra  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the 
loyal  squadron  crossing  the  bridge,  and 
slowly  conveying  their  disabled  monarch 
towards  the  gate  of  the  city. 

The  departure  of  Boabdil  made  no  dif 
ference  in  the  fury  of  the  contest.  A 
Moorish  warrior,  dark  and  terrible  in 
aspect,  mounted  on  a  black  charger,  and 
followed  by  a  band  of  savage  Gomeres, 
rushed  forward  to  take  the  lead.  It  was 
Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  fierce  alcayde  of 
Ronda,  with  the  remnant  of  his  once 
redoubtable  garrison.  Animated  by  his 
example,  the  Moors  renewed  their  as 
saults  upon  the  height.  It  was  bravely 
defended  on  one  side  by  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  on  another  by  Don  Alonso  de 
Aguilar;  and  as  fast  as  the  Moors  ascend 
ed,  they  were  driven  back  and  dashed 
down  the  declivities.  The  Count  de 
Urena  took  his  stand  upon  the  fatal  spot 
where  his  brother  had  fallen.  His  fol 
lowers  entered  with  zeal  into  the  feelings 
of  their  commander,  and  heaps  of  the 
enemy  sunk  beneath  their  weapons,  sa- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


279 


crifices  to  the  manes  of  the  lamented 
Master  of  Calatrava. 

The  battle  continued  with  incredible 
obstinacy.  The  Moors  knew  the  im 
portance  of  the  height  to  the  safety -of 
ihe  city  ;  the  cavaliers  felt  their  honours 
staked  to  maintain  it.  Fresh  supplies  of 
troops  were  poured  out  of  the  city ;  some 
battled  on  the  height,  while  some  attacked 
the  Christians  who  were  still  in  the  val 
ley,  and  among  the  orchards  and  gar 
dens,  to  prevent  their  uniting  their  forces. 
The  troops  in  the  valley  were  gradually 
driven  back,  and  the  whole  host  of  the 
Moors  swept  around  the  Albohacin.  The 
situation  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  his 
companions  was  perilous  in  the  extreme  ; 
they  were  a  mere  handful ;  and  while 
they  were  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the 
Moors  who  assailed  the  height,  they  were 
galled  from  a  distance  by  the  crossbows 
and  arquebuses  of  a  host,  that  augmented 
each  moment  in  number.  At  this  critical 
juncture,  King  Ferdinand  emerged  from 
the  mountains  with  the  main  body  of  the 
army,  and  advanced  to  an  eminence  com 
manding  a  full  view  of  the  field  of  action. 
By  his  side  was  the  noble  English  cava 
lier,  the  Earl  of  Rivers.  This  was  the 
first  time  he  had  witnessed  a  scene  of 
Moorish  warfare.  He  looked  with  eager 
interest  at  the  chance-medley  fight  before 
him, — the  wild  career  of  cavalry,  the 
irregular  and  tumultuous  rush  of  infan 
try,  and  Christian  helm  and  Moorish 
turban  intermingling  in  deadly  struggle. 
His  high  blood  mounted  at  the  sight ;  and 
his  very  soul  was  stirred  within  him,  by 
the  confused  war-cries,  the  clangour  of 
drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  reports  of 
arquebuses,  that  came  echoing  up  the 
mountains.  Seeing  the  king  was  sending 
a  reinforcement  to  the  field,  he  entreated 
permission  to  mingle  in  the  affray,  and 
fight  according  to  the  fashion  of  his 
country.  His  request  being  granted,  he 
alighted  from  his  steed.  He  was  merely 
armed  en  bianco,  that  is  to  say,  with 
morion,  back-piece,  and  breast-plate ;  his 
sword  was  girded  by  his  side,  and  in  his 
hand  he  wielded  a  powerful  battle-axe. 

He  was  followed  by  a  body  of  his 
yeomen,  armed  in  like  manner,  and  by  a 
band  of  archers,  with  bows  made  of  the 
tough  English  yew-tree.  The  earl  turned 
to  his  troops,  and  addressed  them  briefly 


and  bluntly,  according  to  the  manner  of 
his  country.  "  Remember,  my  merry 
men  all,"  said  he,  "  the  eyes  of  strangers 
are  upon  you ;  you  are  in  a  foreign  land, 
fighting  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the 
honour  of  merry  old  England  !"  A  loud 
shout  was  the  reply.  The  earl  waved 
his  battle-axe  over  his  head.  "  St.  George 
for  England !"  cried  he ;  and  to  the  in 
spiring  sound  of  this  old  English  war- 
cry,  he  and  his  followers  rushed  down  to 
the  battle,  with  manly  and  courageous 
hearts.* 

They  soon  made  their  way  into  the 
midst  of  the  enemy  ;  but,  when  engaged 
in  the  hottest  of  the  fight,  they  made  no 
shouts  or  outcries.  They  pressed  steadily 
forward,  dealing  their  blows  to  right  and 
left,  hewing  down  the  Moors,  and  cutting 
their  way  with  their  battle-axes,  like 
woodmen  in  a  forest ;  while  the  archers, 
pressing  into  the  opening  they  made, 
plied  their  bows  vigorously,  and  spread 
death  on  every  side. 

When  the  Castilian  mountaineers  be 
held  the  valour  of  the  English  yeomanry, 
they  would  not  be  outdone  in  hardihood. 
They  could  not  vie  with  them  in  weight 
and  bulk,  but  for  vigour  and  activity 
they  were  surpassed  by  none.  They 
kept  pace  with  them,  therefore,  with 
equal  heart  and  rival  prowess,  and  gave 
a  brave  support  to  the  stout  islanders. 

The  Moors  were  confounded  by  the 
fury  of  these  assaults,  and  disheartened 
by  the  loss  of  Hamet  el  Zegri,  who  was 
carried  wounded  from  the  field.  They 
gradually  fell  back  upon  the  bridge ;  the 
Christians  followed  up  their  advantage, 
and  drove  them  over  it  tumultuously. 
The  Moors  retreated  into  the  suburb,  and 
Lord  Rivers  and  his  troops  entered  with 
them  pellmell,  fighting  in  the  streets  and 
in  the  houses.  King  Ferdinand  came  up 
to  the  scene  of  action  with  his  royal 
guard,  and  the  infidels  were  all  driven 
within  the  city  walls.  Thus  were  the 
suburbs  gained  by  the  hardihood  of  the 
English  lord,  without  such  an  event  hav 
ing  been  premeditated. f 

The  Earl  of  Rivers,  notwithstanding 
he  had  received  a  wound,  still  urged 
forward  in  the  attack.  He  penetrated 
almost  to  the  city  gate,  in  defiance  of  a 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 

t  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  MS. 


280 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


shower  of  missiles,  that  slew  many  of  his 
followers.  A  stone,  hurled  from  the  bat 
tlements,  checked  his  impetuous  career. 
It  struck  him  in  the  face,  dashed  out  two 
of  his  front  teeth,  and  laid  him  senseless 
on  the  earth.  He  was  removed  to  a  short 
I  distance  by  his  men  ;  but,  recovering  his 
senses,  refused  to  permit  himself  to  be 
taken  from  the  suburb. 

When  the  contest  was  over,  the  streets 
presented  a  piteous  spectacle,  so  many  of 
their  inhabitants  had  died  in  the  defence 
of  their  thresholds,  or  been  slaughtered 
without  resistance.  Among  the  victims 
was  a  poor  weaver,  who  had  been  at 
work  in  his  dwelling  at  this  turbulent 
moment.  His  wife  urged  him  to  fly  into 
the  city.  "  Why  should  I  fly  1"  said  the 
Moor,  "  to  be  reserved  for  hunger  and 
slavery?  I  tell  you,  wife,  I  will  abide 
here ;  for  better  is  it  to  die  quickly  by 
the  steel,  than  to  perish  peacemeal  in 
chains  and  dungeons."  He  said  no  more, 
but  resumed  his  occupation  of  weaving ; 
and,  in  the  indiscriminate  fury  of  the 
assault,  was  slaughtered  at  his  loom.* 

The  Christians  remained  masters  of 
the  field,  and  proceeded  to  pitch  three 
encampments  for  the  prosecution  of  the 
siege.  The  king,  with  the  great  body  of 
the  army,  took  a  position  on  the  side  of 
the  city  next  to  Granada.  The  Marquis 
de  Cadiz  and  his  brave  companions  once 
more  pitched  their  tents  upon  the  height 
of  Santo  Albohacin;  but  the  English  earl 
planted  his  standard  sturdily  within  the 
suburb  he  had  taken. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

Conclusion  of  the  siege  of  Loxa. 

HAVING  possession  of  the  heights  of 
Albohacin,  and  the  suburb  of  the  city, 
the  Christians  were  enabled  to  choose 
the  most  favourable  situations  for  their 
batteries.  They  immediately  destroyed 
the  stone  bridge,  by  which  the  garrison 
had  made  its  sallies ;  and  they  threw  two 
wooden  bridges  across  the.  river,  and 
1  others  over  the  canals  and  streams,  so  as 
to  establish  an  easy  communication  be 
tween  the  different  camps. 

When  all  was  arranged,  a  heavy  fire 
was  opened  upon  the  city  from  various 

*  Pulgar,  part  iii.  cap.  58. 


points.  They  threw  not  only  balls  of 
stone  and  iron,  but  great  carcases  of  fire, 
which  burst  like  meteors  on  the  houses, 
wrapping  them  instantly  in  a  blaze.  The 
walls  were  shattered,  and  the  towers 
toppled  down  by  tremendous  discharges 
from  the  lombards.  Through  the  open 
ings  thus  made,  they  could  behold  the 
interior  of  the  city ;  houses  tumbling 
down  or  in  flames ;  men,  women,  and 
children  flying  in  terror  through  the 
streets,  and  slaughtered  by  the  shower 
of  missiles  sent  through  these  openings 
from  smaller  artillery,  and  from  cross 
bows  and  arquebuses. 

The  Moors  attempted  to  repair  the 
breaches ;  but  fresh  discharges  from  the 
lombards  buried  them  beneath  the  ruins 
of  the  walls  they  were  mending.  In  their 
despair,  many  of  the  inhabitants  rushed 
forth  into  the  narrow  streets  of  the  su 
burbs,  and  assailed  the  Christians  with 
darts,  cimeters,  and  poniards;  seeking 
to  destroy  rather  than  defend,  and  heed 
less  of  death,  in  the  confidence,  that  to 
die  fighting  with  an  unbeliever  was  to  be 
translated  at  once  to  paradise. 

For  two  nights  and  a  day  this  awful 
scene  continued :  when  certain  of  the 
principal  inhabitants  began  to  reflect 
upon  the  hopelessness  of  resistance. 
Their  king  was  disabled  ;  their  principal 
captains  were  either  killed  or  wounded ; 
their  fortifications  little  better  than  heaps 
of  ruins.  They  had  urged  the  unfortu 
nate  Boabdil  to  the  conflict ;  they  now 
clamoured  for  a  capitulation.  A  parley 
was  procured  from  the  Christian  mo 
narch,  and  the  terms  of  surrender  were 
soon  adjusted.  They  were  to  yield  up 
the  city  immediately,  with  all  the  Chris 
tian  captives,  and  to  sally  forth  with  as 
much  of  their  property  as  they  could 
take  with  them.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
on  whose  honour  and  humanity  they  had 
great  reliance,  was  to  escort  them  to 
Granada,  to  protect  them  from  assault 
or  robbery.  Such  as  chose  to  remain  in 
Spain  were  to  be  permitted  to  reside  in 
Castile,  Aragon,  or  Valencia.  As  to 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  he  was  to  do  homage 
as  vassal  to  King  Ferdinand;  but  no 
charge  was  to  be  urged  against  him,  of 
having  violated  his  former  pledge.  If  he 
should  yield  up  all  pretensions  to  Gra 
nada,  the  title  of  Duke  of  Guadix  was  to 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


281 


be  assigned  him,  and  the  territory  thereto 
annexed,  provided  it  should  be  recovered 
from  El  Zagal  within  six  months. 

The  capitulation  being  arranged,  they 
gave  as  hostages  the  alcayde  of  the  cky, 
and  the  principal  officers,  together  with 
the  sons  of  their  late  chieftain,  the  veteran 
Ali  Atar.  The^  warriors  of  Loxa  then 
issued  forth,  humbled  and  dejected,  at 
having  to  surrender  those  walls,  which 
they  had  so  long  maintained  with  valour 
and  renown  ;  and  the  women  and  chil 
dren  filled  the  air  with  lamentations,  at 
being  exiled  from  their  native  homes. 

Last  came  forth  Boabdil,  most  truly 
called  El  Zogoybi,  the  unlucky.  Accus 
tomed,  as  he  had  been,  to  be  crowned 
and  uncrowned ;  to  be  ransomed,  and 
treated  as  a  matter  of  bargain,  he  had 
acceded  of  course  to  the  capitulation. 
He  was  enfeebled  by  his  wounds,  and  had 
an  air  of  dejection  ;  yet,  it  is  said,  his 
conscience  acquitted  him  of  a  breach  of 
faith  towards  the  Castilian  sovereigns ; 
and  the  personal  valour  he  had  displayed 
had  caused  a  sympathy  for  him  among 
many  of  the  Christian  cavaliers.  He 
kneeled  to  Ferdinand,  according  to  the 
forms  of  vassalage,  and  then  departed  in 
melancholy  mood  for  Priego,  a  town 
about  three  leagues  distant.  Ferdinand 
immediately  ordered  Loxa  to  be  repaired 
and  strongly  garrisoned.  He  was  greatly 
elated  at  the  capture  of  this  place,  in 
consequence  of  his  former  defeat  before 
its  walls.  He  passed  great  encomiums 
upon  the  commanders  who  had  distin 
guished  themselves ;  and  historians  dwell 
particularly  upon  his  visit  to  the  tent  of 
the  English  earl.  His  majesty  consoled 
him  for  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  by  the  con 
sideration,  that  he  might  otherwise  have 
been  deprived  of  them  by  natural  decay : 
whereas  the  lack  of  them  would  now  be 
esteemed  a  beauty  rather  than  a  defect ; 
serving  as  a  trophy  of  the  glorious  cause 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged. 

The  earl  replied,  "  that  he  gave  thanks 
to  God  and  to  the  holy  Virgin  for  being 
thus  honoured  by  a  visit  from  the  most 
potent  king  in  Christendom  ;  that  he  ac 
cepted,  with  all  gratitude,  his  gracious 
consolation  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained  ; 
though  he  held  it  little  to  lose  two  teeth 
in  the  service  of  God,  who  had  given  him 
all." 


"  A  speech,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida,  "  full  of  most  courtly  wit  and  Chris 
tian  piety  ;  and  one  only  marvels  that  it 
should  be  made  by  a  native  of  an  island 
so  far  distant  from  Castile." 

CHAPTER  XL1. 

Capture  oflllora. 

KING  FERDINAND  followed  up  his  vic 
tory  at  Loxa  by  laying  seige  to  the  strong 
town  of  Illora.  This  redoubtable  fortress 
was  perched  upon  a  high  rock,  in  the 
midst  of  a  spacious  valley.  It  was  within 
four  leagues  of  the  Moorish  capital ;  and 
its  lofty  castle,  keeping  vigilant  watch 
over  a  wide  circuit  of  country,  was  term 
ed  the  Right  Eye  of  Granada. 

The  alcayde  of  Illora  was  one  of  the 
bravest  of  the  Moorish  commanders,  and 
made  every  preparation  to  defend  his  for 
tress  to  the  last  extremity.  He  sent  the 
women  and  children,  the  aged  and  infirm, 
to  the  metropolis.  He  placed  barricadoes 
in  the  suburbs,  opened  doors  of  commu 
nication  from  house  to  house,  and  pierced 
their  walls  with  loop-holes,  for  the  dis 
charge  of  crossbows,  arquebuses,  and 
other  missiles. 

King  Ferdinand  arrived  before  the 
place  with  all  his  forces.  He  stationed 
himself  upon  the  hill  of  Encinilla,  and 
distributed  the  other  encampments  in  va 
rious  situations,  so  as  to  invest  the  for 
tress.  Knowing  the  valiant  character  of 
the  alcayde,  and  the  desperate  courage 
of  the  Moors,  he  ordered  the  encamp 
ments  to  be  fortified  with  trenches  and 
palisadoes,  the  guards  to  be  doubled,  and 
sentinels  to  be  placed  in  all  the  watch- 
towers  of  the  adjacent  heights. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  Duke  del  In- 
fantado  demanded  the  attack.  It  was  his 
first  campaign ;  and  he  was  anxious  to 
disprove  the  royal  insinuation  made 
against  the  hardihood  of  his  embroidered 
chivalry.  King  Ferdinand  granted  his 
demand,  with  a  becoming  compliment  to 
his  spirit.  He  ordered  the  Count  de  Ca- 
bra  to  make  a  simultaneous  attack  upon 
a  different  quarter.  Both  chiefs  led  forth 
their  troops.  Those  of  the  duke  were  in 
fresh  and  brilliant  armour,  richly  orna 
mented,  and  as  yet  uninjured  by  the  ser 
vice  of  the  field.  Those  of  the  count 
were  weatherbeaten  veterans,  whose  ar- 

24* 


282 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


mour  was  dinted  and  hacked  in  many  a 
hard-fought  battle.  The  youthful  duke 
blushed  at  the  contrast.  "  Cavaliers  !" 
cried  he,  "  \ve  have  been  reproached 
with  the  finery  of  our  arms  :  let  us  prove, 
that  a  trenchant  blade  may  rest  in  a 
gilded  sheath.  Forward !  to  the  foe  ! 
and  I  trust  in  God,  that,  as  we  enter  this 
affray  knights  well  accoutred,  so  we  shall 
leave  it  cavaliers  well  proved !"  His 
men  responded  by  eager  acclamations, 
and  the  duke  led  them  forward  to  the  as 
sault.  He  advanced  under  a  tremendous 
shower  of  stones,  darts,  balls,  and  arrows  ; 
but  nothing  could  check  his  career.  He 
entered  the  suburb  sword  in  hand  ;  his 
men  fought  furiously,  though  with  great 
loss  ;  for  every  dwelling  had  been  turned 
into  a  fortress.  After  a  severe  conflict, 
he  succeeded  in  driving  the  Moors  into 
the  town,  about  the  same  time  that  the 
other  suburb  was  carried  by  the  Count 
de  Cabra  and  his  veterans.  The  troops 
of  the  Duke  del  Infantado  came  out  of 
the  contest  thinned  in  number,  and  co 
vered  with  blood,  and  dust,  and  wounds. 
They  received  the  highest  encomiums  of 
the  king  ;  and  there  was  never  afterwards 
any  sneer  at  their  embroidery. 

The  suburbs  being  taken,  three  bat 
teries,  each  furnished  with  eight  large 
lombards,  were  opened  upon  the  fortress. 
The  damage  and  havoc  were  tremen 
dous  ;  for  the  fortifications  had  not  been 
constructed  to  withstand  such  engines. 
The  towers  were  overthrown  ;  the  walls 
battered  to  pieces ;  the  interior  of  the 
place  was  all  exposed  ;  houses  demolish 
ed,  and  many  people  slain.  The  Moors 
were  terrified  by  the  tumbling  ruins  and 
the  tremendous  din.  The  alcayde  had 
resolved  to  defend  the  place  unto  the  last 
extremity.  He  beheld  it  a  heap  of  rub 
bish  ;  there  was  no  prospect  of  aid  from 
Granada ;  his  people  had  lost  all  spirit 
to  fight,  and  were  vociferous  for  a  sur 
render.  With  a  reluctant  heart  he  capi 
tulated.  The  inhabitants  were  permitted 
to  depart  with  all  their  effects,  excepting 
their  arms  ;  and  were  escorted  in  safety, 
by  the  Duke  del  Infantado  and  the  Count 
de  Cabra,  to  the  bridge  of  Pinos,  within 
two  leagues  of  Granada. 

King  Ferdinand  gave  directions  to  re 
pair  the  fortifications  of  Illora,  and  to 
place  it  in  a  strong  state  of  defence.  He 


left,  as  alcayde  of  the  town  and  fortress, 
Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  younger  brother 
of  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar.  This  gallant 
cavalier  was  captain  of  the  royal  guards 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  gave  al 
ready  proofs  of  that  prowess,  which  after 
wards  rendered  him  so  renowned. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Of  the  arrival  of  Queen  Isabella  al  the  camp  before 
Moclin,  and  of  the  pleasant  sayings  of  the  English 
earl. 

THE  war  of  Granada,  however  poets 
may  embroider  it  with  the  flowers  of  their 
fancy,  was  certainly  one  of  the  sternest 
of  those  iron  conflicts,  which  have  been 
celebrated  under  the  name  of  holy  wars. 
The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida 
dwells  with  unsated  delight  upon  the 
succession  of  rugged  mountain  enter 
prises,  bloody  battles,  and  merciless 
sackings  and  ravages,  which  charac 
terize  it ;  yet  we  find  him,  on  one  occa 
sion,  pausing,  in  the  full  career  of  victory 
over  the  infidels,  to  detail  a  stately  pa 
geant  of  the  catholic  sovereigns. 

Immediately  on  the  capture  of  Loxa, 
Ferdinand  had  written  to  Isabella,  soli 
citing  her  presence  at  the  camp,  that  he 
might  consult  with  her  as  to  the  disposi 
tion  of  their  newly-acquired  territories. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of  June  that 
the  queen  departed  from  Cordova,  with 
the  Princess  Isabella,  and  numerous  la 
dies  of  her  court.  She  had  a  glorious 
attendance  of  cavaliers  and  pages,  with 
many  guards  and  domestics.  There 
were  forty  mules  for  the  use  of  the  queen, 
the  princess,  and  their  train. 

As  this  courtly  cavalcade  approached 
the  Rock  of  the  Lovers,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Yeguas,  they  beheld  a  splendid 
train  of  knights  advancing  to  meet  them. 
It  was  headed  by  the  accomplished  ca 
valier,  the  Marquis  Duke  de  Cadiz,  ac 
companied  by  the  adelantado  of  Anda 
lusia.  He  had  left  the  camp  the  day  after 
the  capture  of  Illora,  and  advanced  thus 
far  to  receive  the  queen  and  escort  her 
over  the  borders.  The  queen  received 
the  marquis  with  distinguished  honour, 
for  he  was  esteemed  as  the  mirror  of 
chivalry.  His  actions  in  this  war  had 
become  the  theme  of  every  tongue,  and 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


283 


many  hesitated  not  to  compare  him,  in 
prowess,  to  the  immortal  Cid.* 

Thus  gallantly  attended,  the  queen 
entered  the  vanquished  frontier  of  Gra 
nada,  journeying  securely  along  the  plea 
sant  banks  of  the  Xenil,  so  lately  subject 
to  the  scourings  of  the  Moors.  She 
stopped  at  Loxa,  where  she  administered 
aid  and  consolation  to  the  wounded,  dis 
tributing  money  among  them  for  their 
support,  according  to  their  rank. 

The  king,  after  the  capture  of  Illora, 
had  removed  his  camp  before  the  fortress 
of  Moclin,  with  an  intention  of  besieging 
it.  Thither  the  queen  proceeded,  still 
escorted  through  the  mountain  roads  by 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz.  As  Isabella  drew 
near  to  the  camp,  the  Duke  del  Infan- 
tado  issued  forth  a  league  and  a  half  to 
receive  her,  magnificently  arrayed,  and 
followed  by  all  his  chivalry  in  glorious 
attire.  With  him  came  the  standard  of 
Seville,  borne  by  the  men-at-arms  of  that 
renowned  city,  and  the  prior  of  St.  Juan, 
with  his  followers.  They  arranged  them 
selves  in  order  of  battle  on  the  left  of  the 
road  by  which  the  queen  was  to  pass.  The 
worthy  Agapida  is  loyally  minute  in  his 
description  of  the  state  and  grandeur  of 
the  catholic  sovereigns.  The  queen  rode 
a  chestnut  mule,  seated  in  a  magnificent 
saddle  chair,  decorated  with  silver  gilt. 
The  housings  of  the  mule  were  of  fine 
crimson  cloth  ;  the  borders  embroidered 
with  gold  ;  the  reins  and  headpiece  were 
of  satin,  curiously  embossed  with  needle 
work  of  silk,  and  wrought  with  golden 
letters.  The  queen  wore  a  brial  or  royal 
skirt  of  velvet,  under  which  were  others 
of  brocade  ;  a  scarlet  mantle,  ornamented 
in  the  moresco  fashion,  and  a  black  hat 
embroidered  round  the  crown  and  brim. 

The  infanta  was  likewise  mounted  on 
a  chestnut  mule,  richly  caparisoned. 
She  wore  a  brial  or  skirt  of  black  bro 
cade,  and  a  black  mantle,  ornamented 
like  that  of  the  queen. 

When  the  royal  cavalcade  passed  by 
the  chivalry  of  the  Duke  del  Infantado, 
which  was  drawn  out  in  battle  array, 
the  queen  made  a  reverence  to  the  stan 
dard  of  Seville,  and  ordered  it  to  pass  to 
the  right  hand.  When  she  approached 
the  camp,  the  multitude  ran  forth  to  meet 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


E- 


her,  with  great  demonstrations  of  joy ; 
for  she  was  universally  beloved  by  her 
subjects.  All  the  battalions  sallied  forth 
in  military  array,  bearing  the  various 
standards  and  banners  of  the  camp, 
which  were  lowered  in  salutation  as  she 
passed. 

The  king  now  appeared,  in  royal  state, 
mounted  on  a  superb  chestnut  horse,  and 
attended  by  many  grandees  of  Castile. 
He  wore  a  jubon  or  close  vest  of  crimson 
cloth,  with  cuisses  or  short  skirts  of 
yellow  satin  ;  a  loose  cassock  of  brocade, 
a  rich  Moorish  cimeter,  and  a  hat  with 
plumes.  The  grandees  who  attended 
him  were  arrayed  with  wonderful  mag 
nificence,  each  according  to  his  taste  and 
invention. 

"  These  high  and  mighty  princes," 
says  Antonio  Agapida,  "  regarded  each 
other  with  great  deference  as  allied  sove 
reigns,  rather  than  with  connubial  fami 
liarity  as  mere  husband  and  wife,  when 
they  approached  each  other :  therefore, 
before  embracing,  they  made  three  pro 
found  reverences ;  the  queen  taking  off 
her  hat,  and  remaining  in  a  silk  net  or 
cawl,  with  her  face  uncovered.  The 
king  then  approached,  and  embraced 
her,  and  kissed  her  respectfully  on  the 
cheek.  He  also  embraced  his  daughter 
the  princess,  and,  making  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  he  blessed  her,  and  kissed  her 
on  the  lips."* 

The  good  Agapida  seems  scarcely  to 
have  been  more  struck  with  the  appear 
ance  of  the  sovereigns,  than  with  that  of 
the  English  earl.  "  He  followed,"  says 
he,  "  immediately  after  the  king,  with 
great  pomp,  and  in  an  extraordinary 
manner,  taking  precedence  of  all  the 
rest.  He  was  mounted,  a  la  guisa,  or 
with  long  stirrups,  on  a  superb  chestnut 
horse,  with  trappings  of  azure  silk,  which 
reached  to  the  ground.  The  housings 
were  of  mulberry,  powdered  with  stars 
of  gold.  He  was  armed  in  proof,  and 
wore  over  his  armour  a  short  French 
mantle  of  black  brocade.  He  had  a 
white  French  hat  with  plumes ;  and  car 
ried  on  his  left  arm  a  small  round  buckler, 
banded  with  gold.  Five  pages  attended 
him,  apparelled  in  silk  and  brocade, 
and  mounted  on  horses  sumptuously 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


384 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


caparisoned.  He  had  also  a  train  of 
followers,  attired  after  the  fashion  of  his 
country." 

He  advanced  in  a  chivalrous  and  cour 
teous  manner,  making  his  reverences 
first  to  the  queen  and  infanta,  and  after 
wards  to  the  king.  Queen  Isabella  re 
ceived  him  graciously,  complimenting 
him  on  his  courageous  conduct  at  Loxa, 
and  condoling  with  him  on  the  loss  of 
his  teeth.  The  earl,  however,  made  light 
of  his  disfiguring  wound ;  saying,  that 
"  our  blessed  Lord,  who  had  built  all 
that  house,  had  opened  a  window  there, 
that  he  might  see  more  readily  what 
passed  within."*  Whereupon,  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  is  more  than  ever 
astonished  at  the  pregnant  wit  of  this 
island  cavalier.  The  earl  continued  some 
little  distance  by  the  side  of  the  royal 
family,  complimenting  them  all  with 
courteous  speeches,  his  steed  curveting 
and  caracoling,  but  managed  with  great 
grace  and  dexterity,  leaving  the  grandees 
and  the  people  at  large  not  more  filled 
with  admiration  at  the  strangeness  and 
magnificence  of  his  state,  than  at  the  ex 
cellence  of  his  horsemanship.f 

To  testify  her  sense  of  the  gallantry 
and  services  of  this  noble  English  knight, 
who  had  come  from  so  far  to  assist  in 
their  wars,  the  queen  sent  him,  the  next 
day,  presents  of  twelve  horses,  with 
stately  tents,  fine  linen,  two  beds,  with 
coverings  of  gold  brocade,  and  many 
other  articles  of  great  value. 

Having  refreshed  himself  as  it  were, 
with  the  description  of  this  progress  of 
Queen  Isabella  to  the  camp,  and  the  glo 
rious  pomp  of  the  catholic  sovereigns,  the 
worthy  Antonio  Agapida  returns,  with 
renewed  relish,  to  his  pious  work  of  dis 
comfiting  the  Moors. :f 

*  Pietro  Martyr,  Epist.  61. 

t  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 

t  The  description  of  this  royal  pageant,  and  the 
particulars  concerning  the  English  earl,  agree  pre 
cisely  with  the  chronicle  of  Andres  Bernaldes,  the 
curate  of  Los  Palacios.  The  English  earl  makes 
no  further  figure  in  this  war.  It  appears  from 
various  histories,  that  he  returned  in  the  course  of 
a  year  to  England.  In  the  following  year,  his 
passion  for  fighting  took  him  to  the  Continent,  at 
the  head  of  four  hundred  adventurers,  in  aid  of 
Francis,  Duke  of  Brittany,  against  Louis  XI.  of 
France.  He  was  killed,  in  the  same  year  (1488),  in 
the  battle  of  St.  Albans,  between  the  Bretons  and 
the  French. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

How  King  Ferdinand  attacked  Moclin,  and  of  the 
strange  events  that  attended  its  capture. 

"  THE  catholic  sovereigns,"  says  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  had  by  this  time 
closely  clipped  the  right  wing  of  the 
Moorish  vulture."  In  other  words,  most 
of  the  strong  fortresses  along  the  western 
frontier  of  Granada  had  fallen  beneath 
the  Christian  artillery.  The  army  now 
lay  encamped  before  the  town  of  Moclin, 
on  the  frontier  of  Jaen,  one  of  the  most 
stubborn  fortresses  of  the  border.  It 
stood  on  a  high  rocky  hill,  the  base  of 
which  was  nearly  girdled  by  a  river.  A 
thick  forest  protected  the  back  part  of 
the  town  towards  the  mountain.  Thus 
strongly  situate,  it  domineered,  with  its 
frowning  battlements  and  massive  towers, 
over  all  the  mountain-  passes  into  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  was  called  the 
Shield  of  Granada.  It  had  a  double 
arrear  of  blood  to  settle  with  the  Chris 
tians.  Two  hundred  years  before,  a 
Master  of  Santiago  and  all  his  cavaliers 
had  been  lanced  by  the  Moors  before  its 
gates.  It  had  recently  made  terrible 
slaughter  among  the  troops  of  the  good 
Count  de  Cabra,  in  his  precipitate  attempt 
to  entrap  the  old  Moorish  monarch.  The 
pride  of  Ferdinand  had  been  piqued,  by 
being  obliged,  on  that  occasion,  to  recede 
from  his  plan,  and  abandon  the  concerted 
attack  on  the  place.  He  was  now  pre 
pared  to  take  a  full  revenge. 

El  Zagal,  the  old  warrior,  king  of 
Granada,  anticipating  a  second  attempt, 
had  provided  the  place  with  ample  muni 
tions  and  provision ;  had  ordered  trenches 
to  be  dug,  and  additional  bulwarks  thrown 
up,  and  caused  all  the  old  men,  the 
women,  and  the  children,  to  be  removed 
to  the  capital. 

Such  was  the  strength  of  the  fortress, 
and  the  difficulties  of  its  position,  that 
Ferdinand  anticipated  much  trouble  in 
reducing  it,  and  made  every  preparation 
for  a  regular  siege.  In  the  centre  of  his 
camp  were  two  great  mounds,  one  of 
sacks  of  flour,  the  other  of  grain,  which 
were  called  the  royal  granary.  Three 
batteries  of  heavy  ordnance  were  opened 
against  the  citadel  and  principal  towers, 
while  smaller  artillery,  engines  for  the 
discharge  of  missiles,  arquebuses,  and 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


285 


crossbows,  were  distributed  in  various 
places,  to  keep  up  a  fire  into  any  breach 
that  might  be  made,  and  upon  those  of 
the  garrison  who  should  appear  on  the 
battlements. 

The  lombards  soon  made  an  impres 
sion  on  the  works,  demolishing  a  part  of 
the  wall,  and  tumbling  down  several  of 
those  haughty  towers,  which,  from  their 
height,  had  been  impregnable  before  the 
invention  of  gunpowder.  The  Moors 
repaired  their  walls  as  well  as  they  were 
able,  and,  still  confiding  in  the  strength 
of  their  situation,  kept  up  a  resolute  de 
fence,  firing  down  from  their  lofty  battle 
ments  and  towers  upon  the  Christian 
camp.  For  two  nights  and  a  day  an 
incessant  fire  was  kept  up,  so  that  there 
was  not  a  moment  in  which  the  roaring 
of  ordnance  was  not  heard,  or  some 
damage  sustained  by  the  Christians  or 
the  Moors.  It  was  a  conflict,  however, 
more  of  engineers  and  artillerists  than  of 
gallant  cavaliers  ;  there  was  no  sally  of 
troops,  or  shock  of  armed  men,  or  rush 
and  charge  of  cavalry.  The  knights 
stood  looking  on  with  idle  weapons, 
waiting  until  they  should  have  an  op 
portunity  of  signalizing  their  prowess, 
by  scaling  the  walls  or  storming  the 
breaches.  As  the  place,  however,  was 
assailable  only  in  one  part,  there  was 
every  prospect  of  a  long  and  obstinate 
resistance. 

The  engines,  as  usual,  discharged  not 
only  balls  of  stone  and  iron  to  demolish 
the  walls,  but  flaming  balls  of  inextin 
guishable  combustibles,  designed  to  set 
fire  to  the  houses.  One  of  these,  which 
passed  high  through  the  air,  like  a  meteor, 
sending  out  sparks,  and  crackling  as  it 
went,  entered  the  window  of  a  tower, 
which  was  used  as  a  magazine  of  gun 
powder.  The  tower  blew  up,  with  a  tre 
mendous  explosion ;  the  Moors  who  were 
upon  its  battlements,  were  hurled  into  the 
air,  and  fell  mangled  in  various  parts  of 
the  town ;  and  the  houses  in  its  vicinity 
were  rent  and  overthrown,  as  with  an 
earthquake. 

The  Moors,  who  had  never  witnessed 
an  explosion  of  this  kind,  ascribed  the 
destruction  of  the  tower  to  a  miracle. 
Some,  who  had  seen  the  descent  of  the 
flaming  ball,  imagined  that  the  fire  had 
fallen  from  heaven,  to  punish  them  for 


their  pertinacity.  The  pious  Agapida 
himself  believes  that  this  fiery  missive 
was  conducted  by  divine  agency,  to  con 
found  the  infidels — an  opinion  in  which 
he  is  supported  by  other  catholic  histo 
rians.* 

Seeing  heaven  and  earth,  as  it  were, 
combined  against  them,  the  Moors  lost 
all  heart,  and  capitulated ;  and  were  per 
mitted  to  depart  with  their  effects,  leaving 
behind  all  arms  and  munitions  of  war. 

"  The  catholic  army,"  says  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  entered  Moclin  in  solemn 
state,  not  as  a  licentious  host,  intent  upon 
plunder  and  desolation,  but  as  a  band  of 
Christian  warriors,  coming  to  purify  and 
regenerate  the  land.  The  standard  of 
the  cross,  that  ensign  of  this  holy  cru 
sade,  was  borne  in  the  advance,  followed 
by  the  other  banners  of  the  army.  Then 
came  the  king  and  queen,  at  the  head 
of  a  vast  number  of  armed  cavaliers. 
They  were  accompanied  by  a  band  of 
priests  and  friars,  with  the  choir  of  the 
royal  chapel,  chanting  the  canticle  Te 
Deum  laudamus.  As  they  were  moving 
through  the  streets  in  this  solemn  man 
ner,  every  sound  hushed,  excepting  the 
anthem  of  the  choir,  they  suddenly  heard 
issuing,  as  it  were  from  under  ground,  a 
chorus  of  voices  chanting  the  solemn 
response,  Benedictum  qui  venit  in  no- 
mine  Domini.^  The  procession  paused 
in  wonder.  The  sounds  arose  from 
Christian  captives,  and  among  them 
several  priests,  who  were  confined  in 
subterraneous  dungeons." 

The  heart  of  Isabella  was  greatly 
touched  :  she  ordered  the  captives  to  be 
drawn  forth  from  their  cells ;  and  was 
still  more  moved  at  beholding,  by  their 
wan,  discoloured,  and  emaciated  appear 
ance,  how  much  they  had  suffered. 
Their  hair  and  beards  were  overgrown 
and  shagged ;  they  were  wasted  by 
hunger,  and  were  half  naked,  and  in 
chains.  She  ordered  that  they  should 
be  clothed  and  cherished,  and  money 
furnished  them  to  bear  them  to  their 
homes.:): 

Several  of  the  captives  were  brave 
cavaliers,  who  had  been  wounded  and 

*  Pulgar.    Garibay.     Lucio  Marino  Siculo,  Cosas 
Memorab.  de  Hispan.  lib.  xx. 
t  Marino  Siculo. 
t  Illoscas,  Hist.  Pontif.,  lib.  vi.  o.  20,  sect.  1. 


286 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


made  prisoners  in  the  defeat  of  the  Count 
de  Cabra,  by  El  Zagal,  in  the  preceding 
year.  There  were  also  found  other 
melancholy  traces  of  that  disastrous 
affair.  On  visiting  the  narrow  pass, 
where  the  defeat  had  taken  place,  the 
remains  of  several  Christian  warriors 
were  found  in  thickets,  or  hidden  behind 
rocks,  or  in  the  clefts  of  the  mountains. 
There  were  some  who  had  been  struck 
from  their  horses,  and  wounded  too 
severely  to  fly.  They  had  crawled 
away  from  the  scene  of  action,  and  con- 
|  cealed  themselves  to  avoid  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  and  had  thus 
perished  miserably  and  alone.  The  re 
mains  of  those  of  note  were  known  by 
their  armour  and  devices,  and  were 
mourned  over  by  their  companions,  who 
had  shared  the  disasters  of  that  day.* 

The  queen  had  these  remains  piously 
collected,  as  the  relics  of  so  many  mar 
tyrs  who  had  fallen  in  the  cause  of  the 
faith.  They  were  interred,  with  great 
solemnity,  in  the  mosques  of  Moclin, 
which  had  been  purified,  and  consecrated 
to  Christian  worship.  "  There,"  says 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  rest  the  bones  of 
those  truly  catholic  knights,  in  the  holy 
ground,  which,  in  a  manner,  had  been 
sanctified  by  their  blood ;  and  all  pil 
grims,  passing  through  those  mountains, 
offer  up  prayers  and  masses  for  the  re 
pose  of  their  souls." 

The  queen  remained  for  some  time  at 
Moclin,  administering  comfort  to  the 
wounded  and  the  prisoners,  bringing  the 
newly  acquired  territory  into  order,  and 
founding  churches  and  monasteries,  and 
other  pious  institutions.  "  While  the 
king  marched  in  front,  laying  waste  the 
land  of  the  Philistines,"  says  the  figura 
tive  Antonio  Agapida,  "  Queen  Isabella 
followed  his  traces,  as  the  binder  follows 
the  reaper,  gathering  the  rich  harvest 
that  has  fallen  beneath  his  sickle.  In 
this  she  was  greatly  assisted  by  the  coun 
sels  of  that  cloud  of  bishops,  friars,  and 
clergymen,  besides  other  saintly  person 
ages,  which  continually  surrounded  her, 
garnering  the  first  fruits  of  this  infidel 
land  into  the  granaries  of  the  church." 
Leaving  her  thus  piously  employed,  the 
king  pursued  his  career  of  conquest,  de- 


Pulgar,  part,  iii.  cap.  61. 


; : 


termined  to  lay  waste  the  vega,  and  carry 
fire  and  sword  to  the  very  gates  of  Gra 
nada. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

How  King  Ferdinand  foraged  the  vega;  and  of  the 
fate  of  the  two  Moorish  brothers. 

MULEY  ABDALLA  EL  ZAGAL  had  been 
under  a  spell  of  ill  fortune,  ever  since  the 
suspicious  death  of  the  old  king  his  bro 
ther.  Success  had  deserted  his  standard, 
and,  with  his  fickle  subjects,  want  of  suc 
cess  was  one  of  the  greatest  crimes  in  a 
sovereign.  He  found  his  popularity  de 
clining,  and  he  lost  all  confidence  in  his 
people.  The  Christian  army  marched 
in  open  defiance  through  his  territories, 
and  sat  down  deliberately  before  his  for 
tresses  ;  yet  he  dared  not  lead  forth  his 
legions  to  oppose  them,  lest  the  inhabi 
tants  of  the  albaycen,  ever  ripe  for  a  re 
volt,  should  rise,  and  shut  the  gates  of 
Granada  against  his  return. 

Every  few  days  some  melancholy 
train  entered  the  metropolis,  the  inhabi 
tants  of  some  captured  town,  bearing  the 
few  effects  that  had  been  spared  them, 
and  weeping  and  bewailing  the  desolation 
of  their  homes.  When  the  tidings  ar 
rived,  that  Illora  and  Moclin  had  fallen, 
the  people  were  seized  with  consterna 
tion.  "  The  right  eye  of  Granada  is 
extinguished  !"  exclaimed  they ;  "  the 
shield  of  Granada  is  broken !  what  shall 
protect  us  from  the  inroad  of  the  foe  ?" 
When  the  survivors  of  the  garrisons  of 
those  towns  arrived,  with  downcast  looks, 
bearing  the  marks  of  battle,  and  destitute 
of  arms  and  standards,  the  populace  re 
viled  them  in  their  wrath  :  but  they  an 
swered,  "  We  fought  as  long  as  we  had 
force  to  fight,  or  walls  to  shelter  us ;  but 
the  Christians  laid  our  towers  and  battle 
ments  in  ruins,  and  we  looked  in  vain 
for  aid  from  Granada." 

The  alcaydes  of  1'llora  and  Moclin 
were  brothers ;  they  were  alike  in 
prowess,  and  the  bravest  among  the 
Moorish  cavaliers.  They  had  been  the 
most  distinguished  in  all  tilts  and  tour 
neys  which  graced  the  happier  days  of 
Granada,  and  had  distinguished  them 
selves  in  the  sterner  conflicts  of  the  field. 
Acclamation  had  always  followed  their 
banners,  and  they  had  long  been  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


287 


delight  of  the  people.  Now,  when  they 
returned,  after  the  capture  of  their  for 
tresses,  they  were  followed  by  the  un 
steady  populace  with  execrations.  The 
hearts  of  the  alcaydes  swelled  with 
indignation;  they  found  the  ingratitude 
of  their  countrymen  still  more  intolera 
ble  than  the  hostility  of  the  Christians. 
Tidings  came,  that  the  enemy  was  ad 
vancing  with  his  triumphant  legions,  to 
lay  waste  the  country  about  Granada. 
Still  El  Zagal  did  not  dare  to  take  the 
field.  The  two  alcaydes  of  Illora  and 
Moclin  stood  before  him.  "  We  have 
defended  your  fortresses,"  said  they, 
"  until  we  were  almost  buried  under 
their  ruins ;  and,  for  our  reward,  we 
receive  scoffs  and  revilings.  Give  us, 
O  king,  an  opportunity  in  which  knightly- 
valour  may  signalize  itself;  not  shut  up 
behind  stone  walls,  but  in  the  open  con 
flict  of  the  field  !  The  enemy  approaches 
to  lay  our  country  desolate.  Give  us 
men  to  meet  him  in  the  advance ;  and 
let  shame  light  upon  our  heads,  if  we  be 
found  wanting  in  the  battle !" 

The  two  brothers  were  sent  forth  with 
a  large  force  of  horse  and  foot.  El 
Zagal  intended,  should  they  be  success 
ful,  to  issue  out  with  his  whole  force ; 
and,  by  a  decisive  victory,  repair  the 
losses  he  had  suffered.  When  the  peo 
ple  saw  the  well  known  standards  of  the 
brothers  going  forth  to  battle,  there  was 
a  feeble  shout ;  but  the  alcaydes  passed 
on  with  stern  countenances ;  for  they 
knew  the  same  voices  would  curse  them 
were  they  to  return  unfortunate.  They 
cast  a  farewell  look  upon  fair  Granada, 
and  upon  the  beautiful  fields  of  their 
infancy,  as  if  for  these  they  were  will 
ing  to  lay  down  their  lives,  but  not  for 
an  ungrateful  people. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  had  arrived 
within  two  leagues  of  Granada,  at  the 
bridge  of  Pinos,  a  pass  famous  in  the 
wars  of  the  Moors  and  Christians  for 
many  a  bloody  conflict.  It  was  the  pass 
by  which  the  Castilian  monarchs  gene 
rally  made  their  inroads,  and  was  capa 
ble  of  great  defence,  from  the  rugged  ness 
of  the  country,  and  the  difficulty  of  the 
bridge.  The  king,  with  the  main  body 
of  the  army,  had  attained  the  brow  of  a  ! 
hill,  when  they  beheld  the  advanced  j 
guard,  under  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  ! 


the  Master  of  Santiago,  furiously  attack 
ed  by  the  enemy  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
bridge.  The  Moors  rushed  to  the  assault 
with  their  usual  shouts,  but  with  more 
than  usual  ferocity.  There  was  a  hard 
struggle  at  the  bridge,  both  parties  know 
ing  the  importance  of  the  pass.  The 
king  particularly  noted  the  prowess  of 
two  Moorish  cavaliers,  alike  in  arms  and 
devices,  and  who,  by  their  bearing  and 
attendance,  he  perceived  to  be  com 
manders  of  the  enemy.  They  were  the 
two  brothers,  the  alcaydes  of  Illora  and 
Moclin.  Wherever  they  turned,  they 
carried  confusion  and  death  into  the 
ranks  of  the  Christians  ;  but  they  fought 
with  desperation  rather  than  valour. 
The  Count  de  Cabra,  and  his  brother, 
Don  Martin  de  Cordova,  pressed  forward 
with  eagerness  against  them ;  but,  having 
advanced  too  precipitately,  were  sur 
rounded  by  the  foe,  and  in  imminent 
danger.  A  young  Christian  knight,  see 
ing  their  peril,  hastened  with  his  fol 
lowers  to  their  relief.  The  king  recog 
nised  him  for  Don  Juan  de  Aragon, 
Count  of  Ribargoza,  his  own  nephew ; 
for  he  was  illegitimate  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Villahermosa,  illegitimate  brother  of 
King  Ferdinand.  The  splendid  armour 
of  Don  Juan,  and  the  sumptuous  capari 
son  of  his  steed,  rendered  him  a  brilliant 
object  of  attack.  He  was  assailed  on  all 
sides,  and  his  superb  steed  slain  under 
him  ;  yet  still  he  fought  valiantly,  bear 
ing  for  a  while  the  brunt  of  the  fight,  and 
giving  the  exhausted  forces  of  the  Count 
de  Cabra  time  to  recover  breath. 

Seeing  the  peril  of  these  troops,  and 
the  general  obstinacy  of  the  contest,  the 
king  ordered  the  royal  standard  to  be 
advanced,  and  hastened  with  all  his 
forces  to  the  relief  of  the  Count  de 
Cabra.  At  his  approach  the  enemy 
gave  way,  and  retreated  towards  the 
bridge.  The  two  Moorish  commanders 
endeavoured  to  rally  their  troops,  and 
animate  them  to  defend  this  pass  to  the 
utmost.  They  used  prayers,  remon 
strances,  menaces;  but  nearly  in  vain. 
They  could  only  collect  a  scanty  hand 
ful  of  cavaliers.  With  these  they  planted 
themselves  at  the  head  of  the  bridge,  and 
disputed  it  inch  by  inch.  The  fight  was 
hot  and  obstinate ;  for  but  few  could  con 
tend  hand  to  hand  ;  yet  many  discharged 


288 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


crossbows  and  arquebuses  on  the  banks. 
The  river  was  covered  with  the  floating 
bodies  of  the  slain.  The  Moorish  band 
of  cavaliers  was  almost  entirely  cut  to 
pieces ;  the  two  brothers  fell,  covered 
with  wounds,  upon  the  bridge  they  had 
so  resolutely  defended.  They  had  given 
up  the  battle  for  lost,  but  had  determined 
not  to  return  alive  to  ungrateful  Granada. 
When  the  people  of  the  capital  heard  how 
devotedly  they  had  fallen,  they  lamented 
greatly  their  deaths,  and  extolled  their 
memory.  A  column  was  erected  to  their 
honour  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge,  which 
long  went  by  the  name  of  "  The  tomb  of 
the  brothers." 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  now  marched 
on,  and  established  its  camp  in  the  vici 
nity  of  Granada.  The  worthy  Agapida 
gives  many  triumphant  details  of  the 
ravages  committed  in  the  vega,  which 
was  again  laid  waste ;  the  grain,  fruits, 
and  other  productions  of  the  earth  de 
stroyed  ;  and  that  earthly  paradise  ren 
dered  a  dreary  desert.  He  narrates 
several  fierce  but  ineffectual  sallies  and 
skirmishes  of  the  Moors  in  defence  of 
their  favourite  plain ;  among  which  one 
deserves  to  be  mentioned,  as  it  records 
the  achievement  of  one  of  the  saintly 
heroes  of  this  war. 

During  one  of  the  movements  of  the 
Christian  army  near  the  walls  of  Grana 
da,  a  battalion  of  fifteen  hundred  cavalry, 
and  a  large  force  of  foot,  had  sallied  from 
the  city,  and  posted  themselves  near  some 
gardens,  which  were  surrounded  by  a  ca 
nal,  and  traversed  by  ditches,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  irrigation. 

The  Moors  beheld  the  Duke  del  In- 
fantado  pass  by  with  his  two  splendid 
battalions ;  one  of  men-at-arms,  the 
other  of  light  cavalry,  armed  a  la 
geneta.  In  company  with  him,  but  fol 
lowing  as  a  rearguard,  was  Don  Garcia 
Osorio,  the  belligerent  Bishop  of  Jaen, 
attended  by  Francisco  Bovadillo,  the  cor- 
regidor  of  his  city,  and  followed  by  two 
squadrons  of  men-at-arms,  from  Jaen, 
Andujar,  Ubeda,  and  Baza.*  The  suc 
cess  of  the  preceding  year's  campaign 
had  given  the  good  bishop  an  inclination 
for  warlike  affairs;  and  he  had  once 
more  buckled  on  his  cuirass. 

*  Pulgar,  part  iii.  cap.  62. 


The  Moors  were  much  given  to  strata 
gem  in  warfare.  They  looked  wistfully 
at  the  magnificent  squadrons  of  the  Duke 
del  Infantado ;  but  their  martial  discipline 
precluded  all  attack.  The  good  bishop 
promised  to  be  a  more  easy  prey.  Suf 
fering  the  duke  and  his  troops  to  pass 
unmolested,  they  approached  the  squad 
rons  of  the  bishop ;  and  making  a  pre 
tended  attack,  skirmished  slightly,  and 
fled  in  apparent  confusion.  The  bishop 
considered  the  day  his  own ;  and, 
seconded  by  his  corregidor  Bovadillo, 
followed  with  valorous  precipitation. 
The  Moors  fled  into  the  Huerta  del 
Rey,  or  orchard  of  the  king.  The 
troops  of  the  bishop  followed  hotly  after 
them.  When  the  Moors  perceived  their 
pursuers  fairly  embarrassed  among  the 
intricacies  of  the  garden,  they  turned 
fiercely  upon  them,  while  some  of  their 
number  threw  open  the  sluices  of  the 
Xenil.  In  an  instant,  the  canal  which 
encircled,  and  the  ditches  which  tra 
versed  the  garden,  were  filled  with 
water,  and  the  valiant  bishop  and  his 
followers  found  themselves  overwhelmed 
by  a  deluge.*  A  scene  of  great  confu 
sion  succeeded.  Some  of  the  men  of 
Jaen,  stoutest  of  heart  and  hand,  fought 
with  the  Moors  in  the  garden,  while 
others  struggled  with  the  water,  endea 
vouring  to  escape  across  the  canal,  in 
which  attempt  many  horses  were  drown 
ed.  Fortunately  the  Duke  del  Infantado 
perceived  the  snare  into  which  his  com 
panions  had  fallen,  and  despatched  his 
light  cavalry  to  their  assistance.  The 
Moors  were  compelled  to  flight,  and 
driven  along  the  road  of  Elvira  up  to 
the  gates  of  Granada.  Several  Chris 
tian  cavaliers  perished  in  this  affray ; 
the  bishop  himself  escaped  with  difficulty, 
having  slipped  from  his  saddle  in  cross 
ing  the  canal,  but  saved  himself  by  hold 
ing  on  to  the  tail  of  his  charger.  This 
perilous  achievement  seems  to  have 
satisfied  the  good  bishop's  belligerent 
propensities.  "  He  retired  on  his  lau 
rels,"  says  Agapida,  "  to  his  city  of 
Jaen,  where,  on  the  fruition  of  all  good 
things,  he  gradually  waxed  too  corpulent 
for  his  corslet,  which  was  hung  up  in 
the  hall  of  his  episcopal  palace ;  and  we 

*  Pulgar. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


hear    no    more   of    his    military    deeds  ! 
throughout  the  residue  of  the  holy  war 
of  Granada."* 

King  Ferdinand  having  completed  his  j 
ravage  of  the  vega,  and  kept  El  Zagal  I 
shut  up  in  his  capital,  conducted  his  army  j 
back  through  the  pass  of  Lope,  to  rejoin  j 
Queen  Isabella  at  Moclin.  The  fortresses  j 
lately  taken  being  well   garrisoned  and  i 
supplied,   he  gave  the  command  of  the  j 
frontier  to  his  cousin,  Don  Fadrique  de 
Toledo,    afterwards    so    famous    tn    the 
Netherlands  as  the  Duke  of  Alba.     The 
campaign  being  thus  completely  crowned  I 
with  success,  the  sovereigns  returned  in 
triumph  to  the  city  of  Cordova. 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

Attempt  of  El  Zagal  upon  the  life  of  Boabdil ;  and 
how  the  latter  was  roused  to  action. 

No  sooner  did  the  last  squadron  of 
Christian  cavalry  disappear  behind  the 
mountain  of  Elvira,  and  the  note  of  its 
trumpets  die  away  upon  the  ear,  than  the 
long-suppressed  wrath  of  old  Muley  El 
Zagal  burst  forth.  He  determined  no 
longer  to  be  half  a  king,  reigning  over  a 
divided  kingdom  in  a  divided  capital;  but 
to  exterminate  by  any  means,  fair  or  foul, 
his  nephew  Boabdil  and  his  confederates. 
He  turned  furiously  upon  those,  whose 
factious  conduct  had  deterred  him  from 
sallying  upon  the  foe.  Some  he  punished 
by  confiscations,  others  by  banishment, 
others  by  death.  Once  undisputed  mo 
narch  of  the  entire  kingdom,  he  trusted 
to  his  military  skill  to  retrieve  his  for 
tune,  and  drive  the  Christians  over  the 
frontier. 

Boabdil,  however,  had  again  retired  to 
Velez  el  Blanco,  on  the  confines  of  Mur- 
cia,  where  he  could  avail  himself,  in  case 
of  emergency,  of  any  assistance  or  pro 
tection  afforded  him  by  the  policy  of 
Ferdinand.  His  defeat  had  blighted  his 
reviving  fortunes,  for  the  people  consi 
dered  him  as  inevitably  doomed  to  mis 
fortune.  Still,  while  he  lived,  El  Zagal 
knew  he  would  be  a  rallying-point  for 
faction,  and  liable,  at  any  moment,  to  be 

J*  Don  Luis  Osorio  fue  obispo  de  Jaen  desde  el 
aiio  de  1483,  y  presido  en  esta  iglnsia  hasta  el  de 
1496  en  que  murio  en  Flandes  a  donde  fue  acorn- 
panando  a  la  Princesa  Dona  Juana,  esposa  del 
Archiduque  Don  Felipe.— Espaiia  Sagrada,  por  Fr. 
M.  Risco,  torn.  xli.  trat.  77,  c.  4. 

VOL.  II.  25 


elevated  into  power  by  the  capricious 
multitude.  He  had  recourse,  therefore, 
to  the  most  perfidious  means  to  compass 
his  destruction.  He  sent  ambassadors  to 
him,  representing  the  necessity  of  con 
cord,  for  the  salvation  of  the  kingdom ; 
and  even  offering  to  resign  the  title  of 
king,  and  to  become  subject  to  his  sway, 
on  receiving  some  estate,  on  which  he 
could  live  in  tranquil  retirement.  But, 
while  the  ambassadors  bore  these  words 
of  peace,  they  were  furnished  with  poi 
soned  herbs,  which  they  were  to  admi 
nister  secretly  to  Boabdil ;  and,  if  they 
failed  in  this  attempt,  they  had  pledged 
themselves  to  despatch  him  openly,  while 
engaged  in  conversation.  They  were 
instigated  to  this  treason  by  promises  of 
great  reward,  and  by  assurances  from 
the  alfaquis,  that  Boabdil  was  an  apos 
tate,  whose  death  would  be  acceptable  to 
Heaven. 

The  young  monarch  was  secretly  ap 
prised  of  the  concerted  treason,  and  re 
fused  an  audience  to  the  ambassadors. 
He  denounced  his  uncle  as  the  murderer 
of  his  father  and  his  kindred,  and  the 
usurper  of  his  throne,  and  vowed  never 
to  relent  in  hostility  to  him,  until  he 
should  place  his  head  on  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra. 

Open  war  again  broke  out  between  the 
two  monarchs,  though  feebly  carried  on, 
in  consequence  of  their  mutual  embar 
rassments.  Ferdinand  again  extended 
his  assistance  to  Boabdil,  ordering  the 
commanders  of  his  fortresses  to  aid  him 
in  all  enterprises  against  his  uncle,  and 
against  such  places  as  refused  to  ac 
knowledge  him  as  king.  And  Don  Juan 
de  Benavides,  who  commanded  in  Loxa, 
even  made  inroads,  in  his  name,  into  the 
territories  of  Almeria,  Baza,  and  Guadix, 
which  owned  allegiance  to  El  Zagal. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  three 
great  evils  to  contend  with  ;  the  incon 
stancy  of  his  subjects,  the  hostility  of  his 
uncle,  and  the  friendship  of  Ferdinand. 
The  last  was  by  far  the  most  baneful ; 
his  fortunes  withered  under  it.  He  was 
looked  upon  as  the  enemy  of  his  faith 
and  of  his  country.  The  cities  shut  their 
gates  against  him.  The  people  cursed 
him.  Even  the  scanty  band  of  cavaliers, 
who  had  hitherto  followed  his  ill-starred 
banner,  began  to  desert  him ;  for  he  had 


290 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


not  wherewithal  to  reward,  or  even  to 
support  them.  His  spirits  sank  with  his 
fortune;  and  he  feared  that,  in  a  little 
time,  he  should  not  have  a  spot  of  earth 
whereon  to  place  his  standard,  or  an  ad 
herent  to  rally  under  it. 

In  the  midst  of  his  despondency,  he 
received  a  message  from  his  lion-hearted 
mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra. 
"  For  shame,"  said  she,  "  to  linger  about 
the  borders  of  your  kingdom,  when  a 
usurper  is  seated  in  your  capital !  Why 
look  abroad  for  perfidious  aid,  when  you 
have  loyal  hearts  beating  true  to  you  in 
Granada?  The  albaycen  is  ready  to 
throw  open  its  gates  to  receive  you. 
Strike  home  vigorously.  A  sudden  blow 
may  mend  all,  or  make  an  end.  A 
throne,  or  a  grave  !  for  a  king,  there  is 
no  honourable  medium." 

Boabdil  was  of  an  undecided  character : 

'  but  there  are  circumstances  which  bring 
the  most  wavering  to  a  decision,  and, 
when  once  resolved,  they  are  apt  to  act 
with  a  daring  impulse,  unknown  to 
steadier  judgments.  The  message  of 
the  sultana  roused  him  from  a  dream. 
Granada,  beautiful  Granada !  with  its 
stately  Alhambra,  its  delicious  gardens, 
its  gushing  and  limpid  fountains,  spark 
ling  among  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and 
myrtle,  rose  before  him.  "  What  have 
I  done,"  exclaimed  he,  "  that  I  should  be 
an  exile  from  this  paradise  of  my  fore 
fathers,  a  wanderer  and  fugitive  in  my 
own  kingdom,  while  a  murderous  usurper 
sits  proudly  upon  my  throne  ?  Surely, 
Allah  will  befriend  the  righteous  cause : 
one  blow,  and  all  may  be  my  own !" 

He  summoned  his  scanty  band  of  ca 
valiers.  "  Who  is  ready  to  follow  his 
monarch  unto  the  death  ?"  said  he  ;  and 
every  one  laid  his  hand  upon  his  cimeter. 
"Enough  !"  said  he:  "  let  each  man  arm 
himself,  and  prepare  his  steed  in  secret, 
for  an  enterprise  of  toil  and  peril :  if  we 

|  succeed,  our  reward  is  empire  !" 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

How  Boabdil   returned  secretly  to  Granada  ;   and 
how  he  was  received. 

"!N  the  hand  of  God,"  exclaims  an  old 
Arabian  chronicler,  "  is  the  destiny  of 
princes :  he  alone  giveth  empire.  A 
single  Moorish  horseman,  mounted  on  a 


fleet  Arabian  steed,  was  one  day  tra 
versing  the  mountains  which  extend  be 
tween  Granada  and  the  frontiers  of 
Murcia.  He  galloped  swiftly  through 
the  valleys,  but  paused  and  looked  out 
cautiously  from  the  summit  of  every 
height.  A  squadron  of  cavaliers  fol 
lowed  warily  at  a  distance.  There  were 
fifty  lances.  The  richness  of  their  armour 
and  attire  showed  them  to  be  warriors  of 
noble  rank,  and  their  leader  had  a  lofty 
and  prince-like  demeanour."  The  squad 
ron  thus  described  by  the  Arabian  chro 
nicler  was  the  Moorish  king  Boabdil  and 
his  devoted  followers. 

For  two  nights  and  a  day  they  pursued 
their  adventurous  journey,  avoiding  all 
populous  parts  of  the  country,  and 
choosing  the  most  solitary  passes  of  the 
mountains.  They  suffered  severe  hard 
ships  and  fatigues ;  but  they  suffered 
without  a  murmur.  They  were  accus 
tomed  to  rugged  campaigning,  and  their 
steeds  were  of  generous  and  unyielding 
spirit.  It  was  midnight,  and  all  was  dark 
and  silent,  as  they  descended  from  the 
mountains,  and  approached  the  city  of 
Granada.  They  passed  along  quietly 
under  the  shadow  of  its  walls,  until  they 
arrived  near  the  gate  of  the  albaycen. 
Here  Boabdil  ordered  his  followers  to 
halt,  and  remain  concealed.  Taking  but 
four  or  five  with  him,  he  advanced  re 
solutely  to  the  gate,  and  knocked  with 
the  hilt  of  his  cimeter.  The  guards  de 
manded  who  sought  to  enter  at  that 
unseasonable  hour.  "  Your  king  !"  ex 
claimed  Boabdil :  "  open  the  gate,  and 
admit  him." 

The  guards  held  forth  a  light,  and 
recognised  the  person  of  the  youthful 
monarch.  They  were  struck  with  sud 
den  awe,  and  threw  open  the  gates,  and 
Boabdil  and  his  followers  entered  un 
molested.  They  galloped  to  the  dwell 
ings  of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the 
albaycen ;  thundering  at  their  portals, 
and  summoning  them  to  rise,  and  take 
arms  for  their  rightful  sovereign.  The 
summons  was  instantly  obeyed ;  trumpets 
resounded  throughout  the  streets ;  the 
gleam  of  torches  and  the  flash  of  arms 
showed  the  Moors  hurrying  to  their 
gathering-places  ;  and  by  daybreak  the 
whole  force  of  the  albaycen  was  rallied 
under  the  standard  of  Boabdil.  Such 


CONQUEST  o     GRANADA. 


291 


was  the  success  of  this  sudden  and  des 
perate  act  of  the  young  monarch ;  for  we 
are  assured  by  contemporary  historians, 
that  there  had  been  no  previous  concert 
or  arrangement.  "  As  the  guards  opened 
the  gate'  of  the  city  to  admit  him,"  ob 
serves  a  pious  chronicler,  "so  God  opened 
the  hearts  of  the  Moors  to  receive  him  as 
their  king."* 

In  the  morning  early,  the  tidings  of 
this  event  roused  El  Zagal  from  his 
slumbers  in  the  Alhambra.  The  fiery 
old  warrior  assembled  his  guard  in  haste, 
and  made  his  way  sword  in  hand,  to  the 
albaycen,  hoping  to  come  upon  his 
nephew  by  surprise.  He  was  vigorously 
met  by  Boabdil  and  his  adherents,  and 
driven  back  into  the  quarter  of  the  Al 
hambra.  An  encounter  took  place  be 
tween  the  two  kings  in  the  square  be 
fore  the  principal  mosque.  Here  they 
fought,  hand  to  hand,  with  implacable 
fury,  as  though  it  had  been  agreed  to 
decide  their  competition  for  the  crown 
by  single  combat.  In  the  tumult  of  this 
chance-medley  affray,  however,  they 
were  separated,  and  the  party  of  El 
Zagal  was  ultimately  driven  from  the 
square. 

The  battle  raged  for  some  time  in  the 
streets  and  places  of  the  city  ;  but  finding 
their  powers  of  mischief  cramped  within 
such  narrow  limits,  both  parties  sallied 
forth  into  the  fields,  and  fought  beneath 
the  walls  until  evening.  Many  fell  on 
both  sides ;  and  at  night  each  party 
withdrew  into  its  quarter,  until  the  morn 
ing  gave  them  light  to  renew  the  un 
natural  conflict.  For  several  days,  the 
two  divisions  of  the  city  remained  like 
hostile  powers  arrayed  against  each 
other.  The  party  of  the  Aihambra  was 
more  numerous  than  that  of  the  albaycen, 
and  contained  most  of  the  nobility  and 
chivalry;  but  the  adherents  of  Boabdil 
were  men  hardened  and  strengthened  by 
labour,  and  habitually  skilled  in  the  ex 
ercise  of  arms. 

The  albaycen  underwent  a  kind  of 
siege  by  the  forces  of  El  Zagal :  they 
effected  breaches  in  the  walls,  and  made 
repeated  attempts  to  carry  it  sword  in 
hand,  but  were  as  often  repulsed.  The 
troops  of  Boabdil,  on  the  other  hand, 

*  Pulgar. 


made  frequent  sallies ;  and,  in  the  con 
flicts  which  took  place,  the  hatred  of  the 
combatants  rose  to  such  a  pitch  of  fury, 
that  no  quarter  was  given  on  either  side. 

Boabdil  perceived  the  inferiority  of  his 
force.  He  dreaded,  also,  that  his  ad 
herents,  being  for  the  most  part  trades 
men  and  artisans,  would  become  impa 
tient  of  this  interruption  of  their  gainful 
occupations  and  disheartened  by  these 
continual  scenes  of  carnage.  He  sent 
missives,  therefore,  in  all  haste,  to  Don 
Fadrique  de  Toledo,  who  commanded 
the  Christian  forces  on  the  frontier,  en 
treating  his  assistance. 

Don  Fadrique  had  received  orders 
from  the  politic  Ferdinand  to  aid  the 
youthful  monarch  in  all  his  contests  with 
his  uncle.  He  advanced,  therefore,  with 
a  body  of  troops  near  to  Granada ;  but, 
wary  lest  some  treachery  might  be  in 
tended,  he  stood  for  some  time  aloof, 
watching  the  movements  of  the  parties. 
The  furious  and  sanguinary  nature  of 
the  conflicts,  which  distracted  unhappy 
Granada,  soon  convinced  him,  that  there 
was  no  collusion  between  the  monarchs. 
He  sent  Boabdil,  therefore,  a  reinforce 
ment  of  Christian  foot-soldiers  and  ar- 
quebusiers,  under  Fernan  Alvarez  de 
Sotomayor,  alcayde  of  Colomara.  This 
was  as  a  firebrand  thrown  in  to  light  up 
anew  the  flames  of  war  in  the  city,  which 
remained  raging  between  the  Moorish 
inhabitants  for  the  space  of  fifty  days. 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 
How  king  Ferdinand  laid  siege  to  Velez  Malaga. 

HITHERTO  the  events  of  this  renowned 
war  have  been  little  else  than  a  succes 
sion  of  brilliant  but  brief  exploits,  such 
as  sudden  forays  and  wild  skirmishes 
among  the  mountains,  or  the  surprisal  of 
castles,  fortresses,  and  frontier  towns. 
We  approach  now  to  more  important 
and  prolonged  operations,  in  which  an 
cient  and  mighty  cities,  the  bulwarks  of 
Granada,  were  invested  by  powerful 
armies,  subdued  by  slow  and  regular 
sieges,  and  thus  the  capital  left  naked 
and  alone. 

The  glorious  triumphs  of  the  catholic 
sovereigns,  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
had  resounded  throughout  the  East,  and 
filled  all  heathenesse  with  alarm.  The 


292 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Grand  Turk,  Bajazet  II.  and  his  deadly 
foe  the  Grand  Soldan  of  Egypt,  sus 
pending  for  a  time  their  bloody  feuds, 
entered  into  a  league  to  protect  the  re 
ligion  of  Mahomet  and  the  kingdom  of 
Granada  from  the  hostilities  of  the  Chris 
tians.  It  was  concerted  between  them,  that 
Bajazet  should  send  a  powerful  armada 
against  the  island  of  Sicily,  then  apper 
taining  to  the  Spanish  crown,  for  the 
purpose  of  distracting  the  attention  of 
the  Castilian  sovereigns,  while  at  the 
same  time,  great  bodies  of  troops  should 
be  poured  into  Granada  from  the  opposite 
coast  of  Africa. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  received  timely 
intelligence  of  these  designs.  They  re 
solved  at  once  to  carry  the  war  into  the 
seaboard  of  Granada,  to  possess  them 
selves  of  its  ports,  and  thus,  as  it  were, 
to  bar  the  gates  of  the  kingdom  against 
all  external  aid.  Malaga  was  to  be  the 
main  object  of  attack :  it  was  the  prin 
cipal  seaport  of  the  kingdom,  and  almost 
necessary  to  its  existence.  It  had  long 
been  the  seat  of  opulent  commerce, 
sending  many  ships  to  the  coasts  of 
Syria  and  Egypt.  It  was  also  the  great 
channel  of  communication  with  Africa, 
through  which  were  introduced  supplies 
of  money,  troops,  arms,  and  steeds,  from 
Tunis,  Tripoli,  Fez,  Tremezan,  and 
other  Barbary  powers.  It  was  emphati 
cally  called,  therefore,  the  Hand  and 
Mouth  of  Granada. 

Before  laying  siege  to  this  redoubtable 
city,  however,  it  was  deemed  necessary 
to  secure  the  neighbouring  city  of  Velez 
Malaga,  and  its  dependent  places,  which 
might  otherwise  harass  the  besieging 
army. 

For  this  important  campaign,  the  nobles 
of  the  kingdom  were  again  summoned  to 
take  the  field  with  their  forces,  in  the 
spring  of  1487.  The  menaced  invasion 
of  the  infidel  powers  of  the  East  had 
awakened  new  ardour  in  the  bosoms  of 
all  true  Christian  knights,  and  so  zeal 
ously  did  they  respond  to  the  summons 
of  the  sovereigns,  that  an  army  of 
twenty  thousand  cavalry,  and  fifty  thou 
sand  foot,  the  flower  of  Spanish  war 
riors,  led  by  the  bravest  of  Spanish 
cavaliers,  thronged  the  renowned  city 
of  Cordova  at  the  appointed  time. 

On  the  night  before  this  mighty  host 


set  forth  upon  its  march,  an  earthquake 
shook  the  city.  The  inhabitants,  awa 
kened  by  the  shaking  of  the  walls  and 
rocking  of  the  towers,  fled  to  the  courts 
and  squares,  fearing  to  be  overwhelmed 
by  the  ruins  of  their  dwellings.  The 
earthquake  was  most  violent  in  the 
quarter  of  the  royal  residence,  the  site 
of  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  Many  looked  upon  this  as  an 
omen  of  some  impending  evil,  but  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  in  that  infallible  spirit 
of  divination  which  succeeds  an  event, 
plainly  reads  in  it  a  presage,  that  the 
empire  of  the  Moors  was  about  to  be 
shaken  to  its  centre. 

It  was  on  Saturday,  the  eve  of  the 
Sunday  of  Palms,  says  a  worthy  and 
loyal  chronicler  of  the  times,  that  the 
most  catholic  monarch  departed  with  his 
army  to  render  service  to  heaven,  and 
make  war  upon  the  Moors.*  Heavy 
rains  had  swelled  all  the  streams,  and 
rendered  the  roads  deep  and  difficult. 
The  king  therefore  divided  his  host  into 
two  bodies.  In  one  he  put  all  the  ar 
tillery,  guarded  by  a  strong  body  of 
horse,  and  commanded  by  the  master  of 
Alcantara,  and  Martin  Alonso,  senior  of 
Montemayor.  This  division  was  to  pro 
ceed  by  the  road  through  the  valleys, 
where  pasturage  abounded  for  the  oxen 
which  drew  the  ordnance. 

The  main  body  of  the  army  was  led 
by  the  king  in  person.  It  was  divided 
into  numerous  battalions,  each  com 
manded  by  some  distinguished  cavalier. 
The  king  took  the  rough  and  perilous 
road  of  the  mountains  ;  and  few  moun 
tains  are  more  rugged  and  difficult  than 
those  of  Andalusia.  The  roads  are  mere 
mule-paths,  straggling  amidst  rocks  and 
along  the  verge  of  precipices,  clamber 
ing  vast  craggy  heights,  or  descend 
ing  into  frightful  chasms  and  ravines, 
with  scanty  and  uncertain  foothold  for 
either  man  or  steed.  Four  thousand 
pioneers  were  sent  in  advance,  under 
the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles,  to  conquer, 
in  some  degree,  the  asperities  of  the 
road.  Some  had  pickaxes  and  crows, 
to  break  the  rocks  ;  some  implements  to 
construct  bridges  over  the  mountain  tor 
rents  ;  while  it  was  the  duty  of  others  to 

*  Pulgar,  Cronica  de  los  Reyes  Catholicos. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


293 


lay  stepping-stones  in  the  smaller  streams. 
As  the  country  was  inhabited  by  fierce 
Moorish  mountaineers,  Don  Diego  de 
Castrillo  was  despatched,  with  a  body  of 
horse  and  foot,  to  take  possesion  of-the 
heights  and  passes.  Notwithstanding 
every  precaution,  the  royal  army  suf 
fered  excessively  on  its  march.  At  one 
time,  there  was  no  place  to  encamp  for 
five  leagues  of  the  most  toilsome  and 
mountainous  country,  and  many  of  the 
beasts  of  burden  sank  down  and  perished 
on  the  road. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  joy,  therefore, 
that  the  royal  army  emerged  from  these 
stern  and  frightful  defiles,  and  came  to 
where  they  looked  down  upon  the  vega 
of  Velez  Malaga.  The  region  before 
them  was  one  of  the  most  delectable  to 
the  eye  that  ever  was  ravaged  by  an 
army.  Sheltered  from  every  rude  blast 
by  a  screen  of  mountains,  and  sloping 
and  expanding  to  the  south,  this  lovely 
valley  was  quickened  by  the  most  gene 
rous  sunshine,  watered  by  the  silver 
meanderings  of  the  Velez,  and  refreshed 
by  cooling  breezes  from  the  Mediterra 
nean.  The  sloping  hills  were  covered 
with  vineyards  and  olive-trees,  the  dis 
tant  fields  waved  with  grain,  or  were 
verdant  with  pasturage,  while  around 
the  city  were  delightful  gardens,  the 
favourite  retreat  of  the  Moors,  where 
their  white  pavilions  gleamed  among 
groves  of  oranges,  citrons,  and  pome 
granates,  and  were  surmounted  by  stately 
palms,  those  plants  of  southern  growth, 
bespeaking  a  generous  climate  and  a 
cloudless  sky. 

In  the  upper  part  of  this  delightful 
valley  the  city  of  Velez  Malaga  reared 
its  warrior  battlements,  in  stern  contrast 
to  the  landscape.  It  was  built  on  the  de 
clivity  of  a  steep  and  insulated  hill,  and 
strongly  fortified  by  walls  and  towers. 
The  crest  of  the  hill  rose  high  above 
the  town  into  a  mere  crag,  inaccessible 
on  every  other  side,  and  crowned  by  a 
powerful  castle,  which  domineered  over 
the  surrounding  country.  Two  suburbs 
swept  down  into  the  valley,  from  the 
skirts  of  the  town,  and  were  defended 
by  bulwarks  and  deep  ditches.  The 
vast  ranges  of  gray  mountains,  often 
capped  with  clouds,  which  rose  to  the 
North,  were  inhabited  by  a  hardy  and 


warlike  race,  whose  strong  fortresses  of 
Comares,  Camillas,  Competa,  and  Bene- 
marhorga  frowned  down  from  cragged 
heights. 

At  the  time  that  the  Christian  host 
arrived  in  sight  of  this  valley,  a  squad 
ron  was  hovering  on  the  smooth  sea 
before  it,  displaying  the  banner  of  Cas 
tile.  This  was  commanded  by  the  Count 
of  Trevento,  and  consisted  of  four  armed 
galleys,  convoying  a  number  of  caravels, 
laden  with  supplies  for  the  army. 

After  surveying  the  ground,  King  Fer 
dinand  encamped  on  the  side  of  a  moun 
tain,  which  advanced  close  to  the  city, 
and  was  the  last  of  a  rugged  sierra,  or 
chain  of  heights,  that  extended  quite  to 
Granada.  On  the  summit  of  this  moun 
tain,  and  overlooking  the  camp,  was  a 
Moorish  town,  powerfully  fortified,  called 
Bentomiz,  and  which,  from  its  vicinity, 
had  been  considered  capable  of  yielding 
great  assistance  to  Velez  Malaga.  Seve 
ral  of  the  generals  remonstrated  with 
the  king  for  choosing  a  post  so  exposed 
to  assaults  from  the  mountaineers.  Fer 
dinand  replied,  that  he  should  thus  cut 
off  all  communication  between  the  town 
and  the  city  ;  and  that,  as  to  the  danger, 
his  soldiers  must  keep  the  more  vigilant 
guard  against  surprise. 

King  Ferdinand  rode  forth,  attended 
by  several  cavaliers,  and  a  small  number 
of  cuirassiers,  appointing  the  various 
stations  of  the  camp.  While  a  body  of 
foot-soldiers  were  taking  possession,  as 
an  advanced  guard,  of  an  important 
height  which  overlooked  the  city,  the 
king  retired  to  a  tent  to  take  refresh 
ment.  While  at  table,  he  was  startled 
by  a  sudden  uproar,  and,  looking  forth, 
beheld  his  soldiers  flying  before  a  supe 
rior  force  of  the  enemy.  The  king 
had  on  no  other  armour  but  a  cuirass. 
Seizing  a  lance,  however,  he  sprang  upon 
his  horse,  and  galloped  to  protect  the 
fugitives,  followed  by  his  handful  of 
knights  and  cuirassiers.  When  the 
Spaniards  saw  the  king  hastening  to 
their  aid,  they  turned  upon  their  pur 
suers.  Ferdinand,  in  his  eagerness, 
threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  foe. 
One  of  his  grooms  was  killed  beside 
him  ;  but  before  the  Moor  who  slew  him 
could  escape,  the  king  transfixed  him 
with  his  lance.  He  then  sought  to  draw 

25* 


294 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


his  sword,  which  hung  at  his  saddle-bow, 
but  in  vain.  Never  had  he  been  exposed 
to  such  peril :  he  was  surrounded  by  the 
enemy,  without  a  weapon  wherewith  to 
defend  himself. 

In  this  moment  of  awful  jeopardy, 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  Count  de 
Cabra,  the  adelantado  of  Murcia,  with 
two  other  cavaliers,  named  Garcilasso 
|  de  la  Vega  and  Diego  de  Atayde,  came 
galloping  to  the  scene  of  action,  and, 
surrounding  the  king,  made  a  loyal 
rampart  of  their  bodies  against  the 
assaults  of  the  Moors.  The  horse  of 
the  marquis  was  pierced  by  an  arrow, 
and  that  worthy  cavalier  exposed  to 
imminent  danger :  but,  with  the  aid  of 
his  valorous  companions,  he  quickly  put 
the  enemy  to  flight,  and  pursued  them 
with  slaughter  to  the  very  gates  of  the 
city. 

When  these  loyal  warriors  returned 
from  the  pursuit,  they  remonstrated 
with  the  king  for  exposing  his  life  in 
personal  conflict,  seeing  that  he  had  so 
many  valiant  captains,  whose  business 
it  was  to  fight.  They  reminded  him, 
that  the  life  of  a  prince  was  the  life  of  his 
people,  and  that  many  a  brave  army  was 
lost  by  the  loss  of  its  commander.  They 
entreated  him,  therefore,  in  future  to  pro 
tect  them  with  the  force  of  his  mind  in 
the  cabinet,  rather  than  his  arm  in  the 
field. 

Ferdinand  acknowledged  the  wisdom 
of  their  advice,  but  declared,  that  he 
could  not  see  his  people  in  peril  without 
venturing  his  person  to  assist  them  :  a 
reply,  say  the  old  chroniclers,  which 
delighted  the  whole  army,  inasmuch  as 
they  saw,  that  he  not  only  governed 
them  as  a  good  king,  but  protected  them 
as  a  valiant  captain.  Ferdinand,  how 
ever,  was  conscious  of  the  extreme  peril 
to  which  he  had  been  exposed,  and  made 
a  vow  never  again  to  venture  into  battle 
without  having  his  sword  girt  to  his 
side.* 

When  this  achievement  of  the  king 
was  related  to  Isabella,  she  trembled 
amidst  her  joy  at  his  safety  ;  and  after 
wards,  in  memorial  of  the  event,  she 
granted  to  Velez  Malaga,  as  the  arms  of 

*  Illescas,  Hist.  Pontif.,  lib.  vi.  c.  20.  Vedmar, 
Hist.  Velez  Malaga. 


the  city,  the  figure  of  the  king  on  horse 
back,  with  a  groom  lying  dead  at  his 
feet,  and  the  Moors  flying.* 

The  camp  was  formed,  but  the  artillery 
was  yet  on  the  road,  advancing  with  in. 
finite  labour  at  the  rate  of  merely  a 
league  a  day ;  for  heavy  rains  had  con 
verted  the  streams  of  the  valleys  into 
raging  torrents,  and  completely  broken 
up  the  roads.  In  the  mean  time  King 
Ferdinand  ordered  an  assault  on  the 
suburbs  of  the  city.  They  were  carried, 
after  a  sanguinary  conflict  of  six  hours, 
in  which  many  Christian  cavaliers  were 
killed  and  wounded,  and  among  the  latter 
Don  Alvaro  of  Portugal,  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Braganza.  The  suburbs  were  then 
fortified  towards  the  city  with  trenches 
and  palisades,  and  garrisoned  by  a  chosen 
force  under  Don  Fadrique  de  Toledo. 
Other  trenches  were  digged  round  the 
city,  and  from  the  suburbs  to  the  royal 
camp,  so  as  to  cut  off  all  communication 
with  the  surrounding  country. 

Bodies  of  troops  were  also  sent  to  take 
possession  of  the  mountain  passes,  by 
which  the  supplies  for  the  army  had  to 
be  brought.  The  mountains,  however, 
were  so  steep  and  rugged,  and  so  full  of 
defiles  and  lurking-places,  that  the  Moors 
could  sally  forth  and  retreat  in  perfect 
security,  frequently  sweeping  down  upon 
Christian  convoys,  and  bearing  off  both 
booty  and  prisoners  to  their  strongholds. 
Sometimes  the  Moors  would  light  fires 
at  night  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains, 
which  would  be  answered  by  fires  from 
the  watchtowers  and  fortresses.  By  these 
signals  they  would  concert  assaults  upon 
the  Christian  camp,  which,  in  conse 
quence,  was  obliged  to  be  continually  on 
the  alert,  and  ready  to  fly  to  arms. 

King  Ferdinand  flattered  himself,  that 
the  manifestation  of  his  force  had  struck 
sufficient  terror  into  the  city,  and  that, 
by  offers  of  clemency,  it  might  be  in 
duced  to  capitulate.  He  wrote  a  letter, 
therefore,  to  the  commanders,  promising, 
in  case  of  immediate  surrender,  that  all 
the  inhabitants  should  be  permitted  to 
depart  with  their  effects  ;  but  threatening 
them  with  fire  and  sword  if  they  per 
sisted  in  defence.  This  letter  was  de 
spatched  by  a  cavalier  named  Carvajal, 

*  Idem. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


295 


who,  putting  it  on  the  end  of  a   lance, 
gave  it  to  the  Moors  who  were  on  the 
walls  of  the  city.     The  commanders  re 
plied,  that  the  king  was  too  noble  and  | 
magnanimous   to  put  such  a  threat  In  • 
execution,  and  that  they  should  not  sur-  j 
render,  as  they  knew  the  artillery  could 
not  be  brought  to  the  camp,  and  they 
were  promised  succour  by  the  king  of 
Granada. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  received  this 
reply,  the  king  learned,  that  at  the  strong 
town  of  Comares,  upon  a  height  about 
two  leagues  distant  from  the  camp,  a 
large  number  of  warriors  had  assembled 
from  the  Axarquia,  the  same  mountains 
in  which  the  Christian  cavaliers  had  been 
massacred  in  the  beginning  of  the  war ; 
and  that  others  were  daily  expected,  for 
this  rugged  sierra  was  capable  of  fur 
nishing  fifteen  thousand  fighting  men. 

King  Ferdinand  felt  that  his  army, 
thus  disjointed  and  enclosed  in  an  ene 
my's  country,  was  in  a  perilous  situation, 
and  that  the  utmost  discipline  and  vigi 
lance  were  necessary.  He  put  the  camp 
under  the  strictest  regulations,  forbidding 
all  gaming,  blasphemy,  or  brawl,  and 
expelling  all  loose  women,  and  their  at 
tendant  bully-ruffians,  the  usual  fomenters 
of  riot  and  contention  among  soldiery. 
He  ordered  that  none  should  sally  forth 
to  skirmish  without  permission  from  their 
commanders ;  that  none  should  set  fire 
to  the  woods  of  the  neighbouring  moun 
tains,  and  that  all  word  of  security  given 
to  Moorish  places  or  individuals  should 
be  inviolably  observed.  These  regula 
tions  were  enforced  by  severe  penalties, 
and  had  such  salutary  effect,  that,  though 
a  vast  host  of  various  people  was  col 
lected  together,  not  an  opprobrious  epi 
thet  was  heard,  nor  a  weapon  drawn  in 
quarrel. 

In  the  mean  time  the  cloud  of  war 
went  on  gathering  about  the  summits  of 
the  mountains :  multitudes  of  the  fierce 
warriors  of  the  sierra  descended  to  the 
lower  heights  of  Bentomiz,  which  over 
hung  the  camp,  intending  to  force  their 
way  into  the  city.  A  detachment  was 
sent  against  them,  which,  after  sharp 
fighting,  drove  them  to  the  higher  cliffs 
of  the  mountain,  where  it  was  impossible 
to  pursue  them. 

Ten  days  had  elapsed  since  the  en 


campment  of  the  army,  yet  still  the 
artillery  had  not  arrived.  The  lombards 
and  other  heavy  ordnance  were  left,  in 
despair,  at  Antequera ;  the  rest  came 
groaning  slowly  through  the  narrow  val 
leys,  which  were  filled  with  long  trains 
of  artillery  and  cars  laden  with  muni- 
tions.  At  length  part  of  the  smaller 
ordnance  arrived  within  half  a  league  of 
the  camp,  and  the  Christians  were  ani 
mated  with  the  hopes  of  soon  being  able 
to  make  a  regular  attack  upon  the  fortifi 
cations  of  the  city. 


CHAPTER  XLVI1I. 

How  King  Ferdinand  and  his  army  were  exposed 
to  imminent  peril  before  Velez  Malaga. 

WHILE  the  standard  of  the  cross  waved 
on  the  hills  before  Velez  Malaga,  and 
every  height  and  cliff  bristled  with  hostile 
arms,  the  civil  war  between  the  factions 
of  the  Alhambra  and  the  albaycen,  or 
rather  between  El  Zagal  and  El  Chico, 
continued  to  convulse  the  city  of  Granada. 

The  tidings  of  the  investment  of  Velez 
Malaga  at  length  roused  the  attention  of 
the  old  men  and  the  alfaquis,  whose 
heads  were  not  heated  by  the  daily  broils. 
They  spread  themselves  through  the  city, 
and  endeavoured  to  arouse  the  people  to 
a  sense  of  their  common  danger. 

"  Why,"  said  they,  "  continue  these 
brawls  between  brethren  and  kindred? 
What  battles  are  these,  where  even 
triumph  is  ignominious,  and  the  victor 
blushes  and  conceals  his  scars  ?  Behold 
the  Christians  ravaging  the  land  won  by 
the  valour  and  blood  of  your  forefathers, 
dwelling  in  the  houses  they  have  built, 
sitting  under  the  trees  they  have  planted, 
while  your  brethren  wander  about,  house 
less  and  desolate.  Do  you  wish  to  seek 
your  real  foe ?  He  is  encamped  on  the 
mountains  of  Bentomiz.  Do  you  want  a 
field  for  the  display  of  your  valour?  You 
will  find  it  before  the  walls  of  Velez 
Malaga." 

When  they  had  roused  the  spirit  of  the 
people,  they  made  their  way  to  the  rival 
kings,  and  addressed  them  with  like  re 
monstrances.  Hamet  Aben  Zarrax,  the 
inspired  santon,  reproached  El  Zagal 
with  his  blind  and  senseless  ambition. 
"  You  are  striving  to  be  king,"  said  he 


296 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


bitterly,  "  yet  suffer  the  kingdom  to  be 
lost." ' 

El  Zagal  found  himself  in  a  perplexing 
dilemma.  He  had  a  double  war  to  wage, 
with  the  enemy  without  and  the  enemy 
within.  Should  the  Christians  gain  pos 
session  of  the  sea-coast,  it  would  be  ruin 
ous  tt>  the  kingdom ;  should  he  leave 
Granada  to  oppose  them,  his  vacant 
throne  might  be  seized  on  by  his  nephew. 
He  made  a  merit  of  necessity  :  and,  pre 
tending  to  yield  to  the  remonstrances  of 
the  alfaquis,  endeavoured  to  compromise 
with  Boabdil.  He  expressed  deep  con 
cern  at  the  daily  losses  of  the  country, 
caused  by  the  dissensions  of  the  capital  ; 
an  opportunity  now  presented  itself  to 
retrieve  all  by  a  blow.  The  Christians 
had,  in  a  manner,  put  themselves  in  a 
tomb  between  the  mountains ;  nothing 
remained  but  to  throw  the  earth  upon 
them.  He  offered  to  resign  the  title  of 
king,  to  submit  to  the  government  of  his 
nephew,  and  fight  under  his  standard ; 
all  he  desired  was  to  hasten  to  the  relief 
of  Velez  Malaga,  and  to  take  full  ven 
geance  on  the  Christians. 

Boabdil  spurned  his  proposition  as  the 
artifice  of  a  hypocrite  and  a  traitor. 
"  How  shall  I  trust  a  man,"  said  he, 
"  who  has  murdered  my  father  and  my 
kindred  by  treachery,  and  repeatedly 
sought  my  own  life,  both  by  violence 
and  stratagem  ?" 

El  Zagal  foamed  with  rage  and  vexa 
tion  ;  but  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
He  was  beset  by  the  alfaquis  and  the 
nobles  of  his  court ;  the  youthful  cava 
liers  were  hot  for  action ;  the  common 
people  loud  in  their  complaints  that  the 
richest  cities  were  abandoned  to  the 
enemy.  The  old  warrior  was  naturally 
fond  of  fighting ;  he  saw  also,  that  to 
remain  inactive  would  endanger  both 
crown  and  kingdom,  whereas  a  success 
ful  blow  would  secure  his  popularity  in 
Granada.  He  had  a  much  more  powerful 
force  than  his  nephew,  having  lately 
received  reinforcements  from  Baza, 
Guadix,  and  Almeria ;  he  could  march, 
therefore,  with  a  large  force,  and  yet 
leave  a  strong  garrison  in  theAlhambra. 
He  formed  his  measures  accordingly,  and 
departed  suddenly  in  the  night,  at  the 
head  of  one  thousand  horse  and  twenty 
thousand  foot.  He  took  the  most  unfre 


quented  roads  along  the  chain  of  moun 
tains  extending  from  Granada  to  the 
height  of  Bentomiz,  and  proceeded  with 
such  rapidity,  as  to  arrive  there  before 
King  Ferdinand  had  notice  of  his  ap 
proach. 

The  Christians  were  alarmed  one  even 
ing  by  the  sudden  blazing  of  great  fires 
on  the  mountain,  about  the  fortress  of 
Bentomiz.  By  the  ruddy  light  they  be 
held  the  flash  of  weapons  and  the  array 
of  troops,  and  they  heard  the  distant 
sound  of  Moorish  drums  and  trumpets. 
The  fires  of  Bentomiz  were  answered  by 
fires  on  the  towers  of  Velez  Malaga. 
•The  shouts  of  «  El  Zagal !  El  Zagal !" 
echoed  along  the  cliffs  and  resounded 
from  the  city,  and  the  Christians  found 
that  the  old  warrior-king  of  Granada  was 
on  the  mountain  above  their  camp. 

The  spirits  of  the  Moors  were  suddenly 
raised  to  a  pitch  of  the  greatest  exultation, 
while  the  Christians  were  astonished  to 
see  this  storm  of  war  ready  to  burst  upon 
their  heads.  The  Count  de  Cabra,  with 
his  accustomed  eagerness  when  there  was 
a  king  in  the  field,  would  fain  have  scaled 
the  heights,  and  attacked  El  Zagal  before 
he  had  time  to  form  his  camp ;  but  Fer 
dinand,  who  was  more  cool  and  wary, 
restrained  him.  To  attack  the  height 
would  be  to  abandon  the  siege.  He 
ordered  every  one,  therefore,  to  keep 
vigilant  watch  at  his  post,  and  to  stand 
ready  to  defend  it  to  the  utmost,  but  on 
no  account  to  sally  forth  and  attack  the 
enemy. 

All  night  the  signal-fires  kept  blazing 
along  the  mountains,  rousing  and  ani 
mating  the  whole  country.  The  morning 
sun  rose  over  the  lofty  summit  of  Ben 
tomiz  on  a  scene  of  martial  splendour. 
As  its  rays  glanced  down  the  mountain, 
they  lighted  up  the  white  tents  of  the 
Christian  cavaliers,  cresting  its  lower 
prominences,  their  pennons  and  ensigns 
fluttering  in  the  morning  breeze.  The 
sumptuous  pavilion  of  the  king,  with  the 
holy  standard  of  the  cross,  and  the  royal 
banners  of  Castile  and  Aragon,  domi 
nated  the  encampment.  Beyond  lay  the 
city,  its  lofty  castle  and  numerous  towers 
glistening  with  arms  ;  while  above  all, 
and  just  on  the  profile  of  the  height,  in 
the  jfull  blaze  of  the  rising  sun,  were 
descried  the  tents  of  the  Moor,  his  turban- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


297 


ed  troops  clustering  about  them,  and  his 
infidel  banners  floating  against  the  sky. 
Columns  of  smoke  rose  where  the  night- 
fire  had  blazed,  and  the  clash  of  the 
Moorish  cymbal,  the  bray  of  the  trumpet, 
and  the  neigh  of  steeds,  were  faintly 
heard  from  those  airy  heights.  So  pure 
and  transparent  is  the  atmosphere  in  this 
region,  that  every  object  can  be  distinctly 
seen  at  a  great  distance,  and  the  Chris 
tians  were  able  to  behold  the  formidable 
hosts  of  foes  that  were  gathering  on  the 
summits  of  the  surrounding  mountains. 

One  of  the  first  measures  of  the  Moor 
ish  king  was  to  detach  a  large  force 
under  Rodovan  de  Vanegas,  alcayde  of 
Granada,  to  fall  upon  the  convoy  of 
ordnance,  which  stretched  for  a  great 
distance  through  the  mountain  defiles. 
Ferdinand  had  anticipated  this  attempt, 
and  sent  the  commander  of  Leon  with  a 
body  of  horse  and  foot  to  reinforce  the 
master  of  Alcantara.  El  Zagal,  from 
his  mountain  height,  beheld  the  detach 
ment  issue  from  the  camp,  and  imme 
diately  recalled  Rodovan  de  Vanegas. 
The  armies  now  remained  quiet  for  a 
time,  the  Moor  looking  grimly  down 
upon  the  Christian  camp,  like  a  tiger 
meditating  a  bound  upon  his  prey.  The 
Christians  were  in  fearful  jeopardy  ;  a 
^ostile  city  below  them,  a  powerful  army 
above  them,  and  on  every  side  mountains 
filled  with  implacable  foes. 

After  El  Zagal  had  maturely  consulted 
the  situation  of  the  Christian  camp,  and 
informed  himself  of  all  the  passes  of  the 
mountain,  he  conceived  a  plan  to  sur 
prise  the  enemy,  which  he  flattered  him 
self  would  ensure  their  ruin,  and  perhaps 
the  capture  of  King  Ferdinand.  He  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  alcayde  of  the  city,  com 
manding  him,  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
on  a  signal-fire  being  made  from  the 
mountain,  to  sally  forth  with  all  his 
troops,  and  fall  furiously  upon  the  camp. 
The  king  would,  at  the  same  time,  rush 
down  with  his  army  from  the  mountain, 
and  assail  it  on  the  opposite  side,  thus 
overwhelming  it  at  the  hour  of  deep  re 
pose.  This  letter  he  despatched  by  a 
renegado  Christian,  who  knew  all  the 
secret  roads  of  the  country,  and,  if  taken, 
could  pass  himself  for  a  Christian  who 
had  escaped  from  captivity. 

The  fierce  El  Zagal,  confident  in  the 


success  of  his  stratagem,  looked  down 
upon  the  Christians  as  his  devoted  vic 
tims.  As  the  sun  went  down,  and  the 
long  shadows  of  the  mountains  stretched 
across  the  vega,  he  pointed  with  exulta 
tion  to  the  camp  below,  apparently  un 
conscious  of  the  impending  danger. 
"  Allah  achbar  !"  exclaimed  he,  "  God  is 
great !  Behold,  the  unbelievers  are  de 
livered  into  our  hands!  their  king  and 
choicest  chivalry  will  soon  be  at  our 
mercy.  Now  is  the  time  to  show  the 
courage  of  men,  and  by  one  glorious 
victory  retrieve  all  that  we  have  lost. 
Happy  he  who  falls  fighting  in  the  cause 
of  the  prophet :  he  will  at  once  be  trans 
ported  to  the  paradise  of  the  faithful,  and 
surrounded  by  immortal  houries  !  Happy 
he  who  shall  survive  victorious  :  he  will 
behold  Granada,  an  earthly  paradise, 
once  more  delivered  from  its  foes,  and 
restored  to  all  its  glory  !"  The  words 
of  El  Zagal  were  received  with  acclama 
tions  by  his  troops,  who  waited  impa 
tiently  for  the  appointed  hour  to  pour 
down  from  their  mountain-hold  upon  the 
Christians. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Result  of  the  stratagem  of  El  Zagal  to  surprise 
King  Ferdinand. 

QUEEN  ISABELLA  and  her  court  had 
remained  at  Cordova,  in  great  anxiety 
for  the  result  of  the  royal  expedition. 
Every  day  brought  tidings  of  the  diffi 
culties  which  attended  the  transportation 
of  the  ordnance  and  munitions,  and  of 
the  critical  situation  of  the  army. 

While  in  this  state  of  anxious  suspense, 
couriers  arrived  with  all  speed  from  the 
frontiers,  bringing  tidings  of  the  sudden 
sally  of  El  Zagal  from  Granada  to  sur 
prise  the  Christian  camp.  All  Cordova 
was  in  consternation.  The  destruction 
of  the  Andalusian  chivalry  among  the 
mountains  of  this  very  neighbourhood 
was  called  to  mind  ;  it  was  feared  that 
similar  ruin  was  about  to  burst  forth, 
from  rocks  and  precipices,  upon  Ferdi 
nand  and  his  army. 

Queen  Isabella  shared  in  the  public 
alarm ;  but  it  served  to  rouse  all  the 
energies  of  her  heroic  mind.  Instead 
of  uttering  idle  apprehensions,  she  sought 
only  how  to  avert  the  danger.  She  called 


298 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


upon  all  the  men  of  Andalusia,  under  the 
age  of  seventy,  to  arm  and  hasten  to  the 
relief  of  their  sovereign;  and  she  prepared 
to  set  out  with  the  first  levies. 

The  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  old  Pedro 
Gonzales  de  Mendoza,  in  whom  the  piety 
of  the  saint  and  the  wisdom  of  the  coun 
sellor  were  mingled  with  the  fire  of  the 
cavalier,  offered  high  pay  to  all  horsemen 
who  would  follow  him  to  aid  their  king 
and  the  Christian  cause ;  and  buckling 
on  armour,  prepared  to  lead  them  to  the 
scene  of  danger. 

The  summons  of  the  queen  roused  the 
quick  Andalusian  spirit.  Warriors,  who 
had  long  since  given  up  fighting,  and  had 
sent  their  sons  to  battle,  now  seized  the 
sword  and  lance  that  were  rusting  on  the 
wall,  and  marshalled  forth  their  gray- 
headed  domestics  and  their  grandchildren 
for  the  field.  The  great  dread  was,  that 
all  aid  would  arrive  too  late.  El  Zagal 
and  his  host  had  passed  like  a  storm 
through  the  mountains,  and  it  was  feared 
the  tempest  had  already  burst  upon  the 
Christian  camp. 

In  the  mean  while  the  night  had  closed, 
which  had  been  appointed  by  El  Zagal 
for  the  execution  of  his  plan.  He  had 
watched  the  last  light  of  day  expire,  and 
all  the  Spanish  camp  remained  tranquil. 
As  the  hours  wore  away,  the  camp-fires 
were  gradually  extinguished.  No  drum 
or  trumpet  sounded  from  below;  nothing 
was  heard  but  now  and  then  the  heavy 
tread  of  troops,  or  the  echoing  tramp  of 
horses,  the  usual  patrols  of  the  camp, 
and  the  changes  of  the  guard.  El  Zagal 
restrained  his  own  impatience,  and  that 
of  his  troops,  until  the  night  should  be 
advanced,  and  the  camp  sunk  in  that 
heavy  sleep  from  which  men  are  with 
difficulty  awakened,  and,  when  awaken 
ed,  so  prone  to  be  bewildered  and  dis 
mayed. 

At  length  the  appointed  hour  arrived. 
By  order  of  the  Moorish  king  a  bright 
flame  sprung  up  from  the  height  of  Ben- 
tomiz ;  but  El  Zagal  looked  in  vain  for 
the  responding  light  from  the  city.  His 
impatience  could  brook  no  longer  delay : 
he  ordered  the  advance  of  the  army  to 
descend  the  mountain  defile,  and  attack 
the  camp.  The  defile  was  narrow,  and 
overhung  by  rocks.  As  the  troops  pro 
ceeded,  they  came  suddenly,  in  a  sha 


dowy  hollow,  upon  a  dark  mass  of  Chris 
tian  warriors.  A  loud  shout  burst  forth, 
and  the  Christians  rushed  to  assail  them. 
;  The  Moors,  surprised  and  disconcerted, 
retreated  in  confusion  to  the  height. 
When  El  Zagal  heard  of  a  Christian 
force  posted  in  the  defile,  he  doubted  j 
j  some  counter-plan  of  the  enemy.  He  i 
I  gave  orders  to  light  the  mountain-fires.  | 
I  On  a  signal  given,  bright  flames  sprung  j 
out  on  every  height,  from  great  pyres  of  I 
wood  prepared  for  the  purpose.  Cliff 
blazed  out  after  cliff,  until  the  whole 
atmosphere  was  in  a  glow  of  furnace 
light.  The  ruddy  glare  lit  up  the  glens 
and  passes  of  the  mountains,  and  fell 
strongly  upon  the  Christian  camp,  re 
vealing  all  its  tents,  and  every  post  and 
bulwark.  Wherever  El  Zagal  turned 
his  eyes,  he  beheld  the  light  of  his  fires 
flashed  back  from  cuirass,  and  helm,  and 
sparkling  lance;  he  beheld  a  grove  of 
spears  planted  in  every  pass,  every  as 
sailable  point  bristling  with  arms,  and 
squadrons  of  horse  and  foot,  in  battle 
array,  awaiting  his  attack. 

In  fact,  the  letter  of  El  Zagal  to  the 
alcayde  of  Velez  Malaga  had  been  inter 
cepted  by  the  vigilant  Ferdinand,  and  the 
renegado  messenger  hanged,  and  secret 
measures  taken,  ailer  the  night  had  closed 
in,  to  give  the  enemy  a  warm  reception. 
El  Zagal  saw  that  his  plan  of  surprise 
was  discovered  and  foiled  :  furious  with 
disappointment,  he  ordered  his  troops 
forward  to  the  attack.  They  rushed 
down  the  defile  with  loud  cries,  but  were 
again  encountered  by  the  mass  of  Chris 
tian  warriors,  being  the  advanced  guard 
of  the  army  commanded  by  Don  Hurta- 
do  de  Mendoza,  brother  of  the  grand  car 
dinal.  The  Moors  were  again  repulsed, 
and  retreated  up  the  heights.  Don  Hur- 
tado  would  have  pursued  them ;  but  the 
ascent  was  steep  and  rugged,  and  easily 
defended  by  the  Moors.  A  sharp  action 
was  kept  up  through  the  night  with 
crossbows,  darts,  and  arquebuses ;  the 
cliffs  echoed  with  deafening  uproar,  while 
the  fires,  blazing  upon  the  mountains, 
threw  a  lurid  and  uncertain  light  upon 
the  scene. 

When  the  day  dawned,  and  the  Moors 
saw  that  there  was  no  co-operation  from 
the  city,  they  began  to  slacken  in  their 
ardour :  they  beheld  also  every  pass  of 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


299 


the  mountain  filled  with  Christian  troops, 
and  began  to  apprehend  an  assault  in  re 
turn.  Just  then  King  Ferdinand  sent  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  with  horse  and  foot,  to 
seize  upon  a  height  occupied  by  a  bat 
talion  of  the  enemy.  The  Marquis  as 
sailed  the  Moors  with  his  usual  intrepidity, 
and  soon  put  them  to  flight.  The  others, 
who  were  above,  seeing  their  companions 
flying,  were  seized  with  a  sudden  alarm. 
They  threw  down  their  arms  and  retreat- 
I  ed.  One  of  those  unaccountable  panics, 
which  now  and  then  seize  upon  great 
bodies  of  people,  and  to  which  the  light- 
spirited  Moors  were  very  prone,  now 
spread  through  the  camp.  They  were 
terrified,  they  knew  not  why,  or  at  what. 
They  threw  away  swords,  lances,  breast 
plates,  crossbows,  every  thing  that  could 
burden  or  impede  their  flight,  and,  spread 
ing  themselves  wildly  over  the  mountains, 
fled  headlong  down  the  defiles.  They 
fled,  without  pursuers,  from  the  glimpse  of 
each  other's  arms,  from  the  sound  of  each 
other's  footsteps.  Rodovan  de  Vanegas, 
the  brave  alcayde  of  Granada,  alone  suc 
ceeded  in  collecting  a  body  of  the  fugi 
tives  :  he  made  a  circuit  with  them 
through  the  passes  of  the  mountains, 
and,  forcing  his  way  across  a  weak  part 
of  the  Christian  lines,  galloped  towards 
Velez  Malaga.  The  rest  of  the  Moorish 
host  was  completely  scattered.  In  vain 
did  El  Zagal  and  his  knights  attempt  to 
rally  them ;  they  were  left  almost  alone, 
and  had  to  consult  their  own  security  by 
flight.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  finding 
no  opposition,  ascended  from  height  to 
height,  cautiously  reconnoitring,  and 
fearful  of  some  stratagem  or  arnbush. 
All,  however,  was  quiet.  He  reached, 
with  his  men,  the  place  which  the  Moor 
ish  army  had  occupied :  the  heights  were 
abandoned,  and  strewed  with  cuirasses, 
cimeters,  crossbows,  and  other  weapons. 
His  force  was  too  small  to  pursue  the 
enemy,  and  he  returned  to  the  royal 
camp  laden  with  the  spoils. 

King  Ferdinand  at  first  could  not 
credit  so  signal  and  miraculous  a  defeat. 
He  suspected  some  lurking  stratagem. 
He  ordered,  therefore,  that  a  strict  watch 
should  be  maintained  throughout  the 
camp,  and  every  one  be  ready  for  in 
stant  action.  The  following  night  a 
thousand  cavaliers  and  hidalgos  kept 


guard  about  the  royal  tent,  as  they  had 
done  for  several  preceding  nights  ;  nor 
did  the  king  relax  this  vigilance,  until  he 
received  certain  intelligence  that  the 
army  was  completely  scattered,  and  El 
Zagal  flying  in  confusion. 

The  tidings  of  this  rout,  and  of  the 
safety  of  the  Christian  army,  arrived  at 
Cordova  just  as  the  reinforcements  were 
on  the  point  of  setting  out.  The  anxiety 
and  alarm  of  the  queen  and  the  public 
were  turned  to  transports  of  joy  and 
gratitude.  The  forces  were  disbanded, 
solemn  processions  were  made,  and  Te 
Deums  chanted  in  the  churches  for  so 
signal  a  victory. 

CHAPTER  L. 

How  the  people  of  Granada  rewarded  the  valour 
of  El  Zagal. 

THE  daring  spirit  of  the  old  warrior, 
Muley  Abdalla  El  Zagal,  in  sallying 
forth  to  defend  his  territories,  while  he 
left  an  armed  rival  in  his  capital,  had 
struck  the  people  of  Granada  with  admi 
ration.  They  recalled  his  former  ex 
ploits,  and  again  anticipated  some  hardy 
achievement  from  his  furious  valour. 
Couriers  from  the  army  reported  its 
formidable  position  on  the  height  of  Ben- 
tomiz.  For  a  time  there  was  a  pause  in 
the  bloody  commotions  of  the  city  ;  all 
attention  was  turned  to  the  blow  about  to 
be  struck  at  the  Christian  camp.  The 
same  considerations,  which  diffused  anx 
iety  and  terror  through  Cordova,  swelled 
every  bosom  with  exulting  confidence  in 
Granada.  The  Moors  expected  to  hear 
of  another  massacre,  like  that  in  the 
mountains  of  Malaga.  "  El  Zagal  has 
again  entrapped  the  enemy  !"  was  the 
cry.  "  The  power  of  the  unbelievers  is 
about  to  be  struck  to  the  heart ;  and  we 
shall  soon  see  the  Christian  king  led 
captive  to  the  capital !"  Thus  the  name 
of  El  Zagal  was  on  every  tongue.  He 
was  extolled  as  the  saviour  of  the  coun 
try,  the  only  one  worthy  of  wearing  the 
Moorish  crown.  Boabdil  was  reviled  as 
basely  remaining  passive  while  his  coun 
try  was  invaded  ;  and  so  violent  became 
the  clamour  of  the  populace,  that  his  ad 
herents  trembled  for  his  safety. 

While  the  people  of  Granada  were 
impatiently  looking  for  tidings  of  the 


300 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


anticipated  victory,  scattered  horsemen 
come  spurring  across  the  vega.  They 
were  fugitives  from  the  Moorish  army, 
and  brought  the  first  incoherent  account 
of  its  defeat.  Every  one  who  attempted 
to  tell  the  tale  of  this  unaccountable  panic 
and  dispersion  was  as  if  bewildered  by 
the  broken  recollection  of  some  frightful 
dream.  He  knew  not  how  or  why  it 
came  to  pass.  He  talked  of  a  battle  in 
the  night  among  rocks  and  precipices, 
by  the  glare  of  bale-fires  ;  of  multitudes 
of  armed  foes  in  every  pass,  seen  by 
gleams  and  flashes  ;  of  the  sudden  hor 
ror  that  seized  upon  the  army  at  day 
break,  its  headlong  flight  and  total  dis 
persion.  Hour  after  hour  the  arrival  of 
other  fugitives  confirmed  the  story  of  ruin 
and  disgrace. 

In  proportion  to  their  recent  vaunting 
was  the  humiliation  that  now  fell  upon 
the  people  of  Granada.  There  was  a 
universal  burst,  not  of  grief,  but  indig 
nation. 

They  confounded  the  leader  with  the 
army ;  the  deserted  with  those  who  had 
abandoned  him ;  and  El  Zagal,  from 
being  their  idol,  became  the  object  of 
their  execration.  He  had  sacrificed  the 
army ;  he  had  disgraced  the  nation ;  he 
had  betrayed  the  country.  He  was  a 
dastard,  a  traitor,  he  was  unworthy  to 
reign ! 

On  a  sudden,  one  among  the  multitude 
cried  out,  "  Long  live  Boabdil  el  Chico!" 
The  cry  was  echoed  on  all  sides,  and 
every  one  shouted,  "  Long  live  Boabdil 
el  Chico  !  long  live  the  legitimate  king  of 
Granada!  and  death  to  all  usurpers!" 
In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  they 
thronged  to  the  albaycen,  and  those,  who 
had  lately  besieged  Boabdil  with  arms, 
now  surrounded  his^palace  with  acclama 
tions.  The  keys  of  the  city  and  of  all 
the  fortresses  were  laid  at  his  feet ;  he 
was  borne  in  state  to  the  Alhambra,  and 
once  more  seated,  with  all  due  ceremony, 
on  the  throne  of  his  ancestors. 

Boabdil  had  by  this  time  become  so 
accustomed  to  be  crowned  and  uncrown 
ed  by  the  multitude,  that  he  put  no  great 
faith  in  the  duration  of  their  loyalty. 

He  knew  that  he  was  surrounded  by 
hollow  hearts,  and  that  most  of  the 
courtiers  of  the  Alhambra  were  secretly 


devoted  to  his  uncle.  He  ascended  the 
throne  as  the  rightful  sovereign,  who  had 
been  dispossessed  of  it  by  usurpation,  and 
he  ordered  the  heads  of  four  of  the  prin 
cipal  nobles  to  be  struck  off,  who  had  been 
most  zealous  in  support  of  the  usurper. 
Executions  of  this  kind  were  matters  of 
course  on  any  change  of  Moorish  govern 
ment,  and  Boabdil  was  extolled  for  his 
moderation  and  humanity,  in  being  con 
tent  with  so  small  a  sacrifice.  The  fac 
tions  were  awed  into  obedience ;  the 
populace,  delighted  with  any  change, 
extolled  Boabdil  to  the  skies,  and  the 
name  of  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  was 
for  a  time  a  byword  of  scorn  and  oppro 
brium  throughout  the  city. 

Never  was  any  commander  more  as 
tonished  and  confounded  by  a  sudden 
reverse  than  El  Zagal.  The  evening 
had  seen  him  with  a  powerful  army  at 
his  command,  his  enemy  within  his  grasp, 
and  victory  about  to  cover  him  with 
glory,  and  to  consolidate  his  power.  The 
morning  beheld  him  a  fugitive  among  the 
mountains  ;  his  army,  his  prosperity,  his 
power,  all  dispelled  he  knew  not  how  ; 
gone  like  a  dream  of  the  night.  In  vain 
had  he  tried  to  stem  the  headlong  flight 
of  the  soldiery.  He  saw  his  squadrons 
breaking  and  dispersing  among  the  cliffs 
of  the  mountains,  until,  of  all  his  host, 
only  a  handful  of  cavaliers  remained 
faithful  to  him.  With  these  he  made  a 
gloomy  retreat  towards  Granada,  but 
with  a  heart  full  of  foreboding.  When 
he  drew  near  the  city,  he  paused  on  the 
banks  of  the  Xenil,  and  sent  forth  scouts 
to  collect  intelligence.  They  returned 
with  dejected  countenances.  "  The  gates 
of  Granada,"  said  they,  "  are  closed 
against  you.  The  banner  of  Boabdil 
floats  on  the  tower  of  the  Alhambra." 

El  Zagal  turned  his  steed,  and  departed 
in  silence.  He  retreated  to  the  town  of 
Almunecar,  and  from  thence  to  Almeria, 
places  which  still  remained  faithful  to 
him.  Restless  and  uneasy  at  being  so 
distant  from  the  capital,  he  again  changed 
his  abode  and  repaired  to  the  city  of 
Guadix,  within  a  few  leagues  of  Granada. 
Here  he  remained,  endeavouring  to  rally 
his  forces,  and  preparing  to  avail  him 
self  of  any  change  in  the  fluctuating  po 
litics  of  the  metropolis. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


301 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Surrender  of  Velez  Malaga,  and  other  places. 

THE  people  of  Velez  Malaga  had  be 
held  the  camp  of  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal 
covering  the  summit  of  Bentomiz,  and 
glittering  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  During  the  night  they  had  been 
alarmed  and  perplexed  by  signal  fires  on 
the  mountain,  and  by  the  distant  sound 
of  battle.  When  the  morning  broke,  the 
Moorish  army  had  vanished  as  if  by  en 
chantment.  While  the  inhabitants  were 
lost  in  wonder  and  conjecture,  a  body  of 
cavalry,  the  fragment  of  the  army  saved 
by  Rodovan  de  Vanegas,  the  brave  al- 
cayde  of  Granada,  came  galloping  to  the 
gates.  The  tidings  of  this  strange  dis 
comfiture  of  the  host  filled  the  city  with 
consternation  ;  but  Rodovan  exhorted  the 
people  to  continue  their  resistance.  He 
was  devoted  to  El  Zagal,  and  confident 
in  his  skill  and  prowess  ;  and  felt  as 
sured,  that  he  would  soon  collect  his  scat 
tered  forces,  and  return  with  fresh  troops 
from  Granada.  The  people  were  com 
forted  by  the  words  and  encouraged  by 
the  presence  of  Rodovan,  and  they  had 
still  a  lingering  hope,  that  the  heavy  ar 
tillery  of  the  Christians  might  be  locked 
up  in  the  impassable  defiles  of  the  moun 
tains.  This  hope  was  soon  at  an  end. 
The  very  next  day  they  beheld  long  la 
borious  lines  of  ordnance  slowly  moving 
into  the  Spanish  camp  ;  lombards,  riba- 
doquines,  catapultas,  and  cars  laden  with 
munitions,  while  the  escort,  under  the 
brave  master  of  Alcantara,  wheeled  in 
great  battalions  into  the  camp,  to  augment 
the  force  of  the  besiegers. 

The  intelligence,  that  Granada  had 
shut  its  gates  against  El  Zagal,  and  that 
no  reinforcements  were  to  be  expected, 
completed  the  despair  of  the  inhabitants  ; 
even  Rodovan  himself  lost  confidence, 
and  advised  capitulation. 

The  terms  were  arranged  between  the 
alcayde  and  the  noble  Count;de  Cifuentes. 
The  latter  had  been  prisoner  of  Rodovan 
at  Granada,  .who  had  treated  him  with 
chivalrous  courtesy.  They  had  con 
ceived  a  mutual  esteem  for  each  other, 
and  met  as  ancient  friends. 

Ferdinand  granted  favourable  condi 
tions  ;  for  he  was  eager  to  proceed  against 
Malaga.  The  inhabitants  were  permitted 
voi,.  II.  26 


to  depart  with  their  effects,  except  their 
arms,  and  to  reside,  if  they  chose  it,  in 
Spain,  in  any  place  distant  from  the  sea. 
One  hundred  and  twenty  Christians  of 
both  sexes  were  rescued  from  captivity 
by  the  surrender  of  Velez  Malaga,  and 
were  sent  to  Cordova,  where  they  were 
received  with  great  tenderness  by  the 
queen,  and  her  daughter  the  Infanta  Isa 
bella,  in  the  famous  cathedral,  in  the  midst 
of  public  rejoicings  for  the  victory. 

The  capture  of  Velez  Malaga  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  surrender  of  Bentomiz,  Co- 
mares,  and  all  the  towns  and  fortresses 
of  the  Axarquia,  which  were  strongly 
garrisoned,  and  discreet  and  valiant  ca 
valiers  appointed  as  their  alcaydes.  The  . 
inhabitants  of  nearly  forty  towns  of  the 
Alpuxarra  mountains  also  sent  deputa 
tions  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  taking 
the  oath  of  allegiance  as  Mudixares,  or 
Moslem  vassals. 

About  the  same  time  came  letters  from 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  announcing  to  the  sove 
reigns  the  revolution  of  Granada  in  his 
favour.  He  solicited  kindness  and  pro 
tection  for  the  inhabitants  who  had  re 
turned  to  their  allegiance,  and  for  those 
of  all  other  places  which  should  renounce 
allegiance  to  his  uncle.  By  this  means, 
he  observed,  the  whole  kingdom  of  Gra 
nada  would  soon  be  induced  to  acknow 
ledge  his  sway,  and  would  be  held  by 
him  in  faithful  vassalage  to  the  Castilian 
crown. 

The  catholic  sovereigns  complied  with 
his  request.  Protection  was  immediately 
extended  to  the  inhabitants  of  Granada, 
permitting  them  to  cultivate  their  fields 
in  peace,  and  to  trade  with  the  Christian 
territories  in  all  articles  excepting  arms, 
being  provided  with  letters  of  surety  from 
some  Christian  captain  or  alcayde.  The 
same  favour  was  promised  to  all  other 
places  that  within  six  months  should  re 
nounce  El  Zagal  and  come  under  alle 
giance  to  the  younger  king.  Should 
they  not  do  so  within  that  time,  the  sove 
reigns  threatened  to  make  war  upon  them 
and  conquer  them  for  themselves.  This 
measure  had  a  great  effect  in  inducing 
many  to  return  to  the  standard  of  Bo 
abdil. 

Having  made  every  necessary  arrange 
ment  for  the  government  and  security  of 
the  newly  conquered  territory,  Ferdinand 


302 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


turned  his  attention  to  the  great  object  of 
his  campaign,  the  reduction  of  Malaga. 

CHAPTER  LII. 

Of  the  city  of  Malaga  and  its  inhabitants. 

THE  city  of  Malaga  lies  in  the  lap  of 
a  fertile  valley,  surrounded  by  mountains, 
excepting  on  the  part  which  lies  open  to 
the  sea.  As  it  was  one  of  the  most  im 
portant,  so  it  was  one  of  the  strongest 
cities  of  the  Moorish  kingdom.  It  was 
fortified  by  walls  of  prodigious  strength, 
studded  with  a  great  number  of  huge 
towers.  On  the  land  side  it  was  protect 
ed  by  a  natural  barrier  of  mountains,  and, 
on  the  other,  the  waves  of  the  Mediter 
ranean  beat  against  the  foundations  of 
its  massive  bulwarks. 

At  one  end  of  the  city,  near  the  sea, 
on  a  high  mound,  stood  the  alcazaba  or 
citadel,  a  fortress  of  great  strength.  Im 
mediately  above  this  rose  a  steep  and 
rocky  mount,  on  the  top  of  which,  in  old 
times,  had  been  a  pharos,  or  lighthouse, 
from  which  the  height  derived  its  name 
of  Gibralfaro.*  It  was  at  present  crown 
ed  by  an  immense  castle,  which,  from  its 
lofty  and  cragged  situation,  its  vast  walls 
and  mighty  towers,  was  deemed  impreg 
nable.  It  communicated  with  the  alca 
zaba  by  a  covered  way,  six  paces  broad, 
leading  down  between  two  walls,  along 
the  profile  or  ridge  of  the  rock.  The 
castle  of  Gibralfaro  commanded  both 
citadel  and  city,  and  was  capable,  if  both 
were  taken,  of  maintaining  a  siege. 

Two  large  suburbs  adjoined  the  city  : 
in  the  one  towards  the  sea  were  dwell 
ing-houses  of  the  most  opulent  inhabi- 
I  tants,  adorned  with  hanging  gardens  ;  the 
other,  on  the  land  side,  was  thickly  peo- 
I  pled,  and  surrounded  by  strong  walls  and 
towers. 

Malaga  possessed  a  brave  and  nume 
rous  garrison,  and  the  common  people 
were  active,  hardy,  and  resolute ;  but  the 
city  was  rich  and  commercial,  and  under 
the  habitual  control  of  numerous  opulent 
merchants,  who  dreaded  the  ruinous  con 
sequences  of  a  siege.  They  were  little 
zealous  for  the  warlike  renown  of  their 
city,  and  longed  rather  to  participate  in 

*  A  corruption  of  Gibel-fano,  the  hill  of  the  light 
house. 


the  enviable  security  of  property,  and  the 
lucrative  privileges  of  safe  traffic  with 
the  Christian  territories,  granted  to  all 
places  which  declared  for  Boabdil.  At 
the  head  of  these  gainful  citizens  was 
AH  Dordux,  a  mighty  merchant,  of  un 
counted  wealth,  whose  ships  traded  to 
every  port  of  the  Levant,  and  whose 
word  was  a  law  in  Malaga. 

All  Dordux  assembled  the  most  opu 
lent  and  important  of  his  commercial 
brethren,  and  they  repaired  in  a  body  to 
the  alcazaba,  where  they  were  received 
by  the  alcayde,  Albozen  Connexa,  with 
that  deference  generally  shown  to  men 
of  their  great  local  dignity  and  power  of 
purse.  Ali  Dordux  was  ample  and 
stately  in  his  form,  and  fluent  and  em 
phatic  in  his  discourse.  His  eloquence 
had  an  effect,  therefore,  upon  the  alcayde, 
as  he  represented  the  hopelessness  of  a 
defence  of  Malaga,  the  misery  that  must 
attend  a  siege,  and  the  ruin  that  must 
follow  a  capture  by  force  of  arms.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  set  forth  the  grace 
that  might  be  obtained  from  the  Castilian 
sovereigns  by  an  early  and  voluntary 
acknowledgment  of  Boabdil  as  king,  the 
peaceful  possession  of  their  property,  and 
the  profitable  commerce  with  the  Chris 
tian  ports  that  would  be  allowed  them. 
He  was  seconded  by  his  weighty  and  im 
portant  coadjutors  ;  and  the  alcayde,  ac 
customed  to  regard  them  as  the  arbiters 
of  the  affairs  of  the  place,  yielded  to  their 
united  counsels.  He  departed,  therefore, 
with  all  speed,  to  the  Christian  camp, 
empowered  to  arrange  a  capitulation  with 
the  Castilian  monarch,  and  in  the  mean 
time  his  brother  remained  in  command 
of  the  alcazaba. 

There  was,  at  this  time,  as  alcayde, 
in  the  old  crag-built  castle  of  Gibralfaro, 
a  warlike  and  fiery  Moor,  an  implacable 
enemy  of  the  Christians.  This  was  no 
other  than  Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El 
Zegri,  the  once  formidable  alcayde  of 
Ronda,  and  the  terror  of  its  mountains. 
He  had  never  forgiven  the  capture  of  his 
favourite  fortress,  and  panted  for  ven 
geance  on  the  Christians.  Notwithstand 
ing  his  reverses,  he  had  retained  the  fa 
vour  of  El  Zagal,  who  knew  how  to  ap 
preciate  a  bold  warrior  of  the  kind,  and 
had  placed  him  in  command  of  this  im 
portant  fortress  of  Gibralfaro. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


303 


Hamet  el  Zegri  had  gathered  round 
him  the  remnant  of  his  band  of  Gomeres, 
with  others  of  the  same  tribe.  These 
fierce  warriors  were  nestled,  like  so  many 
war-hawks,  about  their  lofty  cliff.  They 
looked  down  with  martial  contempt  upon 
the  commercial  city  of  Malaga,  which 
they  were  placed  to  protect ;  or  rather, 
they  esteemed  it  only  for  its  military  im 
portance  and  its  capability  of  defence. 
They  held  no  communion  with  its  trad 
ing,  gainful  inhabitants,  and  even  con 
sidered  the  garrison  of  the  alcazaba  as 
their  inferiors.  War  was  their  pursuit 
and  passion ;  they  rejoiced  in  its  turbu 
lent  and  perilous  scenes  ;  and,  confident 
in  the  strength  of  the  city,  and  above  all, 
of  their  castle,  they  set  at  defiance  the 
menace  of  Christian  invasion.  There 
were  among  them,  also,  many  apostate 
Moors,  who  had  once  embraced  Chris 
tianity,  but  had  since  recanted,  and  had 
fled  from  the  vengeance  of  the  inquisi 
tion.  These  were  desperadoes,  who  had 
no  mercy  to  expect,  should  they  again 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Such  were  the  fierce  elements  of  the 
garrison  of  Gibralfaro ;  and  its  rage 
may  easily  be  conceived  at  hearing,  that 
Malaga  was  to  be  given  up  without  a 
blow  ;  that  they  were  to  sink  into  Chris 
tian  vassals,  under  the  intermediate  sway 
of  Boabdil  el  Chico,  and  that  the  alcayde 
of  the  alcazaba  had  departed  to  arrange 
the  terms  of  capitulation. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  determined  to  avert, 
by  desperate  means,  the  threatened  de 
gradation.  He  knew  that  there  was  a 
large  party  in  the  city  faithful  to  El 
Zagal,  being  composed  of  warlike  men, 
who  had  taken  refuge  from  the  various 
mountain  towns  which  had  been  captured. 
Their  feelings  were  desperate  as  their 
fortunes,  and,  like  Hamet,  they  panted 
for  revenge  upon  the  Christians.  With 
these  he  had  a  secret  conference,  and 
received  assurances  of  their  adherence  to 
him  in  any  measures  of  defence.  As  to 
the  council  of  the  peaceful  inhabitants, 
he  considered  it  unworthy  the  considera 
tion  of  a  soldier,  and  he  spurned  at  the 
interference  of  the  wealthy  merchant,  AH 
Dordux,  in  matters  of  warfare. 

"  Still,"  said  Hamet  el  Zegri,  "  let  us 
proceed  regularly."  So  he  descended 
with  his  Gomeres  to  the  citadel,  entered 


it  suddenly,  put  to  death  the  brother  of 
the  alcayde  and  such  of  the  garrison  as 
made  any  demur,  and  then  summoned 
the  principal  inhabitants  to  deliberate  on 
measures  for  the  welfare  of  the  city.* 

The  wealthy  merchants  again  mounted 
to  the  citadel,  excepting  Ali  Dordux,  who 
refused  to  obey  the  summons.  They 
entered  with  hearts  filled  with  awe,  for 
they  found  Hamet  surrounded  by  his 
grim  African  guard,  and  all  the  array  of 
military  power,  and  they  beheld  the 
bloody  traces  of  the  recent  massacre. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  rolled  a  dark  and 
searching  eye  upon  the  assembly. — 
"  Who,"  said  he,  "  is  loyal  and  devoted 
to  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  ?"  Every  one 
present  asserted  his  loyalty.  "  Good  !" 
said  Hamet,  "  and  who  is  ready  to  prove 
his  devotion  to  his  sovereign  by  defend 
ing  this  his  important  city  to  the  last 
extremity  ?"  Every  one  present  ex 
pressed  his  readiness.  "  Enough,"  ob 
served  Hamet :  the  "  alcayde,  Albozen 
Connexa,  has  proved  himself  a  traitor  to 
his  sovereign  and  to  you  all ;  for  he  has 
conspired  to  deliver  the  place  to  the 
Christians.  It  behoves  you  to  choose 
some  other  commander,  capable  of  de 
fending  your  city  against  the  approach 
ing  enemy."  The  assembly  declared 
unanimously,  that  there  could  be  none  so 
worthy  of  the  command  as  himself.  So 
Hamet  el  Zegri  was  appointed  alcayde  of 
Malaga,  and  immediately  proceeded  to 
man  the  forts  and  towers  with  his  parti 
sans,  and  to  make  every  preparation  for 
a  desperate  resistance. 

Intelligence  of  these  occurrences  put 
an  end  to  the  negotiations  between  King 
Ferdinand  and  the  superseded  alcayde 
Albozen  Connexa,  and  it  was  supposed 
there  was  no  alternative  but  to  lay  siege 
to  the  place.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
however,  found  at  Velez  a  Moorish  cava 
lier  of  some  note,  a  native  of  Malaga, 
who  offered  to  tamper  with  Hamet  el 
Zegri  for  the  surrender  of  the  city;  or, 
at  least,  of  the  castle  of  Gibralfaro. 
The  marquis  communicated  this  to  the 
king.  "  I  put  this  business  and  the  key 
of  my  treasury  into  your  hand,"  said 
Ferdinand  :  "  act,  stipulate,  and  disburse, 
in  my  name,  as  you  think  proper." 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios.  c.  83. 


304 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


The  marquis  armed  the  Moor  with  his 
own  lance,  cuirass,  and  target,  and 
mounted  him  on  one  of  his  own  horses, 
lie  equipped  also,  in  similar  style,  an 
other  Moor,  his  companion  and  relation. 
They  bore  secret  letters  to  Hamet  from 
the  marquis,  offering  him  the  town  of 
Coin  in  perpetual  inheritance,  and  four 
thousand  doblas  in  gold,  if  he  would 
deliver  up  Gibralfaro :  together  with 
large  sums  to  be  distributed  among  his 
officers  and  soldiers ;  and  he  held  out 
unlimited  rewards  for  the  surrender  of 
the  city.* 

Hamet  had  a  warrior's  admiration  for 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  and  received  his 
messengers  with  courtesy,  in  his  fortress 
of  Gibralfaro.  He  even  listened  to  their 
propositions  with  patience,  and  dismissed 
them  in  safety,  though  with  an  absolute 
refusal.  The  marquis  thought  his  reply 
was  not  so  peremptory  as  to  discourage 
another  effort.  The  emissaries  were 
despatched  therefore,  a  second  time,  with 
further  propositions.  They  approached 
Malaga  in  the  night;  but  found  the  guards 
doubled,  patrols  abroad,  and  the  whole 
place  on  the  alert.  They  were  discovered, 
pursued,  and  only  saved  themselves  by 
the  fleetness  of  their  steeds,  and  their 
knowledge  of  the  passes  of  the  moun 
tains. 

Finding  all  attempts  to  tamper  with 
the  faith  of  Hamet  el  Zegri  utterly  futile, 
King  Ferdinand  publicly  summoned  the 
city  to  surrender ;  offering  the  most 
favourable  terms  in  case  of  immediate 
compliance,  but  threatening  captivity  to 
all  the  inhabitants  in  case  of  resistance. 

The  message  was  delivered  in  presence 
of  the  principal  inhabitants,  who,  how 
ever,  were  too  much  in  awe  of  the  stern 
alcayde  to  utter  a  word.  Hamet  el 
Zegri  then  rose  haughtily,  and  replied, 
that  the  city  of  Malaga  had  not  been 
confided  to  him  to  be  surrendered,  but 
defended  ;  and  the  king  should  witness 
how  he  acquitted  himself  of  his  charge. f 

The  messengers  returned  with  formi 
dable  accounts  of  the  force  of  the  gar 
rison,  the  strength  of  the  fortifications, 
and  the  determined  spirit  of  the  com 
mander  and  his  men.  The  king  imme 
diately  sent  orders  to  have  the  heavy 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  82. 
t  Pulgar,  part  iii.  c.  74. 


I  - 


artillery  forwarded  from  Antequera  ;  and, 
on  the  seventh  of  May,  marched  with  his 
army  towards  Malaga. 

CHAPTER  LIII. 
Advance  of  King  Ferdinand  against  Malaga. 

THE  army  of  Ferdinand  advanced  in 
lengthened  line,  glittering  along  the  foot 
of  the  mountains  which  border  the  Medi 
terranean  ;  while  a  fleet  of  vessels, 
freighted  with  heavy  artillery  and  war 
like  munitions,  kept  pace  with  it,  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  land,  covering 
the  sea  with  a  thousand  gleaming  sails. 
When  Hamet  el  Zegri  saw  this  force 
approaching,  he  set  fire  to  the  houses  of 
the  suburbs  which  adjoined  the  walls, 
and  sent  forth  three  battalions  to  en 
counter  the  advance  guard  of  the  enemy. 

The  Christian  army  drew  near  to  the 
city  at  that  end  where  the  castle  and 
rocky  height  of  Gibralfaro  defend  the 
seaboard.  Immediately  opposite  to  the 
castle,  and  about  two  bow-shots'  distance, 
and  between  it  and  the  high  chain  of 
mountains,  was  a  steep  and  rocky  hill, 
commanding  a  pass  through  which  the 
Christians  must  march  to  penetrate  to 
the  vega,  and  surround  the  city.  Hamet 
el  Zegri  ordered  the  three  battalions  to 
take  their  stations,  one  on  this  hill,  an 
other  in  the  pass  near  the  castle,  and  a 
third  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  near 
the  sea. 

A  body  of  Spanish  foot-soldiers  of  the 
advance  guard,  sturdy  mountaineers  of 
Gallicia,  sprang  forward  to  climb  the  side 
of  the  height  next  the  sea ;  at  the  same 
time  a  number  of  cavaliers  and  hidalgos 
of  the  royal  household  attacked  the 
Moors  who  guarded  the  pass  below.  The 
Moors  defended  their  posts  with  obstinate 
valour.  The  Gallicians  were  repeatedly 
overpowered  and  driven  down  the  hill, 
but  as  often  rallied  ;  and,  being  reinforced 
by  the  hildalgos  and  cavaliers,  returned 
to  the  assault.  This  obstinate  struggle 
lasted  for  six  hours.  The  strife  was  of 
a  deadly  kind,  not  merely  with  cross 
bows  and  arquebuses,  but  hand  to  hand, 
with  swords  and  daggers:  no  quarter 
was  claimed  or  given  on  either  side : 
they  fought  not  to  make  captives,  but  to 
slay.  It  was  but  the  advance  guard  of 
the  Christian  army  that  was  engaged  :  so 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


305 


narrow  was  the  pass  along  the  coast, 
that  the  army  could  proceed  only  in  file. 
Horse  and  foot,  and  beasts  of  burden, 
were  crowded  one  upon  another,  im 
peding  each  other,  and  blocking  up  Ihe 
narrow  and  rugged  defile.  The  soldiers 
heard  the  uproar  of  the  battle,  the  sound 
of  trumpets,  and  the  war-cries  of  the 
Moors,  but  tried  in  vain  to  press  for 
ward  to  the  assistance  of  their  compa 
nions. 

At  length  a  body  of  foot-soldiers  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood  climbed,  with  great 
difficulty,  the  steep  side  of  the  mountain 
which  overhung  the  pass,  and  advanced 
with  seven  banners  displayed.  The 
Moors,  seeing  this  force  above  them, 
abandoned  the  pass  in  despair. 

The  battle  was  still  raging  on  the 
height.  The  Gallicians,  though  supported 
by  Castilian  troops,  under  Don  Hurtado 
de  Mendoza,  and  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega, 
were  severely  pressed,  and  roughly 
handled  by  the  Moors.  At  length  a 
brave  standard-bearer,  Luys  Mazedo  by 
name,  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the 
enemy,  and  planted  his  banner  on  the 
summit.  The  Gallicians  and  the  Cas- 
tilians,  stimulated  by  this  noble  self-devo 
tion,  followed  him,  fighting  desperately, 
and  the  Moors  were  at  length  driven  to 
their  castle  of  Gibralfaro.* 

This  important  height  being  taken,  the 
pass  lay  open  to  the  army  :  but  by  this 
time,  evening  was  advancing,  and  the 
host  was  too  weary  and  exhausted  to 
seek  proper  situations  for  the  encamp 
ment.  The  king,  attended  by  several 
grandees  and  cavaliers,  went  the  rounds 
at  night,  stationing  outposts  towards  the 
city,  and  guards  and  patrols  to  give  the 
alarm  on  the  least  movement  of  the 
enemy.  All  night  the  Christians  lay 
upon  their  arms,  lest  there  should  be 
some  attempt  to  sally  forth  and  attack 
them. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  king 
gazed  with  admiration  at  this  city,  which 
he  hoped  soon  to  add  to  his  dominions. 
It  was  surrounded  on  one  side  by  vine 
yards,  gardens,  and  orchards,  which 
covered  the  hills  with  verdure  ;  on  the 
other  side  its  walls  were  bathed  by 
the  smooth  and  tranquil  sea.  Its  vast 

*  Pulgar,  Cronica. 


and  lofty  towers  and  prodigious  castles 
showed  the  labours  of  magnanimous  men, 
in  former  times,  to  protect  their  favourite 
abode.  Hanging  gardens,  groves  of 
oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates,  with 
tall  cedars  and  stately  palms,  were  min 
gled  with  the  stern  battlements  and 
towers,  bespeaking  the  opulence  and 
luxury  that  reigned  within. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Christian  army 
poured  through  the  pass,  and  throwing 
out  its  columns,  and  extending  its  lines, 
took  possession  of  every  vantage-ground 
around  the  city.  King  Ferdinand  sur 
veyed  the  ground,  and  appointed  the 
stations  of  the  different  commanders. 

The  important  mount,  which  had  cost 
so  violent  a  struggle,  and  which  faced  the 
powerful  fortress  of  Gibralfaro,  was  given 
in  charge  to  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon, 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who  in  all  sieges 
claimed  the  post  of  danger.  He  had 
several  noble  cavaliers,  with  their  re 
tainers,  in  his  encampment,  which  con 
sisted  of  fifteen  hundred  horse,  and  four 
teen  thousand  foot;  and  extended  from 
the  summit  of  the  mount  to  the  margin 
of  the  sea,  completely  blocking  up  the 
approach  to  the  city  on  that  side.  From 
this  post  a  line  of  encampments  extended 
quite  round  the  city  to  the  seaboard,  forti 
fied  by  bulwarks  and  deep  ditches ;  while 
a  fleet  of  armed  ships  and  galleys 
stretched  before  the  harbour,  so  that  the 
place  was  completely  invested  by  sea 
and  land.  The  various  parts  of  the 
valley  now  resounded  with  the  din  of 
preparation,  and  were  filled  with  arti 
ficers  preparing  warlike  engines  and 
munitions  ;  armourers  and  smiths,  with 
glowing  forges  and  deafening  hammers  ; 
carpenters  and  engineers  constructing 
machines  wherewith  to  assail  the  walls ; 
stonecutters  shaping  stone  balls  for  the 
ordnance ;  and  burners  of  charcoal  pre 
paring  fuel  for  the  furnaces  and  forges. 

When  the  encampment  was  formed, 
the  heavy  ordnance  was  landed  from  the 
ships,  and  mounted  in  various  parts  of 
the  camp.  Five  huge  lombards  were 
placed  on  the  mount  commanded  by  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  so  as  to  bear  upon  the 
castle  of  Gibralfaro. 

The  Moors  made  strenuous  efforts  to 
impede  these  preparations.  A  heavy 
fire  was  kept  up  from  their  ordnance 

26* 


:H 


306 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


upon  the  men  employed  in  digging 
trenches  or  constructing  batteries,  so  that 
the  latter  had  to  work  principally  in  the 
night.  The  royal  tents  had  been  sta 
tioned  conspicuously  and  within  reach 
of  the  Moorish  batteries,  but  were  so 
warmly  assailed  that  they  had  to  be  re 
moved  behind  a  hill. 

When  the  works  were  completed,  the 
Christian  batteries  opened  in  return,  and 
kept  up  a  tremendous  cannonade,  while 
the  fleet,  approaching  the  land,  assailed 
the  city  vigorously  on  the  opposite  side. 

It  was  a  glorious  and  delectable  sight, 
observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  to  be 
hold  this  infidel  city  thus  surrounded  by 
sea  and  land  by  a  mighty  Christian  force. 
Every  mound  in  its  circuit  was,  as  it 
were,  a  little  city  of  tents,  bearing  the 
standard  of  some  renowned  catholic 
warrior.  Besides  the  warlike  ships  and 
galleys  which  lay  before  the  place,  the 
sea  was  covered  with  innumerable  sails, 
passing  and  repassing,  appearing  and 
disappearing,  being  engaged  in  bringing 
supplies  for  the  subsistence  of  the  army. 
It  would  have  seemed  a  vast  spectacle 
contrived  to  recreate  the  eye,  had  not  the 
volleying  bursts  of  flame  and  smoke 
from  the  ships,  which  appeared  to  lie 
asleep  on  the  quiet  sea,  and  the  thunder 
of  ordnance  from  camp  and  city,  from 
tower  and  battlement,  told  the  deadly 
warfare  that  was  waging. 

At  night  the  scene  was  far  more  dire 
ful  than  in  the  day.  The  cheerful  light 
of  the  sun  was  gone ;  there  was  nothing 
but  the  flashes  of  artillery,  or  the  baleful 
gleams  of  combustibles  thrown  into  the 
city,  and  the  conflagration  of  the  houses. 
The  fire  kept  up  from  the  Christian  bat 
teries  was  incessant ;  there  were  seven 
great  lombards,  in  particular,  called  the 
Seven  Sisters  of  Ximenes,  which  did  tre 
mendous  execution.  The  Moorish  ord 
nance  replied  in  thunder  from  the  walls ; 
Gibralfaro  was  wrapped  in  volumes  of 
smoke,  rolling  about  its  base;  and  Hamet 
el  Zegri  and  his  Gomeres  looked  out  with 
triumph  upon  the  tempest  of  war  they 
had  awakened.  "  Truly  they  were  so 
many  demons  incarnate,"  says  the  pious 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  who  were  per 
mitted  by  Heaven  to  enter  into  and  pos 
sess  this  infidel  city  for  its  perdition." 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Siege  of  Malaga. 

THE  attack  on  Malaga  by  sea  and 
land  was  kept  up  for  several  days  with 
tremendous  violence,  but  without  pro 
ducing  any  great  impression,  so  strong 
were  the  ancient  bulwarks  of  the  city. 
The  Count  de  Cifuentes  was  the  first  to 
signalize  himself  by  any  noted  achieve 
ment.  A  main  tower  of  the  suburb  had 
been  shattered  by  the  ordnance,  and  the 
battlements  demolished,  so  as  to  yield  no 
shelter  to  its  defenders.  Seeing  this,  the 
count  assembled  a  gallant  band  of  ca 
valiers  of  the  royal  household,  and  ad 
vanced  to  take  it  by  storm.  They  applied 
scaling-ladders,  and  mounted,  sword  in 
hand.  The  Moors,  having  no  longer 
battlements  to  protect  them,  descended 
to  a  lower  floor,  and  made  furious  re 
sistance  from  the  windows  and  loop 
holes.  They  poured  down  boiling  pitch 
and  rosin,  and  hurled  stones  and  darts 
and  arrows  on  the  assailants.  Many  of 
the  Christians  were  slain ;  their  ladders 
were  destroyed  by  flaming  combustibles, 
and  the  count  was  obliged  to  retreat  from 
before  the  tower.  On  the  following  day 
he  renewed  the  attack  with  superior  force, 
and,  after  a  severe  combat  succeeded 
in  planting  his  victorious  banner  on  the 
tower. 

The  Moors  now  assailed  the  tower  in 
their  turn.  They  undermined  the  part 
towards  the  city,  placed  props  of  wood 
under  the  foundation,  and,  setting  fire  to 
them,  drew  off  to  a  distance.  In  a  little 
while  the  props  gave  way,  the  foundation 
sank,  the  tower  was  rent,  part  of  its  wall 
fell  with  a  tremendous  noise,  many  of 
the  Christians  were  thrown  out  headlong, 
and  the  rest  were  laid  open  to  the  mis 
siles  of  the  enemy. 

By  this  time,  however,  a  breach  had 
been  made  in  the  wall  adjoining  the 
tower  ;  and  troops  poured  in  to  the  assis 
tance  of  their  comrades.  A  continued 
battle  was  kept  up  for  two  days  and  a 
night  by  reinforcements  from  camp  and 
city.  The  parties  fought  backwards 
and  forwards  through  the  breach  of  the 
wall  with  alternate  success,  and  the  vi 
cinity  of  the  town  was  strewed  with  the 
dead  and  wounded.  At  length  the  Moors 
gradually  gave  way,  disputing  every  inch 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


307 


of  ground,  until  they  were  driven  into 
the  city ;  and  the  Christians  remained 
masters  of  the  greater  part  of  the  suburb. 

This  partial  success,  though  gained 
with  great  toil  and  bloodshed,  gnve 
temporary  animation  to  the  Christians. 
They  soon  found,  however,  that  the  at 
tack  on  the  main  works  of  the  city  was  a 
much  more  arduous  task.  The  garrison 
contained  veterans  who  had  served  in 
many  of  the  towns  captured  by  the  Chris 
tians.  They  were  no  longer  confound^ 
and  dismayed  by  the  battering  ordnan|| 
and  other  strange  engines  of  foreign  in 
vention,  and  had  become  expert  in  parry 
ing  their  effects,  in  repairing  breaches, 
and  erecting  counterworks. 

The  Christians,  accustomed  of  late  to 
speedy  conquests  of  Moorish  fortresses, 
became  impatient  of  the  slow  progress  of 
the  siege.  Many  were  apprehensive  of 
a  scarcity  of  provisions,  from  the  diffi 
culty  of  subsisting  so  numerous  a  host  in 
the  heart  of  the  enemy's  country,  where 
it  was  necessary  to  transport  supplies 
across  rugged  and  hostile  mountains,  or 
subjected  to  the  uncertainties  of  the  seas. 
Many  were  also  alarmed  at  the  pestilence 
which  broke  out  in  the  neighbouring 
villages,  and  some  were  so  overcome  by 
these  apprehensions,  as  to  abandon  the 
camp  and  return  to  their  homes. 

Several  of  the  loose  and  worthless 
hangers-on,  that  infest  all  great  armies, 
hearing  these  murmurs,  thought  that  the 
siege  would  soon  be  raised,  and  deserted 
to  the  enemy,  hoping  to  make  their  for 
tunes.  They  gave  exaggerated  accounts 
of  the  alarms  and  discontents  of  the  army, 
and  represented  the  troops  as  daily  re 
turning  home  in  bands.  Above  all,  they 
declared,  that  the  gunpowder  was  nearly 
exhausted,  so  that  the  artillery  would 
soon  be  useless.  They  assured  the  Moors, 
therefore,  that,  if  they  persisted  in  their 
defence  a  little  longer,  the  king  would  be 
obliged  to  draw  off  his  forces,  and  aban 
don  the  siege. 

The  reports  of  these  renegadoes  gave 
fresh  courage  to  the  garrison.  They 
made  vigorous  sallies  upon  the  camp, 
harassing  it  by  night  and  day,  and  oblig 
ing  every  part  to  be  guarded  with  the 
most  painful  vigilance.  They  fortified 
the  weak  part  of  their  walls  with  ditches 
and  palisadoes,  and  gave  every  mani 


festation  of  a  determined  and  unyielding 
spirit. 

Ferdinand  soon  received  intelligence 
of  the  reports  which  had  been  carried  to 
the  Moors.  He  understood,  that  they 
had  been  informed,  likewise,  that  the 
queen  was  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  the 
camp,  and  had  written  repeatedly,  urging 
him  to  abandon  the  siege.  As  the  best 
means  of  disproving  all  these  falsehoods, 
and  of  destroying  the  vain  hopes  of  the 
enemy,  Ferdinand  wrote  to  the  queen, 
entreating  her  to  come  and  take  up  her 
residence  in  the  camp. 

CHAPTER  LV. 

Siege  of  Malaga  continued.  Obstinacy  of  Hamet 
el  Zegri. 

GREAT  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
army,  when  they  beheld  their  patriot 
queen  advancing  in  state,  to  share  the 
toils  and  dangers  of  her  people.  Isabella 
entered  the  camp,  attended  by  the  digni 
taries,  and  the  whole  retinue  of  her  court, 
to  manifest  that  this  was  no  temporary 
visit.  On  one  side  of  her  was  her 
daughter,  the  infanta ;  on  the  other,  the 
grand  cardinal  of  Spain  ;  and  Hernando 
de  Talavera,  the  prior  of  Praxo,  confessor 
to  the  queen,  followed,  with  a  great  train 
of  prelates,  courtiers,  cavaliers,  and  ladies 
of  distinction.  The  cavalcade  moved  in 
calm  and  stately  order  through  the  camp, 
softening  the  iron  aspect  of  war  by  this 
array  of  courtly  grace  and  female  beauty. 

Isabella  had  commanded,  that,  on  her 
coming  to  the  camp,  the  horrors  of  war 
should  be  suspended,  and  fresh  offers  of 
peace  made  to  the  enemy.  On  her  ar 
rival,  therefore,  there  had  been  a  cessa 
tion  of  firing  throughout  the  camp.  A 
messenger  was  at  the  same  time  des 
patched  to  the  besieged,  informing  them 
of  her  being  in  the  camp,  and  of  the  de 
termination  of  the  sovereigns  to  make  it 
their  settled  residence,  until  the  city 
should  be  taken.  The  same  terms  were 
offered,  in  case  of  immediate  surrender, 
that  had  been  granted  to  Velcz  Malaga, 
but  the  inhabitants  were  threatened  with 
captivity  and  the  sword,  should  they  per 
sist  in  their  defence. 

Ilamet  el  Zcgri  received  this  message 
with  haughty  contempt,  and  dismissed 
the  messenger  without  deigning  a  reply. 


308 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


"  The  Christian  sovereigns,"  said  he, 
"  have  made  this  offer,  in  consequence  of 
their  despair.  The  silence  of  their  bat 
teries  proves  the  truth  of  what  has  been 
told  us,  that  their  powder  is  exhausted. 
They  have  no  longer  the  means  of  de 
molishing  our  walls  ;  and,  if  they  remain 
much  longer,  the  autumnal  rains  will 
interrupt  their  convoys,  and  fill  their 
camp  with  famine  and  disease.  The 
first  storm  will  disperse  their  fleet,  which 
has  no  neighbouring  port  of  shelter. 
Africa  will  then  be  open  to  us,  to  procure 
reinforcements  and  supplies." 

The  words  of  Hamet  el  Zegri  were 
hailed  as  oracular  by  his  adherents. 
Many  of  the  peaceful  part  of  the  com 
munity,  however,  ventured  to  remon 
strate,  and  to  implore  him  to  accept  the 
proffered  mercy.  The  stern  Hamet 
silenced  them  with  a  terrific  threat.  He 
declared,  that  whoever  should  talk  of 
capitulating,  or  should  hold  any  com 
munication  with  the  Christians,  should 
be  put  to  death.  His  fierce  Gomeres, 
like  true  men  of  the  sword,  acted  upon 
the  menace  of  their  chieflain  as  upon  a 
written  law,  and,  having  detected  several 
of  the  inhabitants  in  secret  correspon 
dence  with  the  enemy,  they  set  upon 
and  slew  them,  and  then  confiscated  their 
effects.  This  struck  such  terror  into  the 
citizens,  that  those  who  had  been  loudest 
in  their  murmurs  became  suddenly  mute, 
and  were  remarked  as  evincing  the 
greatest  bustle  and  alacrity  in  the  defence 
of  the  city. 

When  the  messenger  returned  to  the 
camp,  and  reported  the  contemptuous 
reception  of  the  royal  message,  King 
Ferdinand  was  exceedingly  indignant. 
Finding  the  cessation  of  firing,  on  the 
queen's  arrival,  had  encouraged  a  belief 
among  the  enemy  that  there  was  a 
scarcity  of  powder  in  the  camp,  he  or 
dered  a  general  discharge  from  every 
battery.  This  sudden  burst  of  war  from 
every  quarter  soon  convinced  the  Moors 
of  their  error,  and  completed  the  confu 
sion  of  the  citizens,  who  knew  not  which 
most  to  dread,  their  assailants  or  their 
defenders,  the  Christians  or  the  Gomeres. 

That  evening  the  sovereigns  visited 
the  encampment  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
which  commanded  a  view  over  a  great 
part  of  the  city  and  the  camp.  The 


tent  of  the  Marquis  was  of  great  magni 
tude,  furnished  with  hangings  of  rich 
brocade,  and  French  cloth  of  the  rarest 
texture.  It  was  in  the  oriental  style,  and, 
as  it  crowned  the  height,  with  the  sur 
rounding  tents  of  other  cavaliers,  all 
sumptuously  furnished,  presented  a  gay 
and  silken  contrast  to  the  opposite  towers 
of  Gibralfaro.  Here  a  splendid  collation 
was  served  up  to  the  sovereigns ;  and 
the  courtly  revel  that  prevailed  in  this 
chivalrous  encampment,  the  glitter  of  pa- 
gQintry,  and  the  bursts  of  festive  music, 
made  more  striking  the  gloom  and  si 
lence  that  reigned  over  the  dark  Moorish 
castle. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  while  it  was 
yet  light,  conducted  his  royal  visiters  to 
every  point  that  commanded  a  view  of 
the  warlike  scene  below.  He  caused  the 
heavy  lombards  also  to  be  discharged, 
that  the  queen  and  the  ladies  of  the  court 
might  witness  the  effect  of  those  tremen 
dous  engines.  The  fair  dames  were 
filled  with  awe  and  admiration,  as  the 
mountain  shook  beneath  their  feet  with  the 
thunder  of  the  artillery,  and  they  beheld 
great  fragments  of  the  Moorish  walls  tum 
bling  down  the  rocks  and  precipices. 

While  the  good  marquis  was  display 
ing  these  things  to  his  royal  guests,  he 
lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  to  his  astonish 
ment,  beheld  his  own  banner  hanging 
out  from  the  nearest  tower  of  Gibralfaro. 
The  blood  mantled  in  his  cheek,  for  it 
was  a  banner  which  he  had  lost  at  the 
time  of  the  memorable  massacre  of  the 
heights  of  Malaga.  To  make  this  taunt 
more  evident,  several  of  the  Gomeres 
displayed  themselves  upon  the  battle 
ments,  arrayed  in  the  helmets  and  cui 
rasses  of  some  of  the  cavaliers,  slain  or 
captured  on  that  occasion.*  The  Mar 
quis  of  Cadiz  restrained  his  indignation, 
and  held  his  peace;  but  several  of  his 
cavaliers  vowed  loudly  to  revenge  this 
cruel  bravado  on  the  ferocious  garrison 
of  Gibralfaro. 

CHAPTER  LVI. 
Attack  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  upon  Gibralfaro. 

THE  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was  not  a  ca 
valier  that  readily  forgave  an  injury  or 

*  Diego  de  Valera,  Cronica.  MS. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


309 


an  insult.  On  the  morning  after  the 
royal  banquet,  his  batteries  opened  a 
tremendous  fire  upon  Gibralfaro.  All 
day  the  encampment  was  wrapped  in 
wreaths  of  smoke ;  nor  did  the  assault 
cease  with  the  day,  but  throughout  the 
night  there  was  an  incessant  flashing 
and  thundering  of  the  lombards,  and  the 
following  morning  the  assault  rather  in 
creased  than  slackened  in  its  fury.  The 
Moorish  bulwarks  were  no  proof  against 
these  formidable  engines.  In  a  few  days 
the  lofty  tower,  on  which  the  taunting 
banner  had  been  displayed,  was  shat 
tered  ;  a  smaller  tower,  in  its  vicinity, 
reduced  to  ruins ;  and  a  great  breach 
made  in  the  intervening  walls. 

Several  of  the  hot-spirited  cavaliers 
were  eager  for  storming  the  breach  sword 
in  hand  ;  others,  more  cool  and  wary, 
pointed  out  the  rashness  of  such  an  at 
tempt  ;  for  the  Moors,  working  indefati- 
gably  in  the  night,  had  digged  a  deep 
ditch  within  the  breach,  and  had  forti 
fied  it  with  palisadoes  and  a  high  breast 
work.  All,  however,  agreed,  that  the 
camp  might  safely  be  advanced  near  to 
the  ruined  walls,  and  that  it  ought  to  be 
so  placed,  in  return  for  the  insolent  de 
fiance  of  the  enemy. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  felt  the  temerity 
of  the  measure ;  but  he  was  unwilling  to 
damp  the  zeal  of  these  high-spirited  ca 
valiers  ;  and,  having  chosen  the  post  of 
danger  in  the  camp,  it  did  not  become 
him  to  decline  any  service,  merely  be 
cause  it  might  appear  perilous.  He 
ordered  his  outposts,  therefore,  to  be 
advanced  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
breach,  but  exhorted  the  soldiers  to  main 
tain  the  utmost  vigilance. 

The  thunder  of  the  batteries  had 
ceased ;  the  troops,  exhausted  by  two 
nights'  fatigue  and  watchfulness,  and  ap 
prehending  no  danger  from  the  disman 
tled  walls,  were  half  of  them  asleep,  the 
rest  were  scattered  about  in  negligent 
security.  On  a  sudden,  upwards  of  two 
thousand  Moors  sallied  forth  from  the 
castle,  led  on  by  Abraham  Zenete,  the 
principal  captain  under  Hamet.  They 
fell  with  fearful  havoc  upon  the  advance 
guard,  slaying  many  of  them  in  their 
sleep,  and  putting  the  rest  to  headlong 
flight.  The  marquis  was  in  his  tent, 
about  a  bow-shot  distance,  when  he  heard 


the  tumult  of  the  onset,  and  beheld  his 
men  flying  in  confusion.  He  rushed 
forth,  followed  by  his  standard-bearers. 
"  Turn  again,  cavaliers  !"  exclaimed  he; 
"  turn  again  !  I  am  here,  Ponce  dc  Leon ! 
To  the  foe !  to  the  foe !"  -  The  flying 
troops  stopped  at  hearing  his  well-known 
voice,  rallied  under  his  banner,  and 
turned  upon  the  enemy.  The  encamp 
ment  by  this  time  was  roused ;  several 
cavaliers  from  the  adjoining  stations  had 
hastened  to  the  scene  of  action,  with  a 
number  of  Gallicians,  and  soldiers  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood.  An  obstinate  and 
bloody  contest  ensued.  The  ruggedness 
of  the  place,  the  rocks,  chasms,  and  de 
clivities,  broke  it  into  numerous  combats. 
Christian  and  Moor  fought  hand  to  hand, 
with  swords  and  daggers ;  and  often, 
grappling  and  struggling,  rolled  together 
down  the  precipices. 

The  banner  of  the  marquis  was  in 
danger  of  being  taken.  He  hastened  to  its 
rescue,  followed  by  some  of  his  bravest 
cavaliers.  They  were  surrounded  by 
the  enemy,  and  several  of  them  cut  down. 
Don  Diego  Ponce  de  Leon,  brother  to 
the  marquis,  was  wounded  by  an  arrow ; 
and  his  son-in-law,  Luis  Ponce,  was  like 
wise  wounded  :  they  succeeded,  however, 
in  rescuing  the  banner,  and  bearing  it  off 
in  safety.  The  battle  lasted  for  an  hour  : 
the  height  was  covered  with  killed  and 
wounded  ;  and  the  blood  flowed  in  streams 
down  the  rocks.  At  length,  Abraham 
Zenete  being  disabled  by  the  thrust  of  a 
lance,  the  Moors  gave  way,  and  retreated 
to  the  cattle. 

They  now  opened  a  galling  fire  from 
their  battlements  and  towers,  approach 
ing  the  breaches,  so  as  to  discharge  their 
crossbows  and  arquebuses  into  the  ad 
vance  guard  of  the  encampment.  The 
marquis  was  singled  out :  the  shot  fell 
thick  about  him,  and  one  passed  through 
his  buckler,  and  struck  upon  his  cuirass, 
but  without  doing  him  any  injury.  Every 
one  now  saw  the  danger  and  inutility  of 
approaching  the  camp  thus  near  to  the 
castle ;  and  those  who  had  counselled  it 
were  now  urgent  that  it  should  be  with 
drawn.  It  was  accordingly  removed 
back  to  its  original  ground,  from  which 
the  marquis  had  most  reluctantly  ad 
vanced  it.  Nothing  but  his  valour  and 
timely  aid  had  prevented  this  attack  from 


310 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ending  in  a  total  rout  of  all  that  part  of 
the  army. 

Many  cavaliers  of  distinction  fell  in 
this  contest;  but  the  loss  of  none  was 
felt  more  deeply  than  that  of  Ortega  de 
Prado,  captain  of  escaladors.  He  was 
one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  service ; 
the  same  who  had  devised  the  first  suc 
cessful  blow  of  the  war,  the  storming  of 
Alhama,  where  he  was  the  first  to  plant 
and  mount  the  scaling-ladders.  He  had 
always  been  high  in  the  favour  and  con 
fidence  of  the  noble  Ponce  de  Leon,  who 
knew  how  to  appreciate  and  avail  him 
self  of  the  merits  of  all  able  and  valiant 
men.* 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

Siege  of  Malaga  continued.    Stratagems  of  various 
kinds. 

GREAT  were  the  exertions  now  made, 
both  by  the  besiegers  and  the  besieged, 
to  carry  on  this  contest  with  the  utmost 
vigour.  Hamet  el  Zegri  went  the  rounds 
of  the  walls  and  towers,  doubling  the 
guards,  and  putting  every  thing  into  the 
best  posture  of  defence.  The  garrison 
was  divided  into  parties  of  a  hundred,  to 
each  of  which  a  captain  was  appointed. 
Some  were  to  patrol ;  others  to  sally 
forth,  and  skirmish  with  the  enemy ; 
and  others  to  hold  themselves  ready 
armed  and  in  reserve.  Six  albatozas, 
or  floating  batteries,  were  manned,  and 
armed  with  pieces  of  artillery,  to  attack 
the  fleet. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns  kept  open  a  communication,  by 
sea,  with  various  parts  of  Spain,  from 
which  they  received  provisions  of  all 
kinds.  They  ordered  supplies  of  powder, 
also,  from  Valencia,  Barcelona,  Sicily, 
and  Portugal.  They  made  great  pre 
parations  for  storming  the  city.  Towers 
of  wood  were  constructed,  to  move  on 
wheels,  each  capable  of  holding  one 
hundred  men.  They  were  furnished 
with  ladders,  to  be  thrown  from  their 
summits  to  the  tops  of  the  walls ;  and 
within  those  ladders  others  were  incased, 
to  be  let  down  for  the  descent  of  the 
troops  into  the  city.  There  were  galli- 

*  Zurita.    Mariana.    Abarca. 


pagos,  or  tortoises,  also ;  being  great 
wooden  shields  covered  with  hides,  to 
protect  the  assailants,  and  those  who 
undermined  the  walls. 

Secret  mines  were  commenced  in  vari 
ous  places.  Some  were  intended  to  reach 
to  the  foundations  of  the  walls,  which  were 
to  be  propped  up  with  wood,  ready  to  be 
set  on  fire ;  others  were  to  pass  under 
the  walls,  and  remain  ready  to  be  broken 
open  so  as  to  give  entrance  to  the  be 
siegers.  At  these  mines  the  army  worked 
day  and  night ;  and  during  these  secret 
preparations,  the  ordnance  kept  up  a  fire 
upon  the  city,  to  divert  the  attention  of 
the  besieged. 

In  the  mean  time,  Hamet  el  Zegri  dis 
played  wonderful  vigour  and  ingenuity  in 
defending  the  city,  and  in  repairing,  or 
fortifying  by  deep  ditches,  the  breaches 
made  by  the  enemy.  He  noted,  besides, 
every  place  where  the  camp  might  be 
assailed  with  advantage;  and  gave  the 
besieging  army  no  repose,  night  or  day. 
While  his  troops  sallied  on  the  land,  his 
floating  batteries  attacked  the  besiegers 
on  the  sea ;  so  that  there  was  incessant 
skirmishing.  The  tents,  called  the  queen's 
hospital,  were  crowded  with  wounded ; 
and  the  whole  army  suffered,  from  con 
stant  watchfulness  and  fatigue.  To  guard 
against  the  sudden  assaults  of  the  Moors, 
the  trenches  were  deepened,  and  palisa- 
does  erected  in  front  of  the  camp ;  and 
in  that  part  facing  Gib ral faro,  where 
the  rocky  heights  did  not  admit  of  such 
defences,  a  high  rampart  of  earth  was 
thrown  up.  The  cavaliers  Garcilasso 
de  la  Vega,  Juan  de  Zuniga,  and  Diego 
de  Atayde,  were  appointed  to  go  the 
rounds,  and  keep  vigilant  watch,  that 
these  fortifications  were  maintained  in 
good  order. 

In  a  little  while,  Hamet  discovered  the 
mines  secretly  commenced  by  the  Chris 
tians.  He  immediately  ordered  counter 
mines.  The  soldiers  mutually  worked 
until  they  met,  and  fought  hand  to  hand, 
in  these  subterranean  passages.  The 
Christians  were  driven  out  of  one  of  their 
mines  ;  fire  was  set  to  the  wooden  frame 
work,  and  the  mine  destroyed.  En* 
couraged  by  this  success,  the  Moors 
attempted  a  general  attack  upon  the 
mines  and  the  besieging  fleet.  The 
battle  lasted  for  six  hours,  on  land  and 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


311 


water,  above  and  below  ground,  on  bul-  ; 
wark    and    in    trench    and   mine.     The  | 
Moors  displayed   wonderful    intrepidity ; 
but  were  finally  repulsed  at  all   points, 
and  obliged  to  retire  into  the  city,  whore  ' 
they  were  closely   invested,  without  the 
means  of  receiving  any  assistance  from 
abroad. 

The  horrors  of  famine  were  now  added 
to  the  other  miseries  of  Malaga.  Hamet 
el  Zegri,  with  the  spirit  of  a  man  bred 
up  to  war,  considered  every  thing  as  sub 
servient  to  the  wants  of  the  soldier,  and 
ordered  all  the  grain  in  the  city  to  be 
gathered  and  garnered  up  for  the  sole  j 
use  of  those  who  fought.  Even  this  was 
dealt  out  sparingly ;  and  each  soldier  re 
ceived  four  ounces  of  bread  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  two  in  the  evening,  for  his  daily 
allowance. 

The  wealthy  inhabitants,  and  all  those 
peacefully  inclined,  mourned  over  a  re-  ! 
sistance,  which  brought  destruction  upon  | 
their   houses,  death  into   their  families,  ! 
and  which  they  saw  must  end  in  their  | 
ruin  and  captivity.     Still,  none  of  them  j 
dared  to  speak  openly  of  capitulation,  or 
even  to  manifest  their  grief,    lest  they 
should  awaken  the  wrath  of  their  fierce  | 
defenders.     They  surrounded  their  civic  I 
champion,  AH   Dordux,   the   great   and  I 
opulent  merchant,  who  had  buckled  on  ! 
shield  and  cuirass,  and   taken  spear  in  1 
hand  for  the  defence  of  his  native  city ;  j 
and  with  a  large  body  of  the  braver  citi 
zens,  had  charge  of  one  of  the  gates 
and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  walls.  ! 
Drawing  Ali  Dordux  aside,  they  poured  ; 
forth    their    griefs    to    him    in    secret.  | 
"  Why,"  said  they,  "  should  we  suffer  ! 
our  native  city  to  be  made  a  mere  bul-  I 
wark  and  fighting-place  for  foreign  bar-  ' 
barians  and  desperate  men  ?    They  have  I 
no  families  to  care  for,  no  property  to  ' 
lose,  no  love  for  the  soil,  and  no  value  ' 
for  their  lives.     They  fight  to  gratify  a  • 
thirst  for  blood,  or  a  desire  for  revenge  ;  ' 
and  will  fight  on  until  Malaga  be  made  j 
a  ruin,  and   its  people   slaves.     Let  us  \ 
think  and  act  for  ourselves,  our  wives,  | 
and  our  children.     Let  us  make  private  j 
terms  with  the  Christians  before  it  is  too 
late,  and  so  save  ourselves  from  destruc 
tion." 

The   bowels   of  Ali  Dordux   yearned 
towards    his    fellow-citizens.       He    be 


thought  him  also  of  the  sweet  security 
of  peace,  and  the  bloodless,  yet  gratify 
ing,  triumphs  of  gainful  commerce.  The 
idea  likewise  of  a  secret  negotiation  or 
bargain  with  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
for  the  redemption  of  his  native  city, 
was  more  conformable  to  his  accustomed 
habits  than  this  violent  appeal  to  arms ; 
for  though  he  had,  for  a  time,  assumed 
the  warrior,  he  had  not  forgotten  the  mer 
chant.  Ali  Dordux  communed,  therefore, 
with  the  citizen-soldiers  under  his  com 
mand,  and  they  readily  conformed  to  his 
opinion.  Concerting  together,  they  wrote 
a  proposition  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
offering  to  admit  the  army  into  the  part 
of  the  city  intrusted  to  their  care,  on 
receiving  assurance  of  protection  for  the 
lives  and  property  of  the  inhabitants. 
This  writing  they  delivered  to  a  trusty 
emissary,  to  take  to  the  Christian  camp : 
appointing  the  hour  and  place  of  his  re 
turn,  that  they  might  be  ready  to  admit 
him  unperceived. 

The  Moor  made  his  way  in  safety  to 
the  camp,  and  was  admitted  to  the  pre 
sence  of  the  sovereigns.  Eager  to  gain 
the  city  without  further  cost  of  blood  or 
treasure,  they  gave  a  written  promise  to 
grant  the  conditions  ;  and  the  Moor  set 
out  joyfully  on  his  return.  As  he  ap 
proached  the  walls  where  Ali  Dordux 
and  his  confederates  were  waiting  to 
receive  him,  he  was  descried  by  a  pa 
trolling  band  of  Gomeres,  and  consi 
dered  a  spy  coming  from  the  camp  of 
the  besiegers.  They  issued  forth,  and 
seized  him,  in  sight  of  his  employers, 
who  gave  themselves  up  for  lost.  The 
Gomeres  had  conducted  him  nearly  to 
the  gate,  when  he  escaped  from  their 
grasp,  and  fled.  They  endeavoured  to 
overtake  him,  but  were  encumbered  with 
armour ;  he  was  lightly  clad,  and  he  fled 
for  his  life.  One  of  the  Gomeres  paused, 
and,  levelling  his  crossbow,  let  fly  a  bolt, 
which  pierced  the  fugitive  between  the 
shoulders :  he  fell,  and  was  nearly  within 
their  grasp  ;  but  rose  again,  and,  with  a 
desperate  effort,  attained  the  Christian 
camp.  The  Gomeres  gave  over  the  pur 
suit,  and  the  citizens  returned  thanks  to 
Allah  for  their  deliverance  from  this 
fearful  peril.  As  to  the  faithful  mes 
senger,  he  died  of  his  wound,  shortly 
after  reaching  the  camp,  consoled  with 


312 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


the  idea,  that  he  had  preserved  the  secret 
and  the  lives  of  his  employers. 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Sufferings  of  the  people  of  Malaga. 

THE  sufferings  of  Malaga  spread  sor 
row  and  anxiety  among  the  Moors  ;  and 
they  dreaded  lest  this  beautiful  city,  once 
the  bulwark  of  the  kingdom,  should  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  unbelievers.  The 
old  warrior-king,  Abdalla  el  Zagal,  was 
still  sheltered  in  Guadix,  where  he  was 
slowly  gathering  together  his  shattered 
forces.  When  the  people  of  Guadix 
heard-  of  the  danger  and  distress  of 
Malaga,  they  urged  to  be  led  to  its  re 
lief;  and  the  alfaquis  admonished  El 
Zagal  not  to  desert  so  righteous  and 
loyal  a  city  in  its  extremity.  His  own 
warlike  nature  made  him  feel  a  sym 
pathy  for  a  place  that  made  so  gallant 
a  resistance ;  and  he  despatched  as  pow 
erful  a  reinforcement  as  he  could  spare, 
under  conduct  of  a  chosen  captain,  with 
orders  to  throw  themselves  into  the  city. 

Intelligence  of  this  reinforcement 
reached  Boabdil  el  Chico,  in  his  royal 
palace  of  the  Alhambra.  Filled  with 
hostility  against  his  uncle,  and  desirous 
of  proving  his  loyalty  to  the  Castilian 
sovereigns,  he  immediately  sent  forth  a 
superior  force  of  horse  and  foot,  to  inter 
cept  the  detachment.  A  sharp  conflict 
ensued  ;  the  troops  of  El  Zagal  were 
routed  with  great  loss,  and  fled  back  in 
confusion  to  Gua.dix. 

Boabdil,  not  being  accustomed  to  vic 
tories,  was  flushed  with  this  melancholy 
triumph.  He  sent  tidings  of  it  to  the 
Castilian  sovereigns,  accompanied  with 
rich  silks,  boxes  of  Arabian  perfume,  a 
cup  of  gold  richly  wrought,  and  a  female 
captive  of  Rebeda,  as  presents  to  the 
queen ;  and  four  Arabian  steeds,  magni 
ficently  caparisoned,  a  sword  and  dagger 
richly  mounted,  and  several  albornozes 
and  other  robes,  sumptuously  embroider 
ed,  for  the  king.  He  entreated  them,  at 
the  same  time,  always  to  look  upon  him 
with  favour,  as  their  devoted  vassal. 

Boabdil  was  fated  to  be  unfortunate 
even  in  his  victories.  His  defeat  of  the 
forces  of  his  uncle,  destined  to  the  relief 
of  unhappy  Malaga,  shocked  the  feelings, 
and  cooled  the  loyalty,  of  many  of  his 


best  adherents.  The  mere  men  of  traffic 
might  rejoice  in  their  golden  interval  of 
peace,  but  the  chivalrous  spirits  of  Gra 
nada  spurned  a  security  purchased  by 
such  sacrifices  of  pride  and  affection. 
The  people  at  large,  having  gratified 
their  love  of  change,  began  to  question, 
whether  they  had  acted  generously  by 
their  old  fighting  monarch.  "  El  Zagal,"' 
said  they,  "  was  fierce  and  bloody,  but 
then  he  was  true  to  his  country  :  he  was 
an  usurper,  but  then  he  maintained  the 
glory  of  the  crown  which  he  usurped. 
If  his  sceptre  was  a  rod  of  iron  to  his 
subjects,  it  was  a  sword  of  steel  against 
their  enemies.  This  Boabdil  sacrifices 
religion,  friends,  country,  every  thing, 
to  a  mere  shadow  of  royalty,  and  is 
content  to  hold  a  rush  for  a  sceptre." 

These  factious  murmurs  soon  reached 
the  ears  of  Boabdil,  and  he  apprehended 
another  of  his  customary  reverses.  He 
sent  in  all  haste  to  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns,  beseeching  military  aid  to  keep 
him  on  his  throne.  Ferdinand  graciously 
complied  with  a  request  so  much  in  unison 
with  his  policy.  A  detachment  of  one 
thousand  cavalry,  and  two  thousand  in 
fantry,  were  despatched,  under  the  com 
mand  of  Don  Fernandez  Gonsalez  of 
Cordova,  subsequently  renowned  as  the 
grand  captain.  With  this  succour,  Boab 
dil  expelled  from  the  city  all  those  who 
were  hostile  to  him,  and  in  favour  of  his 
uncle.  He  felt  secure  in  these  troops, 
from  their  being  distinct,  in  manners, 
language,  and  religion,  from  his  sub 
jects  ;  and  compromised  with  his  pride, 
in  thus  exhibiting  that  most  unnatural 
and  humiliating  of  all  regal  spectacles, 
a  monarch  supported  on  his  throne  by 
foreign  weapons,  and  by  soldiers  hostile 
to  his  people. 

Nor  was  Boabdil  el  Chico  the  only 
Moorish  sovereign  that  sought  protection 
from  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  A  splendid 
galley,  with  lateen  sails,  and  several 
banks  of  oars,  came  one  day  into  the 
harbour  of  Malaga,  displaying  the  stan 
dard  of  the  crescent,  but  likewise  a 
white  flag  in  sign  of  amity.  An  am 
bassador  landed  from  it  within  the  Chris 
tian  lines.  He  came  from  the  King  of 
Tremezan,  and  brought  presents  similar 
to  those  of  Boabdil,  consisting  of  Ara 
bian  coursers,  with  bits,  stirrups,  and 


-13 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


313 


other  furniture  of  gold,  together  with 
costly  Moorish  mantles  :  for  the  queen 
there  were  sumptuous  shawls,  robes,  and 
silken  stuffs,  ornaments  of  gold,  and  ex 
quisite  oriental  perfumes. 

The  King  of  Tremczan  had  been 
alarmed  at  the  rapid  conquests  of  the 
Spanish  arms,  and  startled  by  the  de 
scent  of  several  Spanish  cruisers  on  the 
coast  of  Africa.  He  craved  to  be  con 
sidered  a  vassal  to  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns,  and  that  they  would  extend  such 
favour  and  security  to  his  ships  and 
subjects  as  had  been  shown  to  other 
Moors,  who  had  submitted  to  their  sway. 
He  requested  a  painting  of  their  arms, 
that  he  and  his  subjects  might  recognise 
and  respect  their  standard,  whenever  they 
encountered  it.  At  the  same  time  he 
implored  their  clemency  towards  unhappy 
Malaga,  and  that  its  inhabitants  might 
experience  the  same  favour  that  had 
been  shown  towards  the  Moors  of  other 
captured  cities. 

This  embassy  was  graciously  received 
by  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  They  grant 
ed  the  protection  required,  ordering  their 
commanders  to  respect  the  flag  of  Tre- 
mezan,  unless  it  should  be  found  ren 
dering  assistance  to  the  enemy.  They 
sent  also  to  the  Barbary  monarch  their 
royal  arms,  moulded  in  escutcheons  of 
gold  a  hand's-breadth  in  size.* 

While  thus  the  chances  of  assistance 

I  from  without  daily  decreased,  famine 
raged  in  the  city.  The  inhabitants  were 
compelled  to  eat  the  flesh  of  horses,  and 
many  died  of  hunger.  What  made  the 

'  sufferings  of  the  citizens  the  more  in 
tolerable  was,  to  behold  the  sea  covered 
with  ships,  daily  arriving  with  provisions 

|  for  the  besiegers.  Day  after  day,  also, 
they  saw  herds  of  fat  cattle  and  flocks 
of  sheep  driven  into  the  camp.  Wheat 
and  flour  were  piled  in  large  mounds  in 
the  centre  of  the  encampments,  glaring 
in  the  sunshine,  and  tantalizing  the 
wretched  citizens,  who,  while  they  and 
their  children  were  perishing  with  hun 
ger,  beheld  prodigal  abundance  reigning 
within  a  bow-shot  of  their  walls. 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios.  c.  84.    Pulgar,  part  iii,  c.  86. 


27 


CHAPTER  L1X. 

How  a  Moorish   santon  undertook  to  deliver  the 
city  of  Malaga  from  the  power  of  its  enemies. 

THERE  lived  at  this  time,  in  a  hamlet 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Guadix,  an 
ancient  Moor,  of  the  name  of  Abraham 
Algerbi.  He  was  a  native  of  Guerba, 
in  the  kingdom  of  Tunis,  and  had  for 
several  years  led  the  life  of  a  santon  or 
hermit.  The  hot  sun  of  Africa  had 
dried  his  blood,  and  rendered  him  of  an 
exalted  yet  melancholy  temperament. 
He  passed  most  of  his  time  in  medita 
tion,  prayer,  and  rigorous  abstinence, 
until  his  body  was  wasted,  and  his  mind 
bewildered,  and  he  fancied  himself  fa 
voured  with  divine  revelations.  The 
Moors,  who  have  a  great  reverence  for 
all  enthusiasts  of  the  kind,  looked  upon 
him  as  inspired,  listened  to  all  his  ravings 
as  veritable  prophecies,  and  denominated 
him  El  Santo,  or  "  the  saint." 

The  woes  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
had  long  exasperated  the  gloomy  spirit 
of  this  man  ;  and  he  had  beheld  with  in 
dignation  this  beautiful  country  wrested 
from  the  dominion  of  the  faithful,  and 
becoming  a  prey  to  the  unbelievers.  He 
had  implored  the  blessing  of  Allah  on 
the  troops  which  issued  forth  from  Guadix 
for  the  relief  of  Malaga ;  but  when  he 
saw  them  return,  routed  and  scattered 
by  their  own  countrymen,  he  retired  to 
his  cell,  shut  himself  up  from  the  world, 
and  was  plunged  for  a  time  in  the  blackest 
gloom. 

On  a  sudden  he  made  his  appearance 
again  in  the  streets  of  Guadix ;  his  face 
haggard,  his  form  emaciated,  but  his  eye 
beaming  with  fire.  He  said,  that  Allah 
had  sent  an  angel  to  him,  in  the  solitude 
of  his  cell,  revealing  to  him  a  mode  of 
delivering  Malaga  from  its  perils,  and 
striking  horror  and  confusion  into  the 
camp  of  the  unbelievers.  The  Moors  lis 
tened  with  eager  credulity  to  his  words  : 
four  hundred  of  them  offered  to  follow 
him  even  to  the  death,  and  to  obey  im 
plicitly  his  commands.  Of  this  number 
many  were  Gomeres,  anxious  to  relieve 
their  countrymen,  who  formed  part  of 
the  garrison  of  Malaga. 

They  traversed  the  kingdom  by  the 
wild  and  lonely  passes  of  the  mountains, 
concealing  themselves  in  the  day,  and 


314 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


travelling  only  in  the  night,  to  elude  the 
Christian  scouts.  At  length  they  arrived 
at  the  mountains  which  tower  above 
Malaga  ;  and,  looking  down,  beheld  the 
city  completely  invested,  a  chain  of  en 
campments  extending  round  it  from  shore 
I  to  shore,  and  a  line  of  ships  blockading 
j  it  by  sea,  while  the  continual  thunder  of 
artillery,  and  the  smoke  rising  in  various 
parts,  showed,  that  the  siege  was  pressed 
with  great  activity.  The  hermit  scanned 
the  encampments  warily  from  his  lofty 
height.  He  saw,  that  the  part  of  the 
encampment  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
which  was  at  the  foot  of  the  height,  and 
on  the  margin  of  the  sea,  was  the  most 
assailable,  the  rocky  soil  not  admitting 
ditches  or  palisadoes.  Remaining  con 
cealed  all  day,  he  descended  with  his 
followers  at  night  to  the  sea-coast,  and 
approached  silently  to  the  outworks. 
He  had  given  them  their  instructions  : 
they  were  to  rush  suddenly  upon  the 
camp,  fight  their  way  through,  and  throw 
themselves  into  the  city. 

It  was  just  at  the  gray  of  the  dawning, 
when  objects  are  obscurely  visible,  that 
they  made  this  desperate  attempt.  Some 
sprang  suddenly  upon  the  sentinels  ,* 
others  rushed  into  the  sea,  and  got  round 
the  works ;  others  'clambered  over  the 
breastworks.  There  was  sharp  skir 
mishing  ;  a  great  part  of  the  Moors  were 
cut  to  pieces,  but  about  two  hundred 
succeeded  in  getting  into  the  gates  of 
Malaga. 

The  santon  took  no  part  in  the  con 
flict,  nor  did  he  endeavour  to  enter  the 
city.  His  plans  were  of  a  different  na 
ture.  Drawing  apart  from  the  battle,  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees,  on  a  rising 
ground,  and,  lifting  his  hands  to  Heaven, 
appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  prayer.  The 
Christians,  as  they  were  searching  for 
fugitives  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  found 
him  at  his  devotions.  He  stirred  not  at 
their  approach,  but  remained  fixed  as  a 
statue,  without  changing  colour,  or  mov 
ing  a  muscle.  Filled  with  surprise  not 
unmixed  with  awe,  they  took  him  to  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz.  He  was  wrapped  in 
a  coarse  albornoz,  or  Moorish  mantle  ; 
his  beard  was  long  and  grizzled,  and 
there  was  something  wild  and  melan 
choly  in  his  look,  that  inspired  curiosity. 
On  being  examined,  he  gave  himself 


out  as  a  saint,  to  whom  Allah  had  re 
vealed  the  events  that  were  to  take  place 
in  that  siege.  The  marquis  demanded 
when  and  how  Malaga  was  to  be  taken. 
He  replied,  that  he  knew  full  well ;  but 
he  was  forbidden  to  reveal  those  impor 
tant  secrets,  except  to  the  king  and 
queen.  The  good  marquis  was  not  more 
given  to  superstitious  fancies  than  other 
commanders  of  his  time ;  yet  there  seem 
ed  something  singular  and  mysterious 
about  this  man  :  he  might  have  some 
important  intelligence  to  communicate ; 
so  he  was  persuaded  to  send  him  to  the 
king  and  queen.  He  was  conducted  to 
the  royal  tent,  surrounded  by  a  curious 
multitude,  exclaiming,  "  El  Moro  Santo !" 
for  the  news  had  spread  through  the 
camp,  that  they  had  taken  a  Moorish 
prophet. 

The  king,  having  dined,  was  taking 
his  siesta,  or  afternoon's  sleep,  in  his 
tent :  and  the  queen,  though  curious  to 
see  this  singular  being,  yet,  from  a  na 
tural  delicacy  and  reserve,  delayed  until 
the  king  should  be  present.  He  was 
taken,  therefore,  to  an  adjoining  tent,  in 
which  were  Dona  Beatrix  de  Bovadilla, 
Marchioness  of  Moya,  and  Don  Alvaro 
of  Portugal,  son  of  the  Duke  of  Braganza, 
with  two  or  three  attendants.  The  Moor, 
ignorant  of  the  Spanish  tongue,  had  not 
understood  the  conversation  of  the  guards, 
and  supposed,  from  the  magnificence  of 
the  furniture,  and  the  silken  hangings, 
that  this  was  the  royal  tent.  From  the 
respect  paid  by  the  attendants  to  Don 
Alvaro  and  the  marchioness,  he  con 
cluded  that  they  were  the  king  and 
queen. 

He  now  asked  for  a  draught  of  water. 
A  jar  was  brought  to  him,  and  the  guard 
released  his  arm,  to  enable  him  to  drink. 
The  marchioness  perceived  a  sudden 
change  in  his  countenance,  and  some 
thing  sinister  in  the  expression  of  his 
eye,  and  shifted  her  position  to  a  more 
remote  part  of  the  tent.  Pretending  to 
raise  the  water  to  his  lips,  the  Moor 
unfolded  his  albornoz  so  as  to  grasp  a 
cimeter,  which  he  wore  concealed  be 
neath  ;  then,  dashing  down  the  jar,  he 
drew  his  weapon,  and  gave  Don  Alvaro 
a  blow  on  the  head,  that  struck  him  to 
the  earth,  and  nearly  deprived  him  of 
life.  Turning  upon  the  marchioness,  he 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


315 


then  made  a  violent  blow  at  her,  but  in 
his  eagerness  and  agitation,  his  cimeter 
caught  in  the  drapery  of  the  tent ;  the 
force  of  the  blow  was  broken,  and  the 
weapon  struck  harmless  upon  some  gold 
en  ornaments  of  her  head-dress.* 

Ruy  Lopez  de  Toledo,  treasurer  to  the 
queen,  and  Juan  de  Belalcazar,  a  sturdy 
friar,  who  were  present,  grappled  and 
struggled  with  the  desperado  ;  and  im 
mediately  the  guards  who  had  conducted 
him  from  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  fell  upon 
him,  and  cut  him  to  pieces.")" 

The  king  and  queen,  brought  out  of 
their  tents  by  the  noise,  were  filled  with 
horror  when  they  learned  the  imminent 
peril  from  which  they  had  escaped.  The 
mangled  body  of  the  Moor  was  taken  by 
the  people  of  the  camp,  and  thrown  into 
the  city  from  a  catapult.  The  Gomeres 
gathered  up  the  body,  with  deep  reve 
rence,  as  the  remains  of  a  saint;  they 
washed  and  perfumed  it,  and  buried  it 
with  great  honour  and  loud  lamentations. 
In  revenge  of  his  death,  they  stew  one 
of  their  principal  Christian  captives;  and, 
having  tied  his  body  upon  an  ass,  they 
drove  the  animal  forth  into  the  camp. 

From  this  time  there  was  appointed  an 
additional  guard  around  the  tents  of  the 
king  and  queen,  composed  of  twelve  hun 
dred  cavaliers  of  rank  of  the  kingdoms 
of  Castile  and  Aragon.  No  person  was 
admitted  to  the  royal  presence  armed. 
No  Moor  was  allowed  to  enter  the  camp 
without  a  previous  knowledge  of  his 
character  and  business ;  and  on  no  ac 
count  was  any  Moor  to  be  introduced 
into  the  presence  of  the  sovereigns. 

An  act  of  treachery  of  such  a  ferocious 
nature  gave  rise  to  a  train  of  gloomy 
apprehensions.  There  were  many  cabins 
and  sheds  about  the  camp,  constructed  of 
branches  of  trees,  which  had  become  dry 
and  combustible ;  and  fears  were  enter 
tained,  that  they  might  be  set  on  fire  by 
the  Mudixares,  or  Moorish  vassals,  who 
visited  the  army.  Some  even  dreaded, 
that  attempts  might  be  made  to  poison 
the  wells  arid  fountains.  To  quiet  these 
dismal  alarms,  all  Mudixares  were  or 
dered  to  leave  the  camp ;  and  all  loose 
idle  loiterers,  who  could  not  give  a  good 

*  Pietro  Martyr,  epist.  62. 
t  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


account  of  themselves,  were  taken  into 
custody. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

How  Harriet  El  Zegri  was  hardened  in  his  obstinacy 
by  the  arts  of  a  Moorish  astrologer. 

AMONG  those  followers  of  the  santon 
that  had  effected  their  entrance  into  the 
city  was  a  dark  African,  of  the  tribe  of 
Gomeres,  who  was  likewise  a  hermit,  or 
dervise,  and  passed  among  the  Moors  for 
a  holy  and  inspired  man.  No  sooner 
were  the  mangled  remains  of  his  prede 
cessor  buried  with  the  honours  of  mar 
tyrdom,  than  this  dervise  elevated  him 
self  in  his  place,  and  professed  to  be 
gifted  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  He 
displayed  a  white  banner,  which  he  as 
sured  the  Moors  was  sacred ;  that  he 
had  retained  it  for  twenty  years,  for 
some  signal  purpose ;  and  that  Allah 
had  revealed  to  him,  that  under  that 
banner  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  should 
sally  forth  upon  the  camp  of  the  unbe 
lievers,  put  it  to  utter  rout,  and  banquet 
upon  the  provisions  in  which  it  abound 
ed.*  The  hungry  and  credulous  Moors 
were  elated  at  this  prediction,  and  cried 
out  to  be  led  forth  at  once  to  the  attack ; 
but  the  dervise  told  them  the  time  was 
not  yet  arrived,  for  every  event  had  its 
allotted  day  in  the  decrees  of  fate ;  they 
must  wait  patiently,  therefore,  until  the 
appointed  time  should  be  revealed  to  him 
by  Heaven.  Hamet  el  Zegri  listened  to 
the  dervise  with  profound  reverence,  and 
his  example  had  great  effect  in  increasing 
the  awe  and  deference  of  his  followers. 
He  took  the  holy  man  up  into  his  strong 
hold  of  Gibralfaro,  consulted  him  on  all 
occasions,  and  hung  out  his  white  banner 
on  the  loftiest  tower,  as  a  signal  of  en 
couragement  to  the  people  of  the  city. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  prime  chivalry 
of  Spain  was  gradually  assembling  before 
the  walls  of  Malaga.  The  army  which 
had  commenced  the  siege  had  been  worn 
out  by  extreme  hardships,  having  had  to 
construct  immense  works,  to  dig  trenches 
and  mines,  to  mount  guard  by  sea  and 
land,  to  patrol  the  mountains,  and  to 
sustain  incessant  conflicts.  The  sove 
reigns  were  obliged  therefore  to  call  upon 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


316 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


various  distant  cities,  for  reinforcements 
of  horse  and  foot.  Many  nobles,  also, 
assembled  their  vassals,  and  repaired,  of 
their  own  accord,  to  the  royal  camp. 

Every  little  while,  some  stately  galley 
or  gallant  caravel  would  stand  into  the 
harbour,  displaying  the  well-known  ban 
ner  of  some  Spanish  cavalier,  and  thun 
dering  from  its  artillery  a  salutation  to 
the  sovereigns,  and  a  defiance  to  the 
Moors.  On  the  land  side  also  reinforce 
ments  would  be  seen,  winding  down  the 
mountains  to  the  sound  of  drum  and 
trumpet,  and  marching  into  the  camp 
with  glistening  arms,  as  yet  unsullied  by 
|  the  toils  of  war. 

One  morning  the  whole  sea  was  whiten 
ed  by  the  sails,  and  vexed  by  the  oars 
of  ships  and  galleys  bearing  towards  the 
port.  One  hundred  vessels,  of  various 
kinds  and  sizes,  arrived ;  some  armed 
for  warlike  service,  others  deep- freighted 
with  provisions.  At  the  same  time,  the 
clangour  of  drum  and  trumpet  bespoke 
the  arrival  of  a  powerful  force  by  land, 
which  came  pouring  in  lengthening  co 
lumns  into  the  camp. 

This  mighty  reinforcement  was  fur 
nished  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
who  reigned  like  a  petty  monarch  over 
his  vast  possessions.  He  came  with  this 
princely  force  a  volunteer  to  the  royal 
standard,  not  having  been  summoned  by 
the  sovereigns,  and  he  brought  more 
over  a  loan  of  twenty  thousand  doblas 
of  gold. 

When  the  camp  was  thus  powerfully 
reinforced,  Isabella  advised,  that  new 
offers  of  an  indulgent  kind  should  be 
made  to  the  inhabitants  ;  for  she  was 
anxious  to  prevent  the  miseries  of  a  pro 
tracted  siege,  or  the  effusion  of  blood  that 
must  attend  a  general  attack.  A  fresh 
summons  was  therefore  sent  for  the  city 
to  surrender,  with  a  promise  of  life, 
liberty  and  property,  in  case  of  immediate 
compliance,  but  denouncing  all  the  hor 
rors  of  war,  if  the  defence  were  obsti 
nately  continued. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  again  rejected  the  offer 
with  scorn.  His  main  fortifications  as 
yet  were  but  little  impaired,  and  were 
capable  of  holding  out  much  longer ;  he 
trusted  to  the  thousand  evils  and  acci 
dents  that  beset  a  besieging  army,  and 
to  the  inclemencies  of  the  approaching 


season ;  and  it  is  said  he,  as  well  as  his 
followers,  had  an  infatuated  belief  in  the 
predictions  of  the  dervise. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida 
does  not  scruple  to  affirm,  that  the  pre 
tended  prophet  of  the  city  was  an  arch 
necromancer,  or  Moorish  magician ;  "  of 
which  there  be  countless  many,"  says 
he,  "  in  the  filthy  sect  of  Mahomet ;"  and 
that  he  was  leagued  with  the  prince  of 
the  powers  of  the  air,  to  endeavour  to 
work  the  confusion  and  defeat  of  the 
Christian  army.  The  worthy  father  as 
serts  also,  that  Hamet  employed  him  in 
a  high  tower  of  Gibralfaro,  which  com 
manded  a  wide  view  over  sea  and  land, 
where  he  wrought  spells  and  incantations, 
with  astrolabes  and  other  diabolical  in 
struments,  to  defeat  the  Christian  ships 
and  forces,  whenever  they  were  engaged 
with  the  Moors. 

To  the  potent  spells  of  this  sorcerer  he 
ascribes  the  perils  and  losses  sustained 
by  a  party  of  cavaliers  of  the  royal 
household,  in  a  desperate  combat  to  gain 
two  towers  of  the  suburb,  near  the  gate 
of  the  city  called  La  Puerta  de  Granada. 
The  Christians,  led  on  by  Ruy  Lopez 
de  Toledo,  the  valiant  treasurer  of  the 
queen,  took,  and  lost,  and  retook  the 
towers,  which  were  finally  set  on  fire  by 
the  Moors,  and  abandoned  to  the  flames 
by  both  parties.  To  the  same  malignant 
influence  he  attributes  the  damage  done 
to  the  Christian  fleet,  which  was  so 
vigorously  assailed  by  the  albatozas,  or 
floating-batteries,  of  the  Moors,  that  one 
ship  of  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  was 
sunk,  and  the  rest  were  obliged  to  retire. 

"  Hamet  el  Zegri,"  says  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  stood  on  the  top  of  the  high 
tower  of  Gibralfaro,  and  beheld  this  in 
jury  wrought  upon  the  Christian  force  ; 
and  his  proud  heart  was  puffed  up.  And 
the  Moorish  necromancer  stood  beside 
him.  And  he  pointed  out  to  him  the 
Christian  host  below,  encamped  on  every 
eminence  around  the  city,  and  covering 
its  fertile  valley,  and  the  many  ships 
floating  upon  the  tranquil  sea ;  and  he 
bade  him  be  strong  of  heart,  for  that,  in 
a  few  days,  all  this  mighty  fleet  would 
be  scattered  by  the  winds  of  Heaven  ; 
and  that  he  should  sally  forth,  under 
guidance  of  the  sacred  banner,  and  attack 
this  host,  and  utterly  defeat  it,  and  make 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


317 


spoil  of  those  sumptuous  tents  ;  and  Ma 
laga  should  be  triumphantly  revenged 
upon  her  assailants.  So  the  heart  of 
Hamet  was  hardened  like  that  of  Pha 
raoh,  and  he  persisted  in  setting  at  defi 
ance  the  Catholic  sovereigns,  and  their 
army  of  saintly  warriors." 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

Siege  of  Malaga  continued.     Destruction  of  a 
tower  by  Francisco  Ramirez  de  Madrid. 

SEEING  the  infatuated  obstinacy  of  the 
besieged,  the  Christians  now  approached 
their  works  to  the  walls,  gaining  one 
position  after  another,  preparatory  to  a 
general  assault.  Near  the  barrier  of 
the  city  was  a  bridge  with  four  arches, 
defended  at  each  end  by  a  strong  and 
lofty  tower,  by  which  a  part  of  the  army 
would  have  to  pass  in  making  a  general 
attack.  The  commander-in-chief  of  the 
artillery,  Francisco  Ramirez  de  Madrid, 
was  ordered  to  take  possession  of  this 
bridge.  The  approach  to  it  was  perilous 
in  the  extreme,  from  the  exposed  situation 
of  the  assailants,  and  the  numbers  of 
Moors  that  garrisoned  the  towers.  Fran 
cisco  Ramirez,  therefore,  secretly  exca 
vated  a  mine  leading  beneath  the  first 
tower,  and  placed  a  piece  of  ordnance, 
with  its  mouth  upwards,  immediately 
under  the  foundation,  with  a  train  of 
powder  to  produce  an  explosion  at  the 
necessary  moment. 

When  this  was  arranged  he  advanced 
slowly  with  his  forces  in  face  of  the 
towers,  erecting  bulwarks  at  every  step, 
and  gradually  gaining  ground,  until  he 
arrived  near  to  the  bridge.  He  then 
planted  several  pieces  of  artillery  in  his 
works,  and  began  to  batter  the  tower. 
The  Moors  replied  bravely  from  their 
battlements;  but  in  the  heat  of  the  com 
bat  the  piece  of  ordnance  under  the 
foundation  was  discharged.  The  earth 
was  rent  open,  a  part  of  the  tower  over 
thrown,  and  several  of  the  Moors  torn  to 
pieces :  the  rest  took  to  flight,  over 
whelmed  with  terror  at  this  thundering 
explosion  bursting  beneath  their  feet,  and 
at  beholding  the  earth  vomiting  flames 
and  smoke ;  for  never  before  had  they 
witnessed  such  a  stratagem  in  warfare. 
The  Christians  rushed  forward  and  took 
possession  of  the  abandoned  post,  and 


immediately  commenced  an  attack  upon 
the  other  tower,  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  bridge,  to  which  the  Moors  had  re 
tired.  An  incessant  fire  of  crossbows 
and  arquebuses  was  kept  up  between  the 
rival  towers,  volleys  of  stones  were  dis 
charged,  and  no  one  dared  to  venture 
upon  the  intermediate  bridge. 

Francisco  de  Ramirez  at  length  re 
newed  his  former  mode  of  approach, 
making  bulwarks  as  he  advanced,  while 
the  Moors  at  the  other  end  swept  the 
bridge  with  their  artillery.  The  combat 
was  long  and  bloody,  ferocious  on  the 
part  of  the  Moors,  patient  and  persever 
ing  on  the  part  of  the  Christians.  By 
slow  degrees  they  accomplished  their 
progress  across  the  bridge,  drove  the 
enemy  before  them,  and  remained  mas 
ters  of  this  important  pass. 

For  this  valiant  and  skilful  achieve 
ment,  King  Ferdinand,  after  the  surren 
der  of  the  city,  conferred  the  dignity  of 
knighthood  upon  Francisco  Ramirez,  in 
the  tower  which  he  had  so  gloriously 
gained.*  The  worthy  padre,  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida,  indulges  in  more  than  a 
page  of  extravagant  eulogy,  upon  this 
invention  of  blowing  up  the  foundation  of 
the  tower  by  a  piece  of  ordnance,  which 
he  affirms  to  be  the  first  instance  on  re 
cord  of  gunpowder  being  used  in  a  mine. 

CHAPTER  LXII. 

How  the  people  of  Malaga  expostulated  with 
Hamet  el  Zegri. 

WHILE  the  dervise  was  deluding  the 
garrison  of  Malaga  with  vain  hopes,  the 
famine  increased  to  a  terrible  degree. 
The  Gomeres  ranged  about  the  city  as 
though  it  had  been  a  conquered  place ; 
taking  by  force  whatever  they  found  eat 
able  in  the  houses  of  the  peaceful  citi 
zens,  and  breaking  open  vaults  and 
cellars,  and  demolishing  walls,  wherever 
they  thought  provisions  might  be  con 
cealed. 

The  wretched  inhabitants  had  no 
longer  bread  to  eat ;  the  horse-flesh  also 
now  failed  them ;  and  they  were  fain 
to  devour  skins  and  hides  toasted  at 
the  fire,  and  to  assuage  the  hunger  of 
their  children  with  vine-leaves,  cut  up 


*  Pulgar,  part  iii.  cap.  91. 


27* 


318 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


and  fried  in  oil.  Many  perished  of 
famine  or  of  the  unwholesome  food  with 
which  they  endeavoured  to  relieve  it ; 
and  many  took  refuge  in  the  Christian 
camp,  preferring  captivity  to  the  horrors 
which  surrounded  them. 

At  length  the  sufferings  of  the  inhabi 
tants  became  so  great,  as  to  conquer 
even  their  fears  of  Harnet  and  his  Go- 
meres.  They  assembled  before  the 
house  of  Ali  Dordux,  the  wealthy  mer 
chant,  whose  stately  mansion  was  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  of  the  alcazaba  ;  and  they 
urged  him  to  stand  forth  as  their  leader, 
and  to  intercede  with  Hamet  el  Zegri  for 
a  surrender.  Ali  Dordux  was  a  man  of 
courage  as  well  as  policy;  he  perceived 
also  that  hunger  was  giving  boldness  to 
the  citizens,  while  he  trusted  it  was  sub 
duing  the  fierceness  of  the  soldiery.  He 
armed  himself  therefore,  cap-a-pie,  and 
undertook  this  dangerous  parley  with 

I  the  alcayde.  He  associated  with  him  an 
alfaqui,  named  Abrahen  Alharis,  and  an 
important  inhabitant,  named  Amar  ben 
A  mar ;  and  they  ascended  to  the  for 
tress  of  Gibralfaro,  followed  by  several 
of  the  trembling  merchants. 

They  found  Hamet  El  Zegri,  not,  as 
before,  surrounded  by  ferocious  guards, 
and  all  the  implements  of  war ;  but  in  a 
chamber  of  one  of  the  lofty  towers,  at  a 
table  of  stone,  covered  with  scrolls,  and 
traced  with  strange  characters  and  mys 
tic  diagrams ;  while  instruments  of  sin 
gular  and  unknown  form  lay  about  the 
room.  Beside  Hamet  el  Zegri  stood  the 
prophetic  dervise^  who  appeared  to  have 

|  been  explaining  to  him  the  mysterious 
inscriptions  of  the  scrolls.  His  presence 
filled  the  citizens  with  awe ;  for  even  Ali 
Dordux  considered  him  a  man  inspired. 

The  alfaqui,  Abrahen  Alharis,  whose 
sacred  character  gave  him  boldness  to 
speak,  now  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  ad 
dressed  Hamet  el  Zegri.  "  We  implore 
you,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  in  the  name  of 
the  most  powerful  God,  no  longer  to  per 
sist  in  a  vain  resistance,  which  must  end 
in  our  destruction  ;  but  deliver  up  the 
city,  while  clemency  is  yet  to  be  obtained. 
Think  how  many  of  our  warriors  have 
fallen  by  the  sword ;  do  not  suffer  those 
•who  survive  to  perish  by  famine.  Our 
wives  and  children  cry  to  us  for  bread, 
and  we  have  none  to  give  them,  We 


see  them  expire  in  lingering  agony  be 
fore  our  eyes,  while  the  enemy  mocks 
our  misery  by  displaying  the  abundance 
of  his  camp.  Of  what  avail  is  our  de 
fence  'I  Are  our  walls,  peradventure, 
more  strong  than  the  walls  of  Ronda  ? 
Are  our  warriors  more  brave  than  the 
defenders  of  Loxa  1  The  walls  of  Ronda 
were  thrown  down,  and  the  warriors  of 
Loxa  had  to  surrender.  Do  we  hope  for 
succour  ?  From  whence  are  we  to  re 
ceive  it?  The  time  for  hope  has  gone 
by.  Granada  has  lost  its  power :  it  no 
longer  possesses  chivalry,  commanders, 
or  a  king.  Boabdil  sits  a  vassal  in  the 
degraded  walls  of  the  Alhambra :  El 
Zagal  is  a  fugitive,  shut  up  within  the 
walls  of  Guadix.  The  kingdom  is  divided 
against  itself:  its  strength  is  gone,  its 
pride  fallen,  its  very  existence  at  an  end. 
In  the  name  of  Allah,  we  conjure  thee, 
who  art  our  captain,  be  not  our  direst 
enemy  ;  but  surrender  these  ruins  of  our 
once  happy  Malaga,  and  deliver  us  from 
these  overwhelming  horrors." 

Such  was  the  supplication  forced  from 
the  inhabitants  by  the  extremity  of  their 
sufferings.  Hamet  el  Zegri  listened  to 
the  alfaqui  without  anger;  for  he  respect 
ed  the  sanctity  of  his  office.  His  heart, 
too,  was  at  that  moment  lifted  up  with  a 
vain  confidence.  "  Yet  a  few  days  of 
patience,"  said  he,  "  and  all  these  evils 
will  suddenly  have  an  end.  I  have  been 
conferring  with  this  holy  man,  and  find 
that  the  time  of  our  deliverance  is  at 
hand.  The  decrees  of  fate  are  inevita 
ble  :  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  destiny, 
that  we  shall  sally  forth,  and  destroy  the 
camp  of  the  unbelievers,  and  banquet 
upon  those  mountains  of  grain,  which 
are  piled  up  in  the  midst  of  it.  So  Allah 
hath  promised,  by  the  mouth  of  this  his 
prophet.  Allah  achbar  !  God  is  great ! 
Let  no  man  oppose  the  decrees  of  Hea 
ven  !" 

The  citizens  heard  with  profound  re 
verence  ;  for  no  true  Moslem  pretends  to 
struggle  against  whatever  is  written  in 
the  book  of  fate.  Ali  Dordux,  who  had 
come  prepared  to  champion  the  city,  and 
to  brave  the  ire  of  Hamet,  humbled  him 
self  before  this  holy  man,  and  gave  faith 
to  his  prophecies  as  the  revelations  of 
Allah.  So  the  deputies  returned  to  the 
citizens,  and  exhorted  them  to  be  of  good 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


319 


|  cheer.  "  A  few  days  longer,"  said  they, 
i  "  and  our  sufferings  arc  to  terminate. 

When  the  white  banner  is  removed  from 

the  tower,  then  look  out  for  deliverance ; 
I  for  the  hour  of  sallying  forth  will  have 
j  arrived."  The  people  retired  to  their 

houses  with  sorrowful  hearts.  They 
I  tried  in  vain  to  quiet  the  cries  of  their 

famishing  children ;  and  day  by  day, 
!  and  hour  by  hour,  their  anxious  eyes 

were  turned  to  the  sacred  banner,  which 
j  still  continued  to  wave  on  the  tower  of 

Gibralfaro. 

CHAPTER  LX1II. 

How  Hamet  el  Zegri  sallied  forth,  with  the  sacred 
banner,  to  attack  the  Christian  camp. 

"  THE    Moorish    necromancer,"    ob- 

!  serves  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 

[  pida,  "  remained  shut  up  in  the  tower  of 

Gibralfaro,    devising  devilish    means   to 

work    mischief    and   discomfiture   upon 

the  Christians.     He  was  daily  consulted 

by  Hamet  el  Zegri,  who  had  great  faith 

in  those  black  and  magic  arts,  which  he 

had  brought  with  him  from  the  bosom  of 

heathen  Africa." 

From  the  account  given  of  this  der- 

I  vise  and  his  incantations  by  the  worthy 

father,  it  would  appear,  that  he  was  an 

I  astrologer,  and  was  studying  the  stars, 

i    and  endeavouring  to  calculate  the  day 

and  hour  when  a  successful  attack  might 

be  made  upon  the  Christian  camp. 

Famine  had  now  increased  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  distress  even  the  garrison  of 
Gibralfaro;  although  the  Gomeres  had 
seized  upon  all  the  provisions  they  could 
find  in  the  city.  Their  passions  were 
sharpened  by  hunger ;  and  they  became 
restless  and  turbulent,  and  impatient  for 
action. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  was  one  day  in  coun 
cil  with  his  captains,  perplexed  by  the 
pressure  of  events,  when  the  dervise 
entered  among  them.  "  The  hour  of 
victory,"  exclaimed  he,  "  is  at  rrand  ! 
Allah  has  commanded  that  to-morrow 
morning  ye  shall  sally  forth  to  the  fight. 
I  will  bear  before  you  the  sacred  banner, 
and  deliver  your  enemies  into  your 
i  hands.  Remember,  however,  that  ye 
are  but  instruments  in  the  hands  of 
Allah,  to  take  vengeance  on  the  enemies 
of  the  faith.  Go  into  battle,  therefore, 


with  pure  hearts,  forgiving  each  other 
all  past  offences;  for  those  who  are 
charitable  towards  each  other,  will  be 
victorious  over  the  foe." 

The  words  of  the  dervise  were  re 
ceived  with  rapture.  All  Gibralfaro  and 
the  alcazaba  resounded  immediately  with 
the  din  of  arms ;  and  Hamet  sent  through 
out  the  towers  and  fortifications  of  the 
city,  and  selected  the  choicest  troops  and 
most  distinguished  captains  for  this  event 
ful  combat. 

In  the  morning  early,  the  rumour  went 
throughout  the  city,  that  the  sacred  ban 
ner  had  disappeared  from  the  tower  of 
Gibralfaro,  and  all  Malaga  was  roused 
to  witness  the  sally  that  was  to  destroy 
the  unbelievers.  Hamet  descended  from 
his  stronghold,  accompanied  by  his  prin 
cipal  captain,  Abrahen  Zenete,  and  fol 
lowed  by  his  Gomeres.  The  dervise  led 
the  way,  displaying  the  white  banner, 
the  sacred  pledge  of  victory.  The  mul 
titude  shouted,  "  Allah  achbar !"  and 
prostrated  themselves  before  the  banner 
as  it  passed.  Even  the  dreaded  Hamet 
was  hailed  with  praises;  for,  in  their 
hope  of  speedy  relief  through  the  prowess 
of  his  arm,  the  populace  forgot  every 
thing  but  his  bravery.  Every  bosom  in 
Malaga  was  agitated  by  hope  and  fear ; 
the  old  men,  the  women,  and  children, 
and  all  who  went  not  forth  to  battle, 
mounted  on  tower,  and  battlement,  and 
roof,  to  watch  a  combat  that  was  to  de 
cide  their  fate. 

Before  sallying  forth  from  the  city,  the 
dervise  addressed  the  troops  ;  reminding 
them  of  the  holy  nature  of  this  enterprise, 
and  warning  them  not  to  forget  the  pro 
tection  of  the  sacred  banner  by  any  un 
worthy  act.  They  were  to  press  for 
ward,  fighting  valiantly,  and  granting  no 
quarter.  The  gate  was  then  thrown 
open,  and  the  dervise  issued  forth,  fol 
lowed  by  the  army.  They  directed  their 
assault  upon  the  encampments  of  the 
Master  of  Santiago  and  the  Master  of 
Calatrava,  and  came  upon  them  so  sud 
denly,  that  they  killed  and  wounded  seve 
ral  of  the  guards.  Abrahen  Zenete  made 
his  way  into  one  of  the  tents,  where  he 
beheld  several  Christian  striplings,  just 
starting  from  their  slumber.  The  heart 
of  the  Moor  was  suddenly  touched  with 
pity  for  their  youth,  or,  perhaps,  he 


320 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


scorned  the  weakness  of  the  foe.  He 
smote  them  with  the  flat,  instead  of  the 
edge,  of  his  sword.  "  Away,  imps," 
cried  he,  "  away  to  your  mothers  !"  The 
fanatic  dervise  reproached  him  with  his 
clemency.  "  I  did  not  kill  them,"  replied 
Zenete,  "  because  I  saw  no  beards  !"* 

The  alarm  was  given  in  the  camp,  and 
the  Christians  rushed  from  all  quarters 
to  defend  the  gates  of  the  bulwarks.  Don 
Pedro  Puerto  Carrero,  senior  of  Moguer, 
and  his  brother,  Don  Alonso  Pacheco, 
planted  themselves,  with  their  followers, 
in  the  gateway  of  the  encampment  of  the 
Master  of  Santiago,  and  bore  the  whole 
brunt  of  the  battle  until  they  were  rein 
forced.  The  gate  of  the  encampment  of 
the  Master  of  Calatrava  was,  in  like 
manner,  defended  by  Lorenzo  Saurez  de 
Mendoza.  Hamet  el  Zegri  was  furious 
at  being  thus  checked,  where  he  had  ex 
pected  a  miraculous  victory.  He  led  his 
troops  repeatedly  to  the  attack,  hoping 
to  force  the  gates  before  succour  should 
arrive.  They  fought  with  vehement  ar 
dour,  but  were  as  often  repulsed ;  and 
every  time  they  returned  to  the  assault, 
they  found  their  enemies  doubled  in  num 
ber.  The  Christians  opened  a  crossfire 
of  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  their  bul 
warks  ;  the  Moors  could  effect  but  little 
damage  upon  a  foe  thus  protected  behind 
their  works,  while  they  themselves  were 
exposed  from  head  to  foot.  The  Chris 
tians  singled  out  the  most  conspicuous 
cavaliers,  the  greater  part  of  whom  were 
either  slain  or  wounded.  Still  the  Moors, 
infatuated  by  the  predictions  of  the  pro 
phet,  fought  desperately  and  devotedly ; 
and  they  were  furious  to  revenge  the 
slaughter  of  their  leaders.  They  rushed 
upon  certain  death,  endeavouring  madly 
to  scale  the  bulwarks,  or  force  the  gates  ; 
and  fell  amidst  showers  of  darts  and 
lances,  filling  the  ditches  with  their  man 
gled  bodies. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  raged  along  the  front 
of  the  bulwarks,  seeking  an  opening  for 
attack.  He  gnashed  his  teeth  with  fury, 
as  he  saw  so  many  of  his  chosen  war 
riors  slain  around  him.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  charmed  life  ;  for,  though  con 
stantly  in  the  hottest  of  the  fight,  amidst 
showers  of  missiles,  he  still  escaped  unin- 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  84. 


jured.  Blindly  confiding  in  the  prophecy 
of  victory,  he  continued  to  urge  on  his 
devoted  troops.  The  dervise,  too,  ran 
like  a  maniac  through  the  ranks,  waving 
his  white  banner,  and  inciting  the  Moors, 
by  bowlings  rather  than  by  shouts.  In 
the  midst  of  his  frenzy,  a  stone  from  a 
catapult  struck  him  on  the  head,  and 
dashed  out  his  bewildered  brains.* 

When  the  Moors  beheld  their  prophet 
slain,  and  his  banner  in  the  dust,  they 
were  seized  with  despair,  and  fled  in  con 
fusion  to  the  city.  Hamet  el  Zegri  made 
some  effort  to  rally  them,  but  was  himself 
confounded  by  the  fall  of  the  dervise. 
He  covered  the  flight  of  his  broken  forces, 
turning  repeatedly  upon  their  pursuers, 
and  slowly  making  his  retreat  into  the 
city. 

The  inhabitants  of  Malaga  witnessed 
from  their  walls,  with  trembling  anxiety, 
the  whole  of  this  disastrous  conflict.  At 
the  first  onset,  on  seeing  the  guards  of 
the  camp  put  to  flight,  they  exclaimed, 
"  Allah  has  given  us  the  victory  !"  and 
they  sent  up  shouts  of  triumph.  Their 
exultation,  however,  was  turned  into 
doubt,  when  they  beheld  their  troops  re 
pulsed  in  repeated  attacks.  They  could 
perceive,  from  time  to  time,  some  dis 
tinguished  warrior  laid  low,  and  others 
brought  back  bleeding  to  the  city.  When, 
at  length,  the  sacred  banner  fell,  and  the 
routed  troops  came  flying  to  the  gates, 
pursued  and  cut  down  by  the  foe,  horror 
and  despair  seized  upon  the  populace. 

As  Hamet  el  Zegri  entered  the  gates, 
he  was  greeted  with  loud  lamentations. 
Mothers,  whose  sons  had  been  slain, 
shrieked  curses  after  him  as  he  passed. 
Some,  in  the  anguish  of  their  hearts, 
threw  down  their  famishing  babes  before 
him,  exclaiming,  "  Trample  on  them  with 
thy  horse's  feet,  for  we  have  no  food  to 
give  them,  and  we  cannot  endure  their 
cries !"  All  heaped  execrations  on  his 
head  as  the  cause  of  the  woes  of  Malaga. 

The  warlike  part  of  the  citizens,  also, 
and  many  warriors,  who,  with  their  wives 
and  children,  had  taken  refuge  in  Malaga 
from  the  mountain  fortresses,  now  joined 
in  the  popular  clamour  ;  for  their  hearts 
were  overcome  by  the  sufferings  of  their 
families. 

*  Garibay,  lib.  xviii.  c.  33. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


321 


Hamet  el  Zegri  found  it  impossible  to 
withstand  this  torrent  of  lamentations, 
curses,  and  reproaches.  His  military 
ascendancy  was  at  an  end ;  for  most  of 
his  officers,  and  the  prime  warriors  of 
his  African  band,  had  fallen  in  this  dis 
astrous  sally.  Turning  his  back,  there 
fore,  upon  the  city,  and  abandoning  it  to 
its  own  councils,  he  retired,  with  the 
remnant  of  his  Gomeres,  to  his  stronghold 
in  the  Gibralfaro. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

How  the  city  of  Malaga  capitulated. 

THE  people  of  Malaga,  being  no  longer 
overawed  by  Hamet  el  Zegri  and  his 
Gomeres,  turned  to  Ali  Dordux,  the  mag 
nanimous  merchant,  and  put  the  fate  of 
the  city  into  his  hands.  He  had  already 
gained  the  alcaydes  of  the  castle  of  the 
Genoese  and  of  the  citadel  into  his  party ; 
and,  in  the  late  confusion,  had  gained  the 
sway  over  these  important  fortresses.  He 
now  associated  himself  with  the  alfaqui, 
Abrahen  Alhariz,  and  four  of  the  principal 
inhabitants  ;  and,  forming  a  provisional 
junta,  they  sent  heralds  to  the  Christian 
sovereigns,  offering  to  surrender  the  city 
on  certain  terms,  protecting  the  persons 
and  property  of  the  inhabitants,  per 
mitting  them  to  reside  as  Mudixares,  or 
tributary  vassals,  either  in  Malaga  or 
elsewhere. 

When  these  heralds  arrived  at  the 
camp,  and  made  known  their  mission, 
the  anger  of  Ferdinand  was  kindled. 
"  Return  to  your  fellow-citizens,"  said  he, 
"  and  tell  them,  that  the  day  of  grace  is 
gone  by.  They  have  persisted  in  a  fruit 
less  defence,  until  they  are  driven  by 
necessity  to  capitulate :  they  must  sur 
render  unconditionally,  and  abide  the  fate 
of  the  vanquished.  Those  who  merit 
death  shall  suffer  death  ;  those  who  merit 
captivity  shall  be  made  captives." 

This  stern  reply  spread  consternation 
among  the  people  of  Malaga ;  but  Ali 
Dordux  comforted  them,  and  undertook 
to  go  in  person,  and  pray  for  favourable 
terms.  When  the  people  beheld  this 
groat  merchant,  who  was  so  eminent  in 
their  city,  departing  witli  his  associates 
on  this  mission,  they  plucked  up  heart, 
vfor  they  said,  "  Surely  the  Christian  king 


will  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  such  a  man 
as  Ali  Dordux !" 

Ferdinand,  however,  would  not  even 
admit  the  ambassadors  to  his  presence. 
"  Send  them  to  the  devil,"  said  he,  in  a 
great  passion,  to  the  commander  of  Leon. 
"  I  will  not  see  them.  Let  them  get  back 
to  their  city.  They  shall  all  surrender 
to  my  mercy  as  vanquished  enemies."* 

To  give  emphasis  to  this  reply,  he 
ordered  a  general  discharge  from  all  the 
artillery  and  batteries,  and  there  was  a 
great  shout  throughout  the  camp,  and  all 
the  lombards  and  catapultas,  and  other 
engines,  thundered  furiously  upon  the 
city,  doing  great  damage. 

Ali  Dordux  and  his  companions  re 
turned  with  downcast  countenances,  and 
could  scarce  make  the  reply  of  the  Chris 
tian  sovereign  be  heard,  for  the  roaring 
of  the  artillery,  the  tumbling  of  the  walls, 
and  the  cries  of  women  and  children. 
The  citizens  were  greatly  astonished  and 
dismayed,  when  they  found  the  little 
respect  paid  to  their  most  eminent  man  ; 
but  the  warriors  who  were  in  the  city 
exclaimed,  "  What  has  this  merchant  to 
do  with  questions  between  men  of  battle  ? 
Let  us  not  address  the  enemy  as  abject 
suppliants,  who  have  no  power  to  injure; 
but  as  valiant  men  who  have  weapons  in 
their  hands." 

So  they  despatched  another  message  to 
the  Christian  sovereigns  offering  to  yield 
up  the  city,  and  all  their  effects,  on  con 
dition  of  being  secured  in  their  personal 
liberty.  Should  this  be  denied,  they  de 
clared,  that  they  would  hang  from  the 
battlements  fifteen  hundred  Christian  cap 
tives,  male  and  female  ;  that  they  would 
put  all  their  old  men,  their  women  and 
children,  into  the  citadel,  set  fire  to  the 
city,  and  sally  forth  sword  in  hand,  to 
fight  until  the  last  gasp.  "  In  this  way," 
said  they,  "  the  Spanish  sovereigns  shall 
gain  a  bloody  victory,  and  the  fall  of 
Malaga  be  renowned  while  the  world 
endures." 

Various  debates  now  took  place  in  the 
Christian  camp.  Many  of  the  cavaliers 
were  exasperated  against  Malaga  for  its 
long  resistance,  which  had  caused  the 
death  of  many  of  their  relations  and  fa 
vourite  companions.  It  had  long  been  a 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  cap.  84. 


322 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


stronghold  for  Moorish  depredators,  and 
the  mart  where  most  of  the  warriors 
captured  in  the  Axarquia  had  been  ex 
posed  in  triumph,  and  sold  to  slavery. 
|  They  represented,  moreover,  that  there 
were  many  Moorish  cities  yet  to  be  be 
sieged  ;  and  that  an  example  ought  to  be 
made  of  Malaga,  to  prevent  all  obstinate 
resistance  hereafter.  They  advised,  there 
fore,  that  all  the  inhabitants  should  be 
put  to  the  sword  !* 

The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  revolted 
at  such  sanguinary  councils.  She  in 
sisted,  that  their  triumph  should  not  be 
disgraced  by  cruelty.  Ferdinand,  how 
ever,  was  inflexible  in  refusing  to  grant 
any  preliminary  terms ;  insisting  on  an 
unconditional  surrender.  The  people  of 
Malaga  now  abandoned  themselves  to 
paroxysms  of  despair.  On  the  one  side, 
they  saw  famine  and  death ;  on  the  other, 
slavery  and  chains.  The  mere  men  of 
the  sword,  who  had  no  families  to  protect, 
were  loud  for  signalizing  their  fall  by 
some  illustrious  action.  "  Let  us  sacrifice 
our  Christian  captives,  arid  then  destroy 
ourselves  !"  cried  some.  "  Let  us  put  all 
the  women  and  children  to  death,  set  fire 
to  the  city,  fall  on  the  Christian  camp, 
and  die  sword  in  hand  !"  cried  others. 

Ali  Dordux  gradually  made  his  voice 
be  heard  amidst  the  general  clamour. 
He  addressed  himself  to  the  principal 
inhabitants,  and  to  those  who  had  children. 
"  Let  those  who  live  by  the  sword  die  by 
the  sword,"  cried  he ;  "  but  let  us  not 
follow  their  desperate  counsels.  Who 
knows  what  sparks  of  pity  may  be 
awakened  in  the  bosoms  of  the  Christian 
sovereigns,  when  they  behold  our  un 
offending  wives  and  daughters,  and  our 
helpless  little  ones  !  The  Christian  queen, 
they  say,  is  full  of  mercy." 

At  these  words  the  hearts  of  the  un 
happy  people  of  Malaga  yearned  over 
their  families ;  and  they  empowered  Ali 
Dordux  to  deliver  up  the  city  to  the 
I  mercy  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

The  merchant  now  went  to  and  fro, 
and  had  several  communications  with 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella ;  and  interested 
several  principal  cavaliers  in  his  cause. 
And  he  sent  rich  presents  to  the  king  and 
queen,  of  oriental  merchandise,  silks, 

*  Pulgar. 


j  and  stuffs  of  gold,  and  jewels,  and  pre- 
(  cious  stones,  and  spices,  and  perfumes, 
and    many   other   rare   and    sumptuous 
j  things,  which  he  had  accumulated  in  his 
great   tradings  with  the   East ;    and  he 
|  gradually  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
;  sovereigns.*      Finding    that   there   was 
I  nothing  to  be  obtained  for  the  city,  he 
now  like  a  prudent  man  and  able  mer 
chant,  began  to  negotiate  for  himself  and 
his  immediate  friends. 

He  represented,  that,  from  the  first, 
they  had  been  desirous  of  yielding  up  the 
|  city;  but  had  been  prevented  by  warlike 
and  high-handed  men,  who  had  threaten 
ed  their  lives.  He  entreated,  therefore, 
that  mercy  might  be  extended  to  them, 
and  that  they  might  not  be  confounded 
with  the  guilty. 

The  sovereigns  had  accepted  the  pre 
sents  of  Ali  Dordux :  how  could  they 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his  petition  ?  So  they 
granted  a  pardon  to  him,  and  to  forty 
families  which  he  named ;  and  it  was 
agreed,  that  they  should  be  protected  in 
their  lives  and  property,  and  permitted 
to  reside  in  Malaga  as  Mudixares  or 
Moslem  vassals  ;  and  to  follow  their  cus 
tomary  pursuits.f  All  this  being  arranged, 
Ali  Dordux  delivered  up  twenty  of  the 
principal  inhabitants,  to  remain  as  hos 
tages  until  the  whole  city  should  be  placed 
in  the  possession  of  the  Christians. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  com 
mander  of  Leon,  now  entered  the  city, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  on  horseback,  and  took 
possession,  in  the  name  of  the  Castilian 
sovereigns.  He  was  followed  by  his 
retainers,  and  by  the  captains  and  cava 
liers  of  the  army  ;  and  in  a  little  while  the 
standards  of  the  cross,  and  of  the  blessed 
Santiago,  and  of  the  catholic  sovereigns, 
were  elevated  on  the  principal  tower  of 
the  alcazaba.  When  these  standards 
were  beheld  from  the  camp,  the  queen, 
and  the  princes,  and  the  ladies  of  the 
court,  and  all  the  royal  retinue,  knelt 
down,  and  gave  thanks  and  praises  to  the 
holy  Virgin,  and  to  Santiago,  for  this 
great  triumph  of  the  faith;  and  the  bishops 
and  other  clergy  who  were  present,  and 
the  choristers  of  the  royal  chapel,  chanted 
Te  Deum  laudamus,  and  Gloria  in  ex- 
celsis. 

*  MS.  Chron.  ofValera. 
t  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


323 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

Fulfilment  of  the  prophecy  of  the  dervise.    Fate  of 
Hainct  el  Zegri. 

No  sooner  was  the  city  delivered  up, 
than  the  wretched  inhabitants  implored 
permission  to  purchase  bread  for  them 
selves  and  their  children,  from  the  heaps 
of  grain,  which  they  had  so  often  gazed 
at  wistfully  from  their  walls.  Their 
prayer  was  granted;  and  they  issued 
forth,  with  the  famished  eagerness  of 
starving  men.  It  was  piteous  to  behold 
the  struggles  of  these  unhappy  people, 
as  they  contended  who  first  should  have 
their  necessities  relieved. 

"  Thus,"  says  the  pious  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  thus  are  the  predictions  of 
false  prophets  sometimes  permitted  to  be 
verified  ;  but  always  to  the  confusion  of 
those  who  trust  in  them ;  for  the  words  of 
the  Moorish  necromancer  came  to  pass, 
that  they  should  eat  of  those  heaps  of 
bread :  but  they  ate  of  them  in  humilia 
tion  and  defeat,  and  with  sorrow  and 
bitterness  of  heart." 

Dark  and  fierce  were  the  feelings  of 
Hamet  el  Zegri,  as  he  looked  down  from 
the  castle  of  Gibralfaro,  and  beheld  the 
Christian  legions  pouring  into  the  city, 
and  the  standard  of  the  cross  supplanting 
the  crescent  on  the  citadel.  "  The  people 
of  Malaga,"  said  he,  "  have  trusted  to  a 
man  of  trade,  and  he  has  trafficked  them 
away  ;  but  let  us  not  suffer  ourselves  to 
be  bound,  hand  and  foot,  and  delivered 
up  as  part  of  his  bargain.  We  have  yet 
strong  walls  around  us,  and  trusty  wea 
pons  in  our  hands.  Let  us  fight  until 
buried  beneath  the  last  tumbling  tower 
of  Gibralfaro;  or,  rushing  down  from 
among  its  ruins,  carry  havoc  among  the 
unbelievers,  as  they  throng  the  streets  of 
Malaga !" 

The  fierceness  of  the  Gomeres,  how 
ever,  was  broken.  They  could  have 
died  in  the  breach,  had  their  castle  been 
assailed ;  but  the  slow  advances  of  famine 
subdued  their  strength  without  rousing 
their  passions,  and  sapped  the  force  both 
of  soul  and  body.  They  were  almost 
unanimous  for  a  surrender. 

It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  the  proud 
spirit  of  Hamet  to  bow  itself  to  ask  for 


terms.  Still  he  trusted,  that  the  valour 
of  his  defence  would  gain  him  respect  in 
the  eyes  of  a  chivalrous  foe.  "  Ali," 
said  he,  "  has  negotiated  like  a  merchant : 
I  will  capitulate  as  a  soldier."  He  sent 
a  herald,  therefore,  to  Ferdinand,  offering 
to  yield  up  his  castle,  but  demanding  a 
separate  treaty.  The  Castilian  sove 
reign  sent  a  laconic  and  stern  reply :  "  He 
shall  receive  no  terms,  but  such  as  have 
been  granted  to  the  community  of  Ma- 
laga." 

For  two  days  Hamet  el  Zegri  re 
mained  brooding  in  his  castle,  after  the 
city  was  in  possession  of  the  Christians. 
At  length,  the  clamours  of  his  followers 
compelled  him  to  surrender.  When  the 
broken  remnant  of  this  fierce  African 
garrison  descended  from  their  cragged 
fortress,  they  were  so  worn  by  watchful 
ness,  famine  and  battle,  yet  carried  such 
a  lurking  fury  in  their  eyes,  that  they 
looked  more  like  fiends  than  men.  They 
were  all  condemned  to  slavery,  excepting 
Abrahen  Zenete.  The  instance  of  cle 
mency  which  he  had  shown  in  refraining 
to  harm  the  Spanish  striplings  on  the 
last  sally  from  Malaga,  won  him  favour 
able  terms.  It  was  cited  as  a  magnani 
mous  act  by  the  Spanish  cavaliers ;  and 
all  admitted,  that,  though  a  Moor  in  blood, 
he  possessed  the  Christian  heart  of  a  Cas 
tilian  hidalgo.* 

As  to  Hamet  el  Zegri,  on  being  asked, 
what  moved  him  to  such  hardened  obsti 
nacy,  he  replied, "  When  I  undertook  my 
command,  I  pledged  myself  to  fight  in 
defence  of  my  faith,  my  city,  and  my 
sovereign,  until  slain  or  made  prisoner ; 
and  depend  upon  it,  had  I  had  men  to 
stand  by  me,  I  should  have  died  fight 
ing,  instead  of  thus  tamely  surrendering 
myself,  without  a  weapon  in  my  hand." 

"  Such,"  says  the  pious  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  were  the  diabolical  hatred, 
and  stiffnecked  opposition,  of  this  infidel 
to  our  holy  cause.  But  he  was  justly 
served  by  our  most  catholic  and  high- 
minded  sovereign,  for  his  pertinacious 
defence  of  the  city  ;  for  Ferdinand  order 
ed,  that  he  should  be  loaded  with  chains, 
and  thrown  into  a  dungeon."f 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacioa,  c.  84. 
t  Pulgar,  Cronica. 


324 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took  possession  of 
the  city  of  Malaga,  and  how  King  Ferdinand 
signalized  himself  by  his  skill  in  bargaining  with 
the  inhabitants  for  their  ransom. 

ONE  of  the  first  cares  of  the  con 
querors,  on  entering  Malaga,  was  to 
search  for  Christian  captives.  Nearly 
sixteen  hundred,  men  and  women,  were 
found,  and  among  them  were  persons  of 
distinction.  Some  of  them  had  been  ten, 
fifteen,  and  twenty  years  in  captivity. 
Many  had  been  servants  to  the  Moors,  or 
labourers  on  public  works,  and  some  had 
passed  their  time  in  chains  and  dungeons. 
Preparations  were  made  to  celebrate  their 
deliverance  as  a  Christian  triumph.  A 
tent  was  erected,  not  far  from  the  city,  and 
furnished  with  an  altar,  and  all  the  solemn 
decorations  of  a  chapel.  Here  the  king 
and  queen  waited  to  receive  the  Christian 
captives.  They  were  assembled  in  the 
city,  and  marshalled  forth  in  piteous  pro 
cession.  Many  of  them  had  still  the  chains 
and  shackles  on  their  legs.  They  were 
wasted  with  famine,  their  hair  and  beards 
overgrown  and  matted,  and  their  faces 
pale  and  haggard  from  long  confinement. 
When  they  beheld  themselves  restored  to 
liberty  and  surrounded  by  their  country 
men,  some  stared  wildly  about,  as  if  in  a 
dream,  others  gave  way  to  frantic  tran 
sports,  but  most  of  them  wept  for  joy. 
All  present  were  moved  to  tears  by  so 
touching  a  spectacle.  When  the  proces 
sion  arrived  at  what  is  called  the  Gate  of 
Granada,  it  was  met  by  a  great  concourse 
from  the  camp,  with  crosses  and  pennons, 
who  turned  and  followed  the  captives, 
singing  hymns  of  praise  and  thanksgiving. 
When  they  came  in  presence  of  the  king 
and  queen,  they  threw  themselves  on 
their  knees,  and  would  have  kissed  their 
feet,  as  their  saviours  and  deliverers  ;  but 
the  sovereigns  prevented  such  humilia 
tion,  and  graciously  extended  to  them  their 
hands.  They  then  prostrated  themselves 
before  the  altar,  and  all  present  joined 
them  in  giving  thanks  to  God  for  their 
liberation  from  this  cruel  bondage.  By 
orders  of  the  king  and  queen,  their  chains 
were  then  taken  off,  and  they  were  clad  in 
decent  raiment,  and  food  was  set  before 
them.  After  they  had  ate  and  drank, 
and  were  refreshed  and  invigorated,  they 
were  provided  with  money,  and  all  things 


necessary  for  their  journey,  and  sent  joy 
fully  to  their  homes. 

While  the  old  chroniclers  dwell  with 
becoming  enthusiasm  on  this  pure  and 
affecting  triumph  of  humanity,  they  go 
on,  in  a  strain  of  equal  eulogy,  to  de 
scribe  a  spectacle  of  a  different  nature. 
It  so  happened,  that  there  were  found  in 
the  city  twelve  of  those  renegado  Chris- 
tains,  who  had  deserted  to  the  Moors,  and 
conveyed  false  intelligence  during  the 
siege.  A  barbarous  species  of  punishment 
was  inflicted  upon  them,  borrowed,  it  is 
said,  from  the  Moors,  and  peculiar  to 
these  wars.  They  were  tied  to  stakes, 
in  a  public  place,  and  horsemen  exercised 
their  skill  in  transpiercing  them  with 
pointed  reeds,  hurled  at  them  while  ca 
reering  at  full  speed,  until  the  miserable 
victims  expired  beneath  their  wounds. 
Several  apostate  Moors,  also,  who,  having 
embraced  Christianity,  had  afterwards 
relapsed  into  their  early  faith,  and  had 
taken  refuge  in  Malaga  from  the  ven 
geance  of  the  Inquisition,  were  publicly 
burnt.  "  These,"  says  an  old  Jesuit  his 
torian,  exultingly,  "  these  were  the  tilts  of 
reeds,  and  the  illuminations  most  pleasing 
for  this  victorious  festival,  and  for  the 
catholic  piety  of  our  sovereigns  !"* 

When  the  city  was  cleansed  from  the 
impurities  and  offensive  odours  which 
had  collected  during  the  siege,  the 
bishops,  and  other  clergy  who  accompa 
nied  the  court,  and  the  choir  of  the  royal 
chapel,  walked  in  procession  to  the  prin 
cipal  mosque,  which  was  consecrated, 
and  entitled  Santa  Maria  de  la  Incarna- 
cion.  This  done,  the  king  and  queen 
entered  the  city,  accompanied  by  the 
Grand  Cardinal  of  Spain,  and  the  princi 
pal  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  the  army,  and 
heard  a  solemn  mass.  The  church  was 
then  elevated  into  a  cathedral,  and  Ma 
laga  was  made  a  bishopric,  and  many  of 
the  neighbouring  towns  were  compre 
hended  in  its  diocese.  The  queen  took 
up  her  residence  in  the  alcazaba,  in  the 
apartments  of  her  valiant  treasurer  Ruy 
Lopez,  whence  she  had  a  view  of  the 
whole  city ;  but  the  king  established  his 

*  Los  renegados  fueron  acanavareados,  y  los 
conversos  quemados  :  y  estas  fueron  las  canas  y 
luminarias  mas  alegres  por  la  fiesta  de  la  victoria, 
para  la  piedad  catholica  de  nuestros  reyes.  Abarca, 
Anales  de  Aragon,  torn.  ii.  rey  30,  c.  3. 


£1= 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


325 


quarters  in  the  warrior  castle  of  Gibral- 
faro. 

And  now  came  to  be  considered  the 
'disposition  of  the  Moorish  prisoners.  All 
those  who  were  strangers  in  the  cjty, 
and  had  either  taken  refuge  there,  or  had 
entered  to  defend  it,  were  at  once  consi 
dered  slaves.  They  were  divided  into 
three  lots.  One  was  set  apart  for  the 
service  of  God,  in  redeeming  captives 
from  bondage,  either  in  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  or  in  Africa ;  the  second  lot 
was  divided  among  those  who  had  aided, 
either  in  field  or  cabinet,  in  the  present 
siege,  according  to  their  rank ;  the  third 
was  appropriated  to  defray,  by  their 
sale,  the  great  expenses  incurred  in  the 
reduction  of  the  place.  A  hundred  of 
the  Gomeres  were  sent  as  presents  to 
Pope  Innocent  VIII.,  and  were  led  in 
triumph  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 
and  afterwards  converted  to  Christianity. 
Fifty  Moorish  maidens  were  sent  to  the 
Queen  Joanna  of  Naples,  sister  to  King 
Ferdinand,  and  thirty  to  the  Queen  of 
Portugal.  Isabella  made  presents  of 
others  to  the  ladies  of  her  household, 
and  of  the  noble  families  of  Spain. 

Among  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  were 
four  hundred  and  fifty  Moorish  Jews,  for 
the  most  part  women,  speaking  the  Arabic 
language,  and  dressed  in  the  Moorish 
fashion.  These  were  ransomed  by  a 
wealthy  Jew  of  Castile,  farmer-general 
of  the  royal  revenues  derived  from  the 
Jews  of  Spain.  He  agreed  to  make  up, 
within  a  certain  time,  the  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  doblas  or  pistoles  of  gold  ;  all 
money  and  jewels  of  the  captives  being 
taken  in  payment.  They  were  sent  to 
Castile  in  two  armed  galleys. 

As  to  the  great  mass  of  Moorish  inha 
bitants,  they  implored  that  they  might 
not  be  scattered  and  sold  into  captivity, 
but  might  be  permitted  to  ransom  them 
selves  by  an  amount  paid  within  a  certain 
time.  Upon  this  King  Ferdinand  took 
the  advice  of  certain  of  his  ablest  coun 
sellors.  They  said  to  him,  if  you  hold 
out  a  prospect  of  hopeless  captivity,  the 
infidels  will  throw  all  their  gold  and 
jewels  into  the  wells  and  pits,  and  you 
will  lose  the  greater  part  of  the  spoil ;  but 
if  you  fix  a  general  rate  of  ransom,  and 
receive  their  money  and  jewels  in  pay 
ment,  nothing  will  be  destroyed.  The 

VOL.  ii.  28 


king  relished  greatly  this  advice ;  and  it 
was  arranged,  that  all  the  inhabitants 
should  be  ransomed  at  the  general  rate 
of  thirty  doblas  or  pistoles  in  gold  for 
each  individual,  male  or  female,  large  or 
small ;  that  all  their  gold,  jewels,  and 
other  valuables,  should  be  received  im 
mediately,  in  part  payment  of  the  general 
amount ;  and  that  the  residue  should  be 
paid  within  eight  months  ;  that,  if  any  of 
the  number  actually  living  should  die  in 
the  interim,  their  ransom  should  never 
theless  be  claimed.  If,  however,  the 
whole  of  the  amount  were  not  discharged 
at  the  expiration  of  the  eight  months, 
they  should  all  be  considered  and  treated 
as  slaves. 

The  unfortunate  Moors  were  eager  to 
catch  at  the  least  hope  of  future  liberty, 
and  consented  to  these  hard  conditions. 
The  most  rigorous  precautions  were  taken 
to  exact  them  to  the  uttermost.  The 
inhabitants  were  numbered  by  houses 
and  families,  and  their  names  taken  down. 
Their  most  precious  effects  were  made 
up  into  parcels,  and  sealed  and  inscribed 
with  their  names ;  and  they  were  ordered 
to  repair  with  them  to  certain  large  cor- 
rales  or  enclosures,  adjoining  the  alca- 
zaba,  which  were  surrounded  by  high 
walls,  and  overlooked  by  watchtowers ; 
to  which  places  the  cavalgadas  of  Chris 
tian  captives  had  usually  been  driven,  to 
be  confined  until  the  time  of  sale,  like 
cattle  in  a  market.  The  Moors  were 
obliged  to  leave  their  houses,  one  by  one  : 
all  their  money,  necklaces,  bracelets  and 
anklets  of  gold,  pearl,  coral,  and  precious 
stones,  were  taken  from  them  at  the 
threshold,  and  their  persons  so  rigor 
ously  searched,  that  they  carried  off 
nothing  concealed. 

Then  might  be  seen  old  men,  and  help 
less  women,  and  tender  maidens,  some  of 
high  birth  and  gentle  condition,  passing 
through  the  streets,  heavily  burdened, 
towards  the  alcazaba.  As  they  left  their 
homes,  they  smote  their  breasts,  and 
wrung  their  hands,  and  raised  their 
weeping  eyes  to  Heaven  in  anguish ; 
and  this  is  recorded  as  their  plaint  : 
"  Oh,  Malaga  !  city  renowned  and  beauti 
ful  !  where  now  is  the  strength  of  thy  cas 
tles  !  where  the  grandeur  of  thy  towers  ! 
of  what  avail  have  been  thy  mighty 
walls  for  the  protection  of  thy  children  ! 


326 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Behold  them  driven  from  thy  pleasant 
abodes,  doomed  to  drag  out  a  life  of 
bondage  in  a  foreign  land,  and  to  die  far 
from  the  home  of  their  infancy  !  What 
will  become  of  thy  old  men  and  matrons 
when  their  gray  hairs  shall  be  no  longer 
reverenced !  what  will  become  of  thy 
maidens,  so  delicately  reared,  and  ten 
derly  cherished,  when  reduced  to  hard 
and  menial  servitude  !  Behold,  thy  once 
happy  families  are  scattered  asunder, 
never  again  to  be  united  !  Sons  are  se 
parated  from  their  fathers,  husbands  from 
their  wives,  and  tender  children  from  their 
mothers.  They  will  bewail  each  other 
in  foreign  lands  ;  but  their  lamentations 
will  be  the  scoff  of  the  stranger.  Oh, 
Malaga  !  city  of  our  birth  !  who  can  be 
hold  thy  desolation,  and  not  shed  tears 
of  bitterness  !"* 

When  Malaga  was  completely  secured, 
a  detachment  was  sent  against  two  for 
tresses  near  the  sea,  called  Mexas  and 
Osuna ;  which  had  frequently  harassed 
the  Christian  camp.  The  inhabitants 
were  threatened  with  the  sword,  unless 
they  instantly  surrendered.  They  claim 
ed  the  same  terms  that  had  been  granted 
to  Malaga ;  imagining  them  to  be,  free 
dom  of  person,  and  security  of  property. 
Their  claim  was  granted.  They  were 
transported  to  Malaga  with  all  their 
riches ;  and,  on  arriving  there,  were 
overwhelmed  with  consternation  at  find 
ing  themselves  captives.  "  Ferdinand," 
observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  was  a 
man  of  his  word  :  they  were  shut  up  in 
the  alcazaba,  with  the  people  of  Malaga, 
and  shared  their  fate." 

The  unhappy  captives  remained  thus 
crowded  in  the  court-yards  of  the  alca 
zaba,  like  sheep  in  a  fold,  until  they 
could  be  sent  by  sea  and  land  to  Seville. 
They  were  then  distributed  about  in  city 
and  country,  each  Christian  family  hav 
ing  one  or  more  to  feed  and  maintain  as 
a  servant,  until  the  term  fixed  for  the 
payment  of  the  residue  of  the  ransom 
should  expire.  The  captives  had  obtain 
ed  permission,  that  several  of  their  num 
ber  should  go  about  among  the  Moorish 
towns  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  col 
lecting  contributions  to  aid  in  the  pur 
chase  of  their  liberties ;  but  these  towns 

*  Pulgar. 


were  too  much  impoverished  by  the  war, 
and  engrossed  by  their  own  distresses,  to 
lend  a  listening  ear.  So  the  time  expired, 
without  the  residue  of  the  ransom  being 
paid  ;  and  all  the  captives  of  Malaga,  to 
the  number,  as  some  say,  of  eleven,  and 
others,  to  fifteen  thousand,  became  slaves ! 
"  Never,"  exclaims  the  worthy  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida,  in  one  of  his  usual  bursts 
of  zeal  and  loyalty,  "  never  has  there 
been  recorded  a  more  adroit  and  saga 
cious  arrangement  than  this  made  by  the 
catholic  monarch,  by  which  he  not  only 
secured  all  the  property,  and  half  of  the 
ransom,  of  these  infidels,  but  finally  got 
possession  of  their  persons  into  the  bar 
gain.  This  truly  may  be  considered  one 
of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the  pious  and 
politic  Ferdinand,  and  as  raising  him 
above  the  generality  of  conquerors,  who 
have  merely  the  valour  to  gain  victories, 
but  lack  the  prudence  and  management 
necessary  to  turn  them  to  account." 

CHAPTER  LXVII. 

How  King  Ferdinand  prepared  to  carry  the  war 
into  a  different  part  of  the  territories  of  the 
Moors. 

THE  western  part  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada  had  now  been  conquered  by 
the  Christian  arms.  The  seaport  of  Ma 
laga  was  captured  ;  the  fierce  and  war 
like  inhabitants  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda, 
and  the  other  mountain-holds  of  the  fron 
tier,  were  all  disarmed,  and  reduced  to 
peaceful  and  laborious  vassalage.  Their 
haughty  fortresses,  which  had  so  long 
overawed  the  valleys  of  Andalusia,  now 
displayed  the  standard  of  Castile  and 
Aragon  ;  the  watchtowers,  which  crown 
ed  every  height,  and  from  which  the 
infidels  had  kept  a  vulture  eye  on  the 
Christian  territories,  were  now  either 
dismantled,  or  garrisoned  with  catholic 
troops.  "  What  signalized  and  sanctified 
this  great  triumph,"  adds  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  were  the  em 
blems  of  ecclesiastical  domination  which 
every  where  appeared.  In  every  direc 
tion  arose  stately  convents  and  monaste 
ries,  those  fortresses  of  the  faith,  garrison 
ed  by  its  spiritual  soldiery  of  monks  and 
friars.  The  sacred  melody  of  Christian 
bells  was  again  heard  among  the  moun 
tains,  calling  to  early  matins,  or  sound- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


327 


ing  the  angelus  at  the  solemn  hour  of 
evening." 

While  this  part  of  the  kingdom  was 
thus  reduced  hy  the  Christian  sword,  the 
central  part,  round  the  city  of  Granada, 
forming  the  heart  of  the  Moorish  territory, 
was  held  in  vassalage  of  the  Castilian 
monarch,  by  Boabdil,  surnamed  El  Chico. 

That  unfortunate  prince  lost  no  occa 
sion,  by  acts  of  homage,  and  by  profes 
sions  that  must  have  been  foreign  to  his 
heart,  to  propitiate  the  conquerors  of  his 
country.  No  sooner  had  he  heard  of  the 
capture  of  Malaga,  than  he  sent  congra 
tulations  to  the  Catholic  sovereigns,  ac 
companied  with  presents  of  horses,  richly 
caparisoned,  for  the  king ;  and  precious 
cloth  of  gold,  and  oriental  perfumes,  for 
the  queen.  His  congratulations,  and 
his  presents,  were  received  with  the  ut 
most  graciousness  ;  and  the  shortsighted 
prince,  lulled  by  the  temporary  and  poli 
tic  forbearance  of  Ferdinand,  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  securing  the  lasting 
friendship  of  that  monarch. 

The  policy  of  Boabdil  had  its  transient 
and  superficial  advantages.  The  portion 
of  Moorish  territory  under  his  immediate 
sway  had  a  respite  from  the  calamities 
of  war.  The  husbandmen  cultivated 
their  luxuriant  fields  in  security,  and  the 
vega  of  Granada  once  more  blossomed 
like  the  rose.  The  merchants  again  car 
ried  on  a  gainful  traffic,  and  the  gates  of 
the  city  were  thronged  with  beasts  of 
burden,  bringing  the  rich  products  of 
every  clime.  Yet,  while  the  people  of 
Granada  rejoiced  in  their  teeming  fields 
and  crowded  marts,  they  secretly  despised 
the  policy  which  had  procured  them  these 
advantages,  and  held  Boabdil  for  little 
better  than  an  apostate  and  an  unbe 
liever. 

Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  was  now  the 
hope  of  the  unconquered  part  of  the  king 
dom  ;  and  every  Moor,  whose  spirit  was 
not  quite  subdued  with  his  fortunes, 
lauded  the  valour  of  the  old  monarch, 
and  his  fidelity  to  the  faith,  and  wished 
success  to  his  standard. 

El  Zagal,  though  he  no  longer  sat 
enthroned  in  the  Alhambra,  yet  reigned 
over  more  considerable  domains  than  his 
nephew.  His  territories  extended  from 
the  frontier  of  Jaen,  along  the  borders  of 
Murcia,  to  the  Mediterranean,  and  reach 


ed  into  the  centre  of  the  kingdom.  On 
the  northeast  he  held  the  cities  of  Baza 
and  Guadix,  situate  in  the  midst  of  fertile 
regions.  He  had  the  important  seaport 
of  Almeria,  also,  which  at  one  time  ri 
valled  Granada  itself  in  wealth  and  po 
pulation.  Besides  these,  his  territories 
included  a  great  part  of  the  Alpuxarra 
mountains,  which  extend  across  the  king 
dom,  and  shoot  out  branches  towards  the 
sea-coast.  This  mountainous  region  was 
a  stronghold  of  wealth  and  power.  Its 
stern  and  rocky  heights,  rising  to  the 
clouds,  seemed  to  set  invasion  at  defi 
ance  ;  yet  within  their  rugged  embraces 
were  sheltered  delightful  valleys,  of  the 
happiest  temperature  and  richest  fertility. 
The  cool  springs,  and  limpid  rills,  which 
gushed  out  in  all  parts  of  the  mountains, 
and  the  abundant  streams,  which,  for  a 
great  part  of  the  year,  were  supplied  by 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  spread  a  perpetual 
verdure  over  the  skirts  and  slopes  of  the 
hills,  and,  collecting  in  silver  rivers  in 
the  valleys,  wound  along  among  planta 
tions  of  mulberry  trees,  and  groves  of 
oranges  and  citrons,  of  almonds,  figs, 
and  pomegranates.  Here  was  produced 
the  finest  silk  of  Spain,  which  gave  em 
ployment  to  thousands  of  manufacturers. 
The  sunburnt  sides  of  the  hills,  also, 
were  covered  with  vineyards.  The  abun 
dant  herbage  of  the  mountain  ravines, 
and  the  rich  pasturage  of  the  valleys, 
fed  vast  flocks  and  herds  ;  and  even  the 
arid  and  rocky  bosoms  of  the  heights 
teemed  with  wealth,  from  the  mines  of 
various  metals  with  which  they  were 
impregnated.  In  a  word,  the  Alpuxarra 
mountains  had  ever  been  the  great  source 
of  revenue  to  the  monarchs  of  Granada. 
The  inhabitants,  also,  were  hardy  and 
warlike ;  and  a  sudden  summons  from 
the  Moorish  king  could  at  any  time  call 
forth  fifty  thousand  fighting  men  from 
their  rocky  fortresses. 

Such  was  the  rich,  but  rugged,  frag 
ment  of  an  empire,  which  remained  under 
the  sway  of  the  old  warrior  monarch, 
El  Zagal.  The  mountain  barriers  by 
which  it  was  locked  up  had  protected  it 
from  most  of  the  ravages  of  war,  and  El 
Zagal  prepared  himself,  by  strengthening 
every  fortress,  to  battle  fiercely  for  its 
maintenance. 

The  catholic  sovereigns  saw,  that  fresh 


328 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


troubles  and  toils  awaited  them.  The 
war  had  to  be  carried  into  a  new  quarter, 
demanding  immense  expenditures ;  and 
new  ways  and  means  must  be  devised, 
to  replenish  their  exhausted  coffers. 
"As  this  was  a  holy  war,  however," 
says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  and  pe 
culiarly  redounded  to  the  prosperity  of 
the  church,  the  clergy  were  full  of  zeal, 
and  contributed  vast  sums  of  money  and 
large  bodies  of  troops.  A  pious  fund 
was  also  produced  from  the  first-fruits  of 
that  glorious  institution,  the  Inquisition. 

"  It  so  happened,  that,  about  this  time, 
there  were  many  families  of  wealth  and 
dignity  in  the  kingdoms  of  Aragon  and 
Valencia,  and  the  principality  of  Cata 
lonia,  whose  forefathers  had  been  Jews, 
but  had  been  converted  to  Christianity. 
Notwithstanding  the  outward  piety  of 
these  families,  it  was  surmised,  and  soon 
came  to  be  strongly  suspected,  that  many 
of  them  had  a  secret  hankering  after 
Judaism  ;  and  it  was  even  whispered,  that 
some  of  them  practised  Jewish  rites  in 
private. 

"The  catholic  monarch,"  continues 
Agapida,  "  had  a  righteous  abhorrence 
of  all  kinds  of  heresy,  and  a  fervent  zeal 
for  the  faith.  He  ordered,  therefore,  a 
strict  investigation  of  the  conduct  of  these 
pseudo-Christians.  Inquisitors  were  sent 
into  these  provinces  for  the  purpose,  who 
proceeded  with  their  accustomed  zeal. 
The  consequence  was  that  many  families 
were  convicted  of  apostacy  from  the 
Christian  faith,  and  of  the  private  practice 
of  Judaism.  Some,  who  had  grace  and 
policy  sufficient  to  reform  in  time,  were 
again  received  into  the  Christian  fold, 
after  being  severely  mulcted,  and  con 
demned  to  heavy  penance  ;  others  were 
burnt  at  auto  da  fes,  for  the  edification 
of  the  public;  and  their  property  was 
confiscated  for  the  good  of  the  state. 

"As  these  Hebrews  were  of  great 
wealth,  and  had  an  hereditary  passion 
for  jewelry,  there  was  found  abundant 
store  in  their  possession  of  gold  and 
silver,  of  rings,  and  necklaces,  and  strings 
of  pearl,  and  coral,  and  precious  stones : 
treasures  easy  of  transportation,  and 
wonderfully  adapted  for  the  emergencies 
of  war.  In  this  way,"  concludes  the 
pious  Agapida.  "  these  backsliders,  by 
the  all-seeing  contrivances  of  Providence, 


were  made  to  serve  the  righteous  cause 
which  they  had  so  treacherously  deserted ; . 
and  their  apostate  wealth  was  sanctified 
by  being  devoted  to  the  service  of  Heaven 
and  the  crown,  in  this  holy  crusade 
against  the  infidels." 

It  must  be  added,  however,  that  these 
pious  financial  expedients  received  some 
check  from  the  interference  of  Queen 
Isabella.  Her  penetrating  eyes  disco 
vered,  that  many  enormities  had  been 
committed  under  colour  of  religious  zeal, 
and  many  innocent  persons  accused  by 
false  witnesses  of  apostacy,  either  through 
malice,  or  a  hope  ot  obtaining  their 
wealth.  She  caused  strict  investigation, 
therefore,  into  the  proceedings  which 
had  been  held ;  many  of  which  were  re 
versed,  and  suborners  punished  in  pro 
portion  to  their  guilt.* 

CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

How  King  Ferdinand  invaded  the  eastern  side  of 
the  kingdom  of  Granada;  and  how  he  was  re 
ceived  by  El  Zagal. 

"  MULEY  ABDALLA  EL  ZAGAL,"  says 
the  venerable  Jesuit  father,  Pedro  Abarca, 
"  was  the  most  venomous  Mahometan  in 
all  Morisma  ;"  and  the  worthy  Fray  An 
tonio  Agapida  most  devoutly  echoes  his 
opinion.  "  Certainly,"  adds  the  latter, 
"  none  ever  opposed  a  more  heathenish 
and  diabolical  obstinacy  to  the  holy  in 
roads  of  the  cross  and  sword." 

El  Zagal  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to 
do  something  to  quicken  his  popularity 
with  the  people  ;  and  that  nothing  was 
more  effectual  than  a  successful  inroad. 
The  Moors  loved  the  stirring  call  to  arms, 
and  a  wild  foray  among  the  mountains ; 
and  delighted  more  in  a  hasty  spoil, 
wrested  with  hard  fighting  from  the  Chris 
tians,  than  in  all  the  steady  and  certain 
gains  secured  by  peaceful  traffic. 

There  reigned  at  this  time  a  careless 
security  along  the  frontier  of  Jaen.  The 
alcaydes  of  the  Christian  fortresses  were 
confident  of  the  friendship  of  Boabdil  el 
Chico;  and  they  fancied  his  uncle  too 
distant,  and  too  much  engrossed  by  his 
own  perplexities,  to  think  of  molesting 
them.  On  a  sudden,  El  Zagal  issued  out 
of  Guadix  with  a  chosen  band,  passed 

*  Pulgar,  part,  iii,  cap.  100. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


329 


rapidly  through  the  mountains  which 
extend  behind  Granada,  and  fell,  like  a 
thunderbolt,  upon  the  territories  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Alcala  la  Real. 

Before  the  alarm  could  be  spread,  and 
the  frontier  roused,  he  had  made  a  wide 
career  of  destruction  through  the  country ; 
sacking  and  burning  villages,  sweeping 
off  flocks  and  herds,  and  carrying  away 
captives.  The  warriors  of  the  frontier 
assembled ;  but  El  Zagal  was  already 
far  on  his  return  through  the  mountains  ; 
and  he  re-entered  the  gates  of  Guadix  in 
triumph,  his  army  laden  with  Christian 
spoil,  and  conducting  an  immense  caval- 
gada.  Such  was  one  of  the  fierce  El 
Zagal's  preparations  for  the  expected 
invasion  of  the  Christian  king :  exciting 
the  warlike  spirit  of  his  people,  and  gain 
ing  for  himself  a  transient  popularity. 

King  Ferdinand  assembled  his  army  at 
Murcia  in  the  spring  of  1488.  He  left 
that  city  on  the  fifth  of  June,  with  a  fly 
ing  camp  of  four  thousand  horse,  and 
fourteen  thousand  foot.  The  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  led  the  van,  followed  by  the 
adelantado  of  Murcia.  The  army  en 
tered  the  Moorish  frontier  by  the  sea- 
coast,  spreading  terror  through  the  land  ; 
wherever  it  appeared,  the  towns  surren 
dered  without  a  blow,  so  great  was  the 
dread  of  experiencing  the  woes  which 
had  desolated  the  opposite  frontier.  In 
this  way  Vera,  Velez  el  Rubico,  Velez 
el  Blanco,  and  many  towns  of  inferior 
note,  to  the  number  of  sixty,  yielded  at 
the  first  summons. 

It  was  not  until  it  approached  Almeria, 
that  the  army  met  with  resistance.  This 
important  city  was  commanded  by  the 
Prince  Zelim,  a  relation  of  El  Zagal.  He 
led  forth  his  Moors  bravely  to  the  en 
counter,  and  skirmished  fiercely  with  the 
advance  guard  in  the  gardens  near  the 
city.  King  Ferdinand  came  up  with  the 
main  body  of  the  army,  and  called  off 
his  troops  from  the  skirmish.  He  saw, 
that  to  attack  the  place  with  his  present 
force  was  fruitless :  having  reconnoitred 
the  city  and  its  environs,  therefore, 
against  a  future  campaign,  he  retired 
with  his  army  and  marched  towards 
Baza. 

The  old  warrior,  El  Zagal,  was  him 
self  drawn  up  in  the  city  of  Baza,  with 
a  powerful  garrison.  He  felt  confidence 


in  the  strength  of  the  place,  and  rejoiced 
when  he  heard  that  the  Christian  king 
was  approaching. 

In  the  valley  in  front  of  Baza  there 
extended  a  great  tract  of  gardens,  like  a 
continued  grove,  and  intersected  by 
canals  and  water-courses.  In  this  he 
stationed  a  powerful  ambuscade  of  ar- 
quebusiers,  and  crossbow-men.  The  van 
guard  of  the  Christian  army  came 
marching  gaily  up  the  valley,  with  great 
sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  led  on 
by  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  and  the  adelan- 
tado  of  Murcia.  As  they  drew  near, 
El  Zagal  sallied  forth  with  horse  and 
foot,  and  attacked  them,  for  a  time,  with 
great  spirit.  Gradually  falling  back,  as 
if  pressed  by  their  superior  valour,  he 
drew  the  exulting  Christians  among  the 
gardens.  Suddenly  the  Moors  in  ambus 
cade  burst  from  their  concealment,  and 
opened  such  a  terrible  fire  in  flank  and 
rear,  that  many  of  the  Christians  were 
slain,  and  the  rest  thrown  into  confusion. 
King  Ferdinand  arrived  in  time  to  see 
the  disastrous  situation  of  his  troops, 
and  gave  signal  to  the  vanguard  to  retire. 

El  Zagal  did  not  permit  the  foe  to 
draw  off  unmolested.  Ordering  out  fresh 
squadrons,  he  fell  upon  the  rear  of  the 
retreating  troops  with  loud  and  tri 
umphant  shouts,  driving  them  before  him 
with  dreadful  havoc.  The  old  war-cry 
of  «  El  Zagal !  El  Zagal !"  was  again 
vociferated  by  the  Moors,  and  was  re 
echoed  with  transport  from  the  walls  of 
the  city.  The  Christians  were  for  a  time 
in  imminent  peril  of  a  complete  rout; 
when  fortunately  the  adelantado  of  Mur 
cia  threw  himself,  with  a  large  body  of 
horse  and  foot,  between  the  pursuers  and 
the  pursued,  covering  the  retreat  of  the 
latter,  and  giving  them  time  to  rally. 
The  Moors  were  now  attacked  so  vigor 
ously  in  turn  that  they  gave  over  the  un 
equal  contest,  and  drew  back  slowly  into 
the  city.  Many  valiant  cavaliers  were 
slain  in  the  skirmish;  among  the  number 
of  whom  was  Don  Philip  of  Aragon, 
master  of  the  chivalry  of  Saint  George  of 
Montesor.  He  was  illegitimate  son  of 
the  king's  illegitimate  brother  Don  Carlos, 
and  his  death  was  greatly  bewailed  by 
Ferdinand.  He  had  formerly  been  arch 
bishop  of  Palmero ;  but  had  doffed  the 
cassock  for  the  cuirass ;  and  had  thus, 

28* 


330 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


according  to  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
gained  a  glorious  crown  of  martyrdom, 
by  falling  in  this  holy  war. 

The  warm  reception  of  his  advance 
guard,  by  the  old  warrior  El  Zagal, 
brought  King  Ferdinand  to  a  pause.  He 
encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  neighbour 
ing  river  Guadalentin,  and  began  to  con 
sider,  whether  he  had  acted  wisely  in 
undertaking  this  campaign  with  his  pre 
sent  force.  His  late  successes  had 
probably  rendered  him  over-confident. 
El  Zagal  had  again  schooled  him  into 
his  characteristic  caution.  He  saw  that 
the  old  warrior  was  too  formidably  en 
sconced  in  Baza,  to  be  dislodged  by  any 
thing  except  a  powerful  army,  and  bat 
tering  artillery ;  and  he  feared,  that 
should  he  persist  in  his  invasion,  some 
disaster  might  befall  his  army,  either 
from  the  enterprise  of  the  foe,  or  from 
a  pestilence  which  prevailed  in  various 
parts  of  the  country. 

Ferdinand  retired  therefore  from  be 
fore  Baza,  as  he  had  on  a  former  occa 
sion  from  before  Loxa,  all  the  wiser  for 
a  wholesome  lesson  in  warfare,  but  by 
no  means  grateful  to  those  who  had  given 
it;  and  with  a  solemn  determination  to 
have  his  revenge  upon  his  teachers. 

He  now  took  measures  for  the  security 
of  the  places  gained  in  this  campaign, 
placing  in  them  strong  garrisons,  well 
armed  and  supplied,  charging  their  al- 
caydes  to  be  vigilant  in  their  posts,  and 
to  give  no  rest  to  the  enemy.  The  whole 
of  the  frontier  was  placed  under  the  com 
mand  of  the  brave  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto 
Carrero.  As  it  was  evident,  from  the 
warlike  character  of  El  Zagal,  that  there 
would  be  abundance  of  active  service  and 
hard  fighting,  many  hidalgos  and  young 
cavaliers,  eager  for  distinction,  remained 
with  Puerto  Carrero. 

All  these  dispositions  being  made, 
King  Ferdinand  closed  the  dubious  cam 
paign  of  this  year;  not,  as  usual,  by  re 
turning  in  triumph,  at  the  head  of  his 
army,  to  some  important  city  of  his  do 
minions  ;  but  by  disbanding  the  troops, 
and  repairing  to  pray  at  the  cross  of 
Caravaca. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

How  the  Moors  made  various  enterprises  against 
the  Christians. 

"  WHILE  the  pious  King  Ferdinand," 
observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  was 
humbling  himself  before  the  cross,  and 
devoutly  praying  for  the  destruction  of 
his  enemies,  that  fierce  pagan,  El  Zagal, 
depending  merely  on  his  arm  of  flesh 
and  his  sword  of  steel,  pursued  his  dia 
bolical  outrages  upon  the  Christians." 
No  sooner  was  the  invading  army  dis 
banded,  than  El  Zagal  sallied  forth  from 
his  stronghold,  and  carried  fire  and  sword 
into  all  those  parts  that  had  submitted  to 
the  Spanish  yoke.  The  castle  of  Nixar, 
being  carelessly  guarded,  was  taken  by 
surprise,  and  its  garrison  put  to  the 
sword.  The  old  warrior  raged  with  san 
guinary  fury  about  the  whole  frontier, 
attacking  convoys,  slaying,  wounding, 
and  making  prisoners,  and  coming  by 
surprise  upon  the  Christians,  wherever 
they  were  off  their  guard. 

The  alcayde  of  the  fortress  of  Callar, 
confiding  in  the  strength  of  its  walls  and 
towers,  and  on  its  difficult  situation, 
being  built  on  the  summit  of  a  lofty  hill, 
and  surrounded  by  precipices,  ventured 
to  absent  himself  from  his  post.  The 
vigilant  El  Zagal  was  suddenly  before  it 
with  a  powerful  force.  He  stormed  the 
town,  sword  in  hand,  fought  the  Chris 
tians  from  street  to  street,  and  drove 
them,  with  great  slaughter,  to  the  citadel. 
Here  a  veteran  captain,  by  the  name  of 
Juan  de  Avalos,  a  grayheaded  warrior, 
scarred  in  many  a  battle,  assumed  the 
command,  and  made  an  obstinate  defence. 
Neither  the  multitude  of  the  enemy,  nor 
the  vehemence  of  their  attacks,  though 
led  on  by  the  terrible  El  Zagal  himself, 
had  power  to  shake  the  fortitude  of  this 
doughty  old  soldier. 

The  Moors  undermined  the  outer  walls, 
and  one  of  the  towers  of  the  fortress,  and 
made  their  way  into  the  exterior  court. 
The  alcayde  manned  the  tops  of  his 
towers  ;  pouring  down  melted  pitch,  and 
showering  darts,  arrows,  stones,  and  all 
kinds  of  missiles,  upon  the  assailants. 
The  Moors  were  driven  out  of  the  court ; 
but,  being  reinforced  with  fresh  troops, 
returned  repeatedly  to  the  assault.  For 
five  days  the  combat  was  kept  up.  The 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


331 


Christians  were  nearly  exhausted ;  but 
they  were  sustained  by  the  cheerings  of 
their  staunch  old  alcayde  ;  and  they 
feared  death  from  the  cruel  El  Zagal, 
should  they  surrender.  At  length  the 
approach  of  a  powerful  force,  under 
Puerto  Carrero,  relieved  them  from  this 
fearful  peril.  El  Zagal  abandoned  the 
assault ;  but  set  fire  to  the  town  in  his 
rage  and  disappointment,  and  retired  to 
his  stronghold  of  Guadix. 

The  example  of  El  Zagal  roused  his 
adherents  to  action.  Two  bold  Moorish 
alcaydes,  Ali  Atar  and  Yza  Atar,  com 
manding  the  fortresses  of  Alhenden  and 
Salobrcnna,  laid  waste  the  country  of 
the  subjects  of  Boabdil,  and  the  places 
which  had  recently  submitted  to  the 
Christians.  They  swept  off  the  cattle, 
carried  off  captives,  and  harassed  the 
whole  of  the  newly  conquered  frontier. 

The  Moors,  also,  of  Almeria,  and  Ta- 
vernas,  and  Pulchena,  made  inroads  into 
Murcia,  and  carried  fire  and  sword  into 
its  most  fertile  regions ;  while  on  the  op 
posite  frontier,  among  the  wild  valleys 
and  rugged  recesses  of  the  Sierra  Ber- 
meja,  or  Red  Mountains,  many  of  the 
Moors,  who  had  lately  submitted,  again 
flew  to  arms.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz 
suppressed,  by  timely  vigilance,  the  re 
bellion  of  the  mountain  town  of  Gausen, 
situate  on  a  high  peak,  almost  among 
the  clouds ;  but  others  of  the  Moors  for 
tified  themselves  in  rock-built  towers  and 
castles,  inhabited  solely  by  warriors, 
whence  they  carried  on  a  continual  war 
of  forage  and  depredation  ;  sweeping  sud 
denly  down  into  the  valleys,  and  carry 
ing  off  flocks,  and  herds,  and  all  kinds 
of  booty,  to  these  eagle  nests,  to  which 
it  was  perilous  and  fruitless  to  pursue 
them. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida 
closes  his  story  of  this  chequered  year 
in  quite  a  different  strain  from  those 
triumphant  periods,  with  which  he  is 
accustomed  to  wind  up  the  victorious 
campaigns  of  the  sovereigns.  "  Great 
and  mighty,"  says  this  venerable  chro 
nicler,  "  were  the  floods  and  tempests, 
which  prevailed  throughout  the  kingdom 
of  Castile  and  Aragon  about  this  time. 
It  seemed  as  though  the  windows  of 
heaven  were  again  opened,  and  a  second 
deluge  overwhelming  the  face  of  nature. 


The  clouds  burst,  as  it  were,  in  cataracts 
upon  the  earth ;  torrents  rushed  down 
from  the  mountains,  overflowing  the 
valleys.  Brooks  were  swelled  into  raging 
rivers ;  houses  were  undermined  ;  mills 
were  swept  away  by  their  own  streams ; 
the  affrighted  shepherds  saw  their  flocks 
drowned  in  the  midst  of  the  pasture,  and 
were  fain  to  take  refuge  for  their  lives  in 
towers  and  high  places.  The  Guadal 
quivir,  for  a  time,  became  a  roaring  and 
tumultuous  sea  ;  inundating  the  immense 
plain  of  the  Tablada,  and  filling  the  fair 
city  of  Seville  with  affright. 

"  A  vast  black  cloud  moved  over  the 
land  accompanied  by  a  hurricane  and  a 
trembling  of  the  earth.  Houses  were 
unroofed,  the  walls  and  battlements  of 
fortresses  shaken,  and  lofty  towers  rocked 
to  their  foundations.  Ships,  riding  at 
anchor,  were  either  stranded  or  swal 
lowed  up.  Others,  under  sail,  were 
tossed  to  and  fro  upon  mountain  waves, 
and  cast  upon  the  land  ;  where  the  whirl 
wind  rent  them  in  pieces ;  and  scattered 
their  fragments  in  the  air.  Doleful  was 
the  ruin,  and  great  the  terror,  where  this 
baleful  cloud  passed  by ;  and  it  left  a 
long  track  of  desolation  over  sea  and 
land.  Some  of  the  faint-hearted,"  adds 
Antonio  Agapida,  "  looked  upon  this  tu 
mult  of  the  elements  as  a  prodigious 
event,  out  of  the  course  of  nature.  In 
the  weakness  of  their  fears,  they  con 
nected  it  with  those  troubles  which  oc 
curred  in  various  places ;  considering  it 
a  portent  of  some  great  calamity,  about 
to  be  wrought  by  the  violence  of  the 
bloody-handed  El  Zagal  and  his  fierce 
adherents." 

CHAPTER  LXX. 

How  King  Ferdinand  prepared  to  besiege  the  city 
of  Baza;  and  how  the  city  prepared  for  defence. 

THE  stormy  winter  had  passed  away, 
and  the  spring  of  1489  was  advancing; 
yet  the  heavy  rains  had  broken  up  the 
roads;  the  mountain  brooks  were  swollen 
to  raging  torrents :  and  the  late  shallow 
and  peaceful  rivers  were  deep,  turbulent, 
and  dangerous.  The  Christian  troops 
had  been  summoned  to  assemble  in  early 
spring,  on  the  frontiers  of  Jaen,  but  were 
slow  in  arriving  at  the  appointed  place. 
They  were  entangled  in  the  miry  defiles 


332 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


of  the  mountains,  or  fretted 
on  the  banks  of  impassable  floods, 
was  late  in  the  month  of  May  before  they 
assembled  in  sufficient  force  to  attempt 
the  proposed  invasion ;  when,  at  length, 
a  valiant  army,  of  thirteen  thousand 
horse  and  forty  thousand  foot,  marched 
merrily  over  the  border.  The  queen  re 
mained  at  the  city  of  Jaen,  with  the  prince- 
royal  and  the  princesses,  her  children; 
accompanied  and  supported  by  the  vene 
rable  Cardinal  of  Spain,  and  those  reve 
rend  prelates  who  assisted  in  her  councils 
throughout  this  holy  war.  The  plan  of 
king  Ferdinand  was  to  lay  siege  to  the 
city  of  Baza,  the  key  of  the  remaining 
possessions  of  the  Moor.  That  import 
ant  fortress  taken,  Guadix  and  Almeria 
must  soon  follow;  and  then  the  power  of 
El  Zagal  would  be  afc  an  end.  As  the 
catholic  king  advanced,  he  had  first  to  se 
cure  various  castles  and  strongholds  in 
the  vicinity  of  Baza,  whicn  might  other 
wise  harass  his  army.  Some  of  these 
made  obstinate  resistance;  especially  the 
town  of  Cuxar.  The  Christians  assailed 
the  walls  with  various  machines,  to  sap 
them  and  batter  them  down.  The  brave 
alcayde,  Hubec  Adalgar,  opposed  force 
to  force,  and  engine  to  engine.  He  man 
ned  his  towers  with  his  bravest  warriors, 
who  rained  down  an  iron  shower  upon 
the  enemy;  and  he  linked  caldrons  to 
gether  by  strong  chains,  and  cast  fire 
from  them,  consuming  the  wooden  en 
gines  of  their  assailants,  and  those  who 
managed  them.  The  siege  was  protracted 
for  several  days.  The  bravery  of  the 
alcayde  could  not  save  his  fortress  from 
an  overwhelming  foe,  but  it  gained  him 
honourable  terms.  Ferdinand  permitted 
the  garrison  and  the  inhabitants  to  repair 
with  their  effects  to  Baza;  and  the  valiant 
Hubec  Adalgar  marched  forth  with  the 
remnant  of  his  force,  and  took  the  way 
to  that  devoted  city. 

The  delays,  which  had  been  caused  to 
the  invading  army  by  these  various  cir 
cumstances,  had  been  diligently  improved 
by  the  old  Moorish  monarch,' El  Zagal; 
who  felt  that  he  was  now  making  his  last 
stand  for  empire;  and  that  this  campaign 
would  decide,  whether  he  should  con 
tinue  a  king,  or  sink  into  a  vassal. 

El  Zagal  was  but  a  few  leagues  from 
Baza,  at  the  city  of  Guadix.  This  last 


was  the  most  important  point  of  his  re 
maining  territories,  being  a  kind  of  bul 
wark  between  them  and  the  hostile  city 
of  Granada,  the  seat  of  his  nephew's 
power.  Though  he  heard  of  the  tide  of 
war,  therefore,  that  was  collecting,  and 
rolling  towards  the  city  of  Baza,  he  dared 
not  go  in  person  to  its  assistance.  He 
dreaded  that,  should  he  leave  Guadix, 
Boabdil  would  attack  him  in  rear,  while 
the  Christian  army  was  battling  with  him 
in  front.  El  Zagal  trusted  in  the  great 
strength  of  Baza,  to  defy  any  violent  as 
saults  ;  and  he  profited  by  the  delays  of 
the  Christian  army,  to  supply  it  with 
all  possible  means  of  defence.  He  sent 
thither  all  the  troops  he  could  spare  from 
his  garrison  of  Guadix,  and  despatched 
missives  throughout  his  territories,  call 
ing  upon  all  true  Moslems  to  hasten  to 
Baza,  to  make  a  devoted  stand  in  defence 
of  their  homes,  their  liberties,  and  their 
religion.  The  cities  of  Tavernas  and 
Purchena,  and  the  surrounding  heights 
and  valleys,  responded  to  his  orders,  and 
sent  forth  their  fighting  men  to  the  field. 
The  rocky  fastnesses  of  the  Alpuxarras 
resounded  with  the  din  of  arms.  Troops 
of  horse  and  bodies  of  foot-soldiers  were 
seen  winding  down  the  rugged  cliffs  and 
defiles  of  those  marble  mountains,  and 
hastening  towards  Baza.  Many  brave 
cavaliers  of  Granada,  also,  spurning  the 
quiet  and  security  of  Christian  vassalage, 
secretly  left  the  city,  and  hastened  to  join 
their  fighting  countrymen.  The  great 
dependence  of  El  Zagal,  however,  was 
upon  the  valour  and  loyalty  of  his  cousin 
and  brother-in-law,  Cidi  Yahye  Alnazar 
Aben  Zelim,  who  was  alcayde  of  Alme 
ria;  a  cavalier  experienced  in  warfare, 
and  redoubtable  in  the  field.  He  wrote 
to  him,  to  leave  Almeria,  and  repair,  with 
all  speed,  at  the  head  of  his  troops  to 
Baza.  Cidi  Yahye  departed  immediately, 
with  ten  thousand  of  the  bravest  Moors 
in  the  kingdom.  These  were,  for  the 
most  part,  hardy  mountaineers,  tempered 
to  sun  and  storm,  and  tried  in  many  a 
combat.  None  equalled  them  for  a  sally 
or  a  skirmish.  They  were  adroit  in  exe 
cuting  a  thousand  stratagems,  ambus 
cades,  and  evolutions.  Impetuous  in  their 
assaults,  yet  governed  in  their  utmost  fury 
by  a  word  or  sign  from  their  commander, 
at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  they  would 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


333 


check  themselves  in  the  midst  of  their 
career,  and  wheel  off  and  disperse;  and, 
at  another  sound  of  a  trumpet,  they  would 
as  suddenly  re-assemble,  and  return  to 
the  attack.  They  were  upon  the  enemy 
when  least  expected,  coming  like  a  rush 
ing  blast,  spreading  havoc  and  consterna 
tion,  and  then  passing  away  in  an  instant ; 
so  that,  when  one  recovered  from  the 
shock,  and  looked  around,  behold,  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  or  heard  of  this  tempest 

,  of  war,  but  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  the  clat- 

I  ter  of  retreating  troops ! 

When  Cidi  Yahye  led  his  train  of  ten 

I  thousand  valiant  warriors  into  the  gates 
of  Baza,  the  city  rung  with  acclamations ; 
and  for  a  time  the  inhabitants  thought 
themselves  secure.  El  Zagal  also  felt  a 
glow  of  confidence,  notwithstanding  his 
own  absence  from  the  city.  "Cidi  Yahye," 
said  he,  "is  my  cousin  and  my  brother- 
in-law,  related  to  me  by  blood  and  mar 
riage:  he  is  a  second  self:  happy  is  that 
monarch  who  has  his  kinsmen  to  com 
mand  his  armies  !"  With  all  these  rein 
forcements,  the  garrison  of  Baza  amount 
ed  to  above  twenty  thousand  men.  There 
were  at  this  time  three  principal  leaders 
in  the  city  ;  Mohammed  ben  Hassan,  sur- 
named  the  Veteran,  who  was  military 
governor,  or  alcayde,  an  old  Moor,  of 
great  experience  and  discretion.  The 
second  was  Hamet  Abu  Ali,  who  was 
captain  of  the  troops  stationed  in  the 
place ;  and  the  third  was  Hubec  Adalgar, 
the  valiant  alcayde  of  Cuxar,  who  had 
repaired  hither  with  the  remains  of  his 
garrison.  Over  all  these  Cidi  Yahye  ex 
ercised  a  supreme  command,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  being  of  the  blood  royal, 
and  in  the  special  confidence  of  Muley 
Abdalla  el  Zagal.  He  was  eloquent  and 
ardent  in  council,  and  fond  of  striking 
and  splendid  achievements  ;  but  he  was  a 
little  prone  to  be  carried  away  by  the  ex 
citement  of  the  moment,  and  the  warmth 
of  his  imagination.  The  councils  of  war 
of  these  commanders,  therefore,  were 
more  frequently  controlled  by  the  opi 
nions  of  the  old  alcayde,  Mohammed  ben 
Hassan,  for  whose  shrewdness,  caution, 
and  experience,  Cidi  Yahye  himself  felt 
the  greatest  deference. 

The  city  of  Baza  was  situate  in  a 
spacious  valley,  eight  leagues  in  length 
and  three  in  breadth,  called  the  Hoy  a  or 


basin  of  Baza.  It  was  surrounded  by  a 
range  of  mountains,  called  the  Sierra  of 
Xabalcohol ;  the  streams  of  which,  col 
lecting  themselves  into  two  rivers,  water 
ed  and  fertilized  the  country.  The  city 
was  built  in  the  plain ;  but  one  part  of  it 
was  protected  by  the  rocky  precipices  of 
the  mountain,  and  by  a  powerful  cita 
del  ;  the  other  part  was  defended  by 
massive  walls,  studded  with  immense 
towers.  It  had  suburbs  towards  the 
plain,  imperfectly  fortified  by  earthen 
walls.  In  front  of  these  suburbs  extend 
ed  a  tract  of  orchards  and  gardens, 
nearly  a  league  in  length,  so  thickly 
planted  as  to  resemble  a  continued 
forest.  Here  every  citizen,  who  could 
afford  it,  had  his  little  plantation,  and 
his  garden  of  fruit,  and  flowers,  and 
vegetables  ;  watered  by  canals  and  rivu 
lets,  and  dominated  by  a  small  tower,  to 
serve  for  recreation  or  defence.  This 
wilderness  of  groves  and  gardens,  inter 
sected  in  all  parts  by  canals  and  runs  of 
water,  and  studded  by  above  a  thousand 
small  towers,  formed  a  kind  of  protection 
to  this  side  of  the  city ;  rendering  all  ap 
proach  extremely  difficult  and  perplexed, 
and  affording  covert  to  the  defenders. 

While  the  Christian  army  had  been 
detained  before  the  frontier  posts,  the 
city  of  Baza  had  been  a  scene  of  hurried 
and  unremitting  preparation.  All  the 
grain  of  the  surrounding  valley,  though 
yet  unripe,  was  hastily  reaped,  and  borne 
into  the  city,  to  prevent  it  from  yielding 
sustenance  to  the  enemy.  The  country 
was  drained  of  all  its  supplies.  Flocks 
and  herds  were  driven,  bleating  and  bel 
lowing,  into  the  gates.  Long  trains  of 
beasts  of  burden,  some  laden  with  food, 
others  with  lances,  darts,  and  arms  of 
all  kinds,  kept  pouring  into  the  place. 
Already  there  were  munitions  collected 
sufficient  for  a  siege  of  fifteen  months ; 
yet  still  the  eager  and  hasty  preparation 
was  going  on,  when  the  army  of  Ferdi 
nand  came  in  sight.  On  one  side  might 
be  seen  scattered  parties  of  foot  and 
horse,  spurring  to  the  gates ;  and  mule 
teers,  hurrying  forward  their  burdened 
animals;  all  anxious  to  get  under  shelter 
before  the  gathering  storm.  On  the  other 
side,  the  cloud  of  war  came  sweeping 
down  the  valley  ;  the  roll  of  drum,  or 
clang  of  trumpet,  resounding  occasion- 


334 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ally  from  its  deep  bosom,  or  the  bright 
glance  of  arms  flashing  forth  like  vivid 
lightning  from  its  columns.  King  Fer 
dinand  pitched  his  tents  in  the  valley, 
beyond  the  green  labyrinth  of  gardens. 
He  sent  his  heralds  to  summon  the  city 
to  surrender,  promising  the  most  favour 
able  terms,  in  case  of  immediate  com 
pliance;  and  avowing,  in  the  most  solemn 
terms,  his  resolution  never  to  abandon 
the  siege,  until  he  had  possession  of  the 
place. 

Upon  receiving  this  summons,  the 
Moorish  commanders  held  a  council  of 
war.  The  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  indignant 
at  the  menace  of  the  king,  was  for  re 
torting  by  a  declaration,  that  the  garri 
son  never  would  surrender,  but  would 
fight  until  buried  under  the  ruins  of  the 
walls.  "  Of  what  avail,"  said  the  vete 
ran  Mohammed,  "  is  a  declaration  of  the 
kind,  which  we  may  falsify  by  our 
deeds  ?  Let  us  threaten  what  we  know 
we  can  perform ;  and  let  us  endeavour 
to  perform  more  than  we  threaten."  In 
conformity  to  the  advice  of  Mohammed 
ben  Hassan,  therefore,  a  laconic  reply 
was  sent  to  the  Christian  monarch, 
thanking  him  for  his  offer  of  favourable 
terms,  but  informing  him,  that  they  were 
placed  in  the  city  to  defend,  not  to  sur 
render  it. 

CHAPTER  LXXI. 
The  battle  of  the  gardens  before  Baza. 

WHEN  the  reply  of  the  Moorish  com 
manders  was  brought  to  King  Ferdinand, 
he  prepared  to  press  the  siege  with  the 
utmost  vigour.  Finding  the  camp  too 
far  from  the  city,  and  that  the  interven 
ing  orchards  afforded  shelter  for  the 
sallies  of  the  Moors,  he  determined  to 
advance  it  beyond  the  gardens,  in  the 
space  between  them  and  the  suburbs, 
where  his  batteries  would  have  full  play 
upon  the  city  walls.  A  detachment  was 
sent  in  advance,  to  take  possession  of 
the  gardens,  and  to  keep  a  check  upon 
the  suburbs,  opposing  any  sally,  while 
the  encampment  should  be  formed  and 
fortified.  The  various  commanders  en 
tered  the  orchards  at  different  points. 
The  young  cavaliers  marched  fearlessly 
forward,  but  the  experienced  veterans 
foresaw  infinite  peril  in  the  mazes  of  this 


verdant  labyrinth.  The  Master  of  St. 
Jago,  as  he  led  his  troops  into  the  centre 
of  the  gardens,  exhorted  them  to  keep  by 
one  another,  and  to  press  forward,  in  de 
fiance  of  all  difficulty  or  danger;  assuring 
them,  that  God  would  give  them  the  vic 
tory,  if  they  attacked  hardily  and  persist 
ed  resolutely. 

Scarcely  had  they  entered  the  verge  of 
the  orchards,  when  a  din  of  drums  and 
trumpets,  mingled  with  war-cries,  was  | 
heard  from  the  suburbs,  and  a  legion  of 
Moorish  warriors  on  foot  poured  forth. 
They  were  led  on  by  the  Prince  Cidi 
Yahye.  He  saw  the  imminent  danger 
of  the  city,  should  the  Christians  gain 
possession  of  the  orchards.  "  Soldiers," 
he  cried,  "  we  fight  for  life  and  liberty, 
for  our  families,  our  country,  our  reli 
gion  :*  nothing  is  left  for  us  to  depend 
upon  but  the  strength  of  our  hands,  the 
courage  of  our  hearts,  and  the  almighty 
protection  of  Allah !"  The  Moors  an 
swered  with  shouts  of  war,  and  rushed 
to  the  encounter.  The  two  hosts  met  in 
the  middle  of  the  gardens.  A  chance- 
medley  combat  ensued,  with  lances,  ar 
quebuses,  crossbows,  and  cimeters.  The 
perplexed  nature  of  the  ground,  cut  up 
and  intersected  by  canals  and  streams,  , 
the  closeness  of  the  trees,  the  multiplicity 
of  towers  and  petty  edifices,  gave  greater 
advantages  to  the  Moors,  who  were  on 
foot,  than  to  the  Christians,  who  were  on 
horseback.  The  Moors,  too,  knew  the 
ground,  all  its  alleys  and  passes  ;  and 
were  thus  enabled  to  lurk,  to  sally  forth', 
to  attack  and  retreat,  almost  without  in 
jury- 

The  Christian  commanders,  seeing 
this,  ordered  many  of  the  horsemen  to 
dismount,  and  fight  on  foot.  The  battle 
then  became  fierce  and  deadly,  each  dis 
regarding  his  own  life,  provided  he  could 
slay  his  enemy.  It  was  not  so  much  a 
general  battle,  as  a  multitude  of  petty 
actions ;  for  every  orchard  and  garden 
had  its  distinct  contest.  No  one  could 
see  further  than  the  little  scene  of  fury 
and  bloodshed  around  him,  or  knew  how 
the  general  battle  fared.  In  vain  the 
captains  exerted  their  voices  ;  in  vain  the 
trumpets  brayed  forth  signals  and  com- 

"  "  Illi  [Mauri]  pro  fortunis,  pro  libertate,  pro 
laribus  patriciis,  pro  vita  denique  certabant." — Pe- 
tri  Martyr.  Epist.  70. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


335 


mands  :  all  was  confounded  and  unheard 
in  the  universal  din  and  uproar  ;  no  one 
kept  to  his  standard,  but  fought  as  his 
own  fury  or  fear  dictated. 

In  some  places,  the  Christians  had  the 
advantage;  in  others,  the  Moors.  Often 
a  victorious  party,  pursuing  the  van 
quished,  came  upon  a  superior  and 
triumphant  force  of  the  enemy,  and 
the  fugitives  turned  back  upon  them  in 
an  overwhelming  wave.  Some  broken 
remnants,  in  their  terror  and  confusion, 
fled  from  their  own  countrymen,  and 
sought  refuge  among  their  enemies,  not 
knowing  friend  from  foe  in  the  obscurity 
of  the  groves.  The  Moors  were  more 
adroit  in  these  wild  skirmishings,  from 
their  flexibility,  lightness,  and  agility, 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  they  would 
disperse,  rally,  and  return  again  to  the 
charge.* 

The  hardest  fighting  was  about  the 
small  garden  towers  and  pavilions, 
which  served  as  so  many  petty  for 
tresses.  Each  party  by  turns  gained 
them,  defended  them  fiercely,  and  were 
driven  out.  Many  of  the  towers  were 
set  on  fire,  and  increased  the  horrors  of 
the  fight,  by  the  wreaths  of  smoke  and 
flame  in  which  they  wrapped  the  groves, 
and  by  the  shrieks  of  those  who  were 
burning. 

Several  of  the  Christian  cavaliers,  be 
wildered  by  the  uproar  and  confusion, 
and  shocked  at  the  carnage  which  pre 
vailed,  would  have  led  their  men  out  of 
the  action ;  but  they  were  entangled  in  a 
labyrinth,  and  knew  not  which  way  to 
retreat.  While  in  this  perplexity,  the 
standard-bearer  of  one  of  the  squadrons 
of  the  grand  cardinal  had  his  arm  car 
ried  off  by  a  cannon-ball ;  the  standard 
was  welt  nigh  falling  into  the  hands  of  j 
the  enemy,  when  Rodrigo  de  Mendoza, 
an  intrepid  youth,  natural  son  of  the 
grand  cardinal,  rushed  to  its  rescue, 
through  a  shower  of  balls,  lances,  and 
arrows ;  and,  bearing  it  aloft,  dashed 
forward  with  it  into"  the  hottest  of  the 
combat,  followed  by  his  shouting  sol 
diers.  King  Ferdinand,  who  remained 
in  the  skirts  of  the  orchard,  was  in 
extreme  anxiety.  It  was  impossible  to 
see  much  of  the  action,  for  the  multipli- 

*  Mariana,  lib.  xxv.  cap.  13. 


city  of  trees,  and  towers,  and  wreaths  of 
smoke ;  and  those  who  were  driven  out 
defeated,  or  came  out  wounded  and  ex 
hausted,  gave  different  accounts,  accord 
ing  to  the  fate  of  the  partial  conflicts  in 
which  they  had  been  engaged.  Ferdinand 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  animate 
and  encourage  his  troops  to  this  blind  en 
counter,  sending  reinforcements  of  horse 
and  foot  to  those  points  where  the  bat 
tle  was  most  sanguinary  and  doubtful. 
Among  those  that  were  brought  forth 
mortally  wounded  was  Don  Juan  de 
Lara,  a  youth  of  uncommon  merit, 
greatly  prized  by  the  king,  beloved  by 
the  army,  and  recently  married  to  Dona 
Catalina  de  Urrea,  a  young  lady  of  dis 
tinguished  beauty.*  They  laid  him  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  endeavoured  to 
stanch  and  bind  up  his  wounds  with  a 
scarf  which  his  bride  had  wrought  for 
him :  but  his  life-blood  flowed  too  pro 
fusely  ;  and  while  a  holy  friar  was  yet 
administering  to  him  the  last  sacred 
offices  of  the  church,  he  expired,  almost 
at  the  feet  of  his  sovereign. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  veteran  al- 
cayde,  Mohammed  Ben  Hassan,  sur 
rounded  by  a  little  band  of  chieftains, 
kept  an  anxious  eye  upon  the  scene  of 
combat,  from  the  walls  of  the  city.  For 
nearly  twelve  hours  the  battle  had  raged 
without  intermission.  The  thickness  of 
the  foliage  hid  all  the  particulars  from 
their  sight ;  but  they  could  see  the  flash 
of  swords,  and  glance  of  helmets,  among 
the  trees.  Columns  of  smoke  rose  in 
every  direction,  while  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  thundering  of  ribadoquines  and  ar 
quebuses,  the  shouts  and  cries  of  the 
combatants,  and  the  groans  and  suppli 
cations  of  the  wounded,  bespoke  the 
deadly  conflict  that  was  waging  in  the 
bosom  of  the  groves.  They  were  harassed 
too  by  the  shrieks  and  lamentations  of 
the  Moorish  women  and  children,  as  their 
wounded  relatives  were  brought  bleeding 
from  the  scene  of  action,  and  were  stunned 
by  a  general  outcry  of  wo,  on  the  part  of 
the  combatants,  as  the  body  of  Redoun 
Zalfarga,  a  renegade  Christian,  and  one 
of  the  bravest  of  their  generals,  was 
borne  breathless  into  the  city. 

At  length  the  din  of  battle  approached 

*  Mariana.    P.  Martyr.    Zurita. 


336 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


nearer  to  the  skirts  of  the  orchards. 
They  beheld  their  warriors  driven  out 
from  among  the  groves,  by  fresh  squad 
rons  of  the  enemy  ;  and,  after  disputing 
the  ground  inch  by  inch,  obliged  to  re 
tire  to  a  place  between  the  orchards  and 
the  suburbs,  which  was  fortified  with 
palisadoes. 

The  Christians  immediately  planted  op 
posing  palisadoes,  and  established  strong 
outposts  near  to  the  retreat  of  the  Moors  ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  King  Ferdinand 
ordered  that  his  encampment  should  be 
pitched  within  the  hard-won  orchards. 

Mohammed  ben  Hassan  sallied  forth 
to  the  aid  of  the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and 
made  a  desperate  attempt  to  dislodge  the 
enemy  from  this  formidable  position  ;  but 
the  night  had  closed,  and  the  darkness 
rendered  it  impossible  to  make  any  im 
pression.  The  Moors,  however,  kept  up 
constant  assaults  and  alarms  throughout 
the  night,  and  the  weary  Christians,  ex 
hausted  by  the  toils  and  sufferings  of 
the  day,  were  not  allowed  a  moment  of 
repose.* 

CHAPTER  LXXII. 
Siege  of  Baza.    Embarrassment  of  the  army. 

THE  morning  sun  rose  upon  a  piteous 
scene  before  the  walls  of  Baza.  The 
Christian  outposts,  harassed  throughout 
the  night,  were  pale  and  haggard  ;  while 
the  multitude  of  slain,  which  lay  before 
their  palisadoes,  showed  the  fierce  attacks 
they  had  sustained,  and  the  bravery  of 
their  defence. 

Beyond  them  lay  the  groves  and  gar 
dens  of  Baza ;  once  the  favourite  resorts 
for  recreation  and  delight,  now  a  scene 
of  horror  and  desolation.  The  towers 
and  pavilions  were  smoking  ruins ;  the 
canals  and  water-courses  were  discolour 
ed  with  blood,  and  choked  with  the  bodies 
of  the  slain.  Here  and  there  the  ground, 
deep-dinted  with  the  tramp  of  man  and 
steed,  and  plashed  and  slippery  with 
gore,  showed  where  there  had  been  some 
fierce  and  mortal  conflict ;  while  the 
bodies  of  Moors  and  Christians,  ghastly 
in  death,  lay  half  concealed  among  the 
matted  and  trampled  shrubs,  and  flowers, 
and  herbage. 

*  Pulgar,  part  iii,  cap,  106,  107.  Cura  de  Los 
Palacios,  cap.  92.  Zurita,  lib.  xx,  cap.  81. 


Amidst  these  sanguinary  scenes  arose 
the  Christian  tents,  which  had  been  has 
tily  pitched  among  the  gardens  in  the 
preceding  evening.  The  experience  of 
the  night,  however,  and  the  forlorn 
aspect  of  every  thing  in  the  morning, 
convinced  King  Ferdinand  of  the  perils 
and  hardships  to  which  his  camp  must 
be  exposed,  in  its  present  situation  ;  and, 
after  a  consultation  with  his  principal 
cavaliers,  he  resolved  to  abandon  the 
orchards. 

It  was  a  dangerous  movement  to  extri 
cate  his  army  from  so  entangled  a  situa 
tion,  in  the  face  of  so  alert  and  daring 
an  enemy.  A  bold  front  was  therefore 
kept  up  towards  the  city.  Additional 
troops  were  ordered  to  the  advanced 
posts,  and  works  begun,  as  if  for  a  set 
tled  encampment.  Not  a  tent  was  struck 
in  the  gardens ;  but  in  the  mean  time  the 
most  active  and  unremitting  exertions 
were  made  to  remove  back  all  the  bag 
gage  and  furniture  of  the  camp  to  the 
original  station. 

All  day  the  Moors  beheld  a  formidable 
show  of  war  maintained  in  front  of  the 
gardens ;  while  in  the  rear,  the  tops  of 
the  Christian  tents,  and  the  pennons  of 
the  different  commanders,  were  seen 
rising  above  the  groves.  Suddenly,  to 
wards  evening,  the  tents  sunk  and  disap 
peared  ;  the  outposts  broke  up  their  sta 
tions,  and  withdrew ;  and  the  whole 
shadow  of  an  encampment  was  fast 
vanishing  from  their  eyes. 

The  Moor  saw,  too  late,  the  subtile 
manoeuvre  of  King  Ferdinand.  Cidi 
Yahye  again  sallied  forth,  with  a  large 
force  of  horse  and  foot,  and  pressed  fu 
riously  upon  the  Christians.  The  latter, 
however,  experienced  in  Moorish  attack, 
retired  in  close  order:  sometimes  turning 
upon  the  enemy,  and  driving  them  to  their 
barricadoes,  and  then  pursuing  their  re 
treat.  In  this  way  the  army  was  extri 
cated,  without  much  further  loss,  from 
the  perilous  labyrinth  of  the  gardens. 
The  camp  was  now  out  of  danger,  but 
it  was,  also,  too  distant  from  the  city  to 
do  mischief;  while  the  Moors  could  sally 
forth,  and  return,  without  hinderance. 
The  king  called  a  council  of  war,  to 
consider  in  what  manner  to  proceed. 
The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  was  for  abandon 
ing  the  siege  for  the  present ;  the  place 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


337 


,  being  too  strong,  too  well  garrisoned  and 
I  provided,  and  too  extensive,  to  be  either 
carried  by  assault,  reduced  by  famine, 
or  invested  by  their  limited  forces  :  while, 
in  lingering  before  it,  the  army  would  -be 
exposed  to  the  usual  maladies  and  suffer 
ings  of  besieging  enemies ;  and,  when 
the  rainy  season  came  on,  would  be  shut 
up  by  the  swelling  of  the  two  rivers. 
He  recommended  instead,  that  the  king 
should  throw  garrisons  of  horse  and  foot 
into  all  the  towns  captured  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  ;  and  leave  them  to  keep  up  a 
predatory  war  upon  Baza,  while  he  should 
overrun  and  ravage  all  the  country ;  so 
that,  in  the  following  year,  Almeria  and 
Guadix,  having  all  their  subject  towns 
and  territories  taken  from  them,  might 
be  starved  into  submission. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  com 
mander  of  Lara,  on  the  other  hand, 
maintained,  that  to  abandon  the  siege 
would  be  construed  by  the  enemy  into  a 
sign  of  weakness  arid  irresolution.  It 
would  give  new  spirits  to  the  partisans 
of  El  Zagal ;  and  would  gain  to  his 
standard  many  of  the  wavering  sub 
jects  of  Boabdil,  if  it  did  not  encourage 
the  fickle  populace  of  Granada  to  open 
rebellion.  He  advised,  therefore,  that  the 
siege  should  be  prosecuted  with  vigour. 

The  pride  of  Ferdinand  pleaded  in 
favour  of  the  last  opinion  :  for  it  would 
be  doubly  humiliating  again  to  return 
from  a  campaign  in  this  part  of  the 
Moorish  kingdom,  without  striking  a 
blow.  But  when  he  reflected  on  all  that 
his  army  had  suffered,  and  on  all  that 
they  must  still  suffer,  should  the  siege 
continue,  especially  from  the  difficulty 
of  obtaining  a  regular  supply  of  pro 
visions  for  so  numerous  a  host,  across 
a  great  extent  of  rugged  and  mountain 
ous  country,  he  determined  to  consult 
the  safety  of  his  people,  and  to  adopt  the 
advice  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz. 

When  the  soldiery  heard  that  the  king 
was  about  to  raise  the  siege  in  mere  con 
sideration  for  their  sufferings,  they  were 
filled  with  generous  enthusiasm ;  and  en 
treated,  as  with  one  voice,  that  the  siege 
might  never  be  abandoned  until  the  city 
surrendered. 

Perplexed  by  conflicting  counsels,  the 
king  despatched  messengers  to  the  queen, 
at  Jaen,  requesting  her  advice.      Posts 
VOL.  ii.  29 


had  been  stationed  between  them  in  such 
manner,  that  missives  from  the  camp 
could  reach  the  queen  within  ten  hours. 
Isabella  sent  instantly  her  reply.  She 
left  the  policy  of  raising,  or  continuing, 
the  siege,  to  the  decision  of  the  king  and 
his  captains  ;  but,  should  they  determine 
to  persevere,  she  pledged  herself,  with 
the  aid  of  God,  to  forward  them  men, 
money,  provisions,  and  all  other  supplies, 
until  the  city  should  be  taken. 

The  reply  of  the  queen  determined 
Ferdinand  to  persevere;  and  when  his 
determination  was  made  known  to  the 
army,  it  was  hailed  with  as  much  joy  as 
if  it  had  been  tidings  of  a  victory. 

CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

Siege  of  Baza  continued.    How  King  Ferdinand 
completely  invested  the  city. 

THE  Moorish  prince,  Cidi  Yahye,  had 
received  intelligence  of  the  doubts  and 
discussions  in  the  Christian  camp,  and 
flattered  himself  with  hopes,  that  the 
besieging  army  would  soon  retire  in  de 
spair  ;  though  the  veteran  alcayde,  Mo 
hammed,  shook  his  head  with  incredulity 
at  the  suggestion.  A  sudden  movement 
next  morning  in  the  Christian  camp 
seemed  to  confirm  the  sanguine  hopes 
of  the  prince.  The  tents  were  struck, 
the  artillery  and  baggage  were  conveyed 
away,  and  bodies  of  soldiers  began  to 
march  along  the  valley.  The  momen 
tary  gleam  of  triumph  was  soon  dispelled. 
The  catholic  king  had  merely  divided 
his  host  into  two  camps,  the  more  effec 
tually  to  distress  the  city.  One,  con 
sisting  of  four  thousand  horse,  and  eight 
thousand  foot,  with  all  the  artillery  and 
battering  engines,  took  post  on  the  side 
of  the  city  towards  the  mountain.  This 
was  commanded  by  the  valiant  Marquis 
of  Cadiz,  with  whom  were  Don  Alonso 
de  Aguilar,  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Car- 
rero,  and  many  other  distinguished  cava 
liers. 

The  other  camp  was  commanded  by 
the  king ;  having  six  thousand  horse, 
and  a  great  host  of  foot-soldiers,  the 
hardy  mountaineers  of  Biscay,  Guipus- 
coa,  Gallicia,  and  the  Asturias.  Among 
the  cavaliers  who  were  with  the  king, 
were  the  brave  Count  de  Tendilla,  Don 
Rodrigo  de  Mendoza,  and  Don  Alonso 


338 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


de  Cardenas,  Master  of  Santiago.  The 
two  camps  were  wide  asunder,  on  oppo 
site  sides  of  the  city  ;  and  between  them 
lay  the  thick  wilderness  of  orchards. 
Both  camps  were  therefore  fortified  by 
great  trenches,  breastworks,  and  pali- 
sadoes.  The  veteran  Mohammed,  as  he 
saw  these  two  formidable  camps,  glitter 
ing  on  each  side  of  the  city,  and  noted 
the  well  known  pennons  of  renowned 
commanders  fluttering  above  them,  still 
comforted  his  companions.  "  These 
camps,"  said  he,  "  are  too  far  removed 
from  each  other  for  mutual  succour  and 
co-operation  ;  and  the  forest  of  orchards 
is  as  a  gulf  between  them."  This  con 
solation  was  but  of  short  continuance. 
Scarcely  were  the  Christian  camps  forti 
fied,  when  the  ears  of  the  Moorish  gar 
rison  were  startled  by  the  sound  of  innu 
merable  axes,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
trees.  They  looked  with  anxiety  from 
their  highest  towers ;  and,  behold,  their 
favourite  groves  were  sinking  beneath 
the  blows  of  the  Christian  pioneers ! 
The  Moors  sallied  forth  with  fiery  zeal 
to  protect  their  beloved  gardens,  and  the 
orchards  in  which  they  so  much  delight 
ed.  The  Christians,  however,  were  too 
well  supported  to  be  driven  from  their 
work.  Day  after  day,  the  gardens  be 
came  the  scene  of  incessant  and  bloody 
skirmishings.  Still  the  devastation  of 
the  groves  went  on  ;  for  King  Ferdinand 
was  too  well  aware  of  the  necessity  of 
clearing  away  this  screen  of  woods,  not 
to  bend  all  his  forces  to  the  undertaking. 
It  was  a  work,  however,  of  gigantic  toil 
and  patience.  The  trees  were  of  such 
magnitude,  and  so  closely  set  together, 
and  spread  over  so  wide  an  extent,  that, 
notwithstanding  four  thousand  men  were 
employed,  they  could  scarcely  clear  a 
strip  of  land  ten  paces  broad,  within  a 
day :  and  such  were  the  interruptions, 
from  the  incessant  assaults  of  the  Moors, 
that  it  was  full  forty  days  before  the  or 
chards  were  completely  levelled. 

The  devoted  city  of  Baza  now  lay 
stripped  of  its  beautiful  covering  of 
groves  and  gardens,  at  once  its  orna 
ment,  its  delight,  and  its  protection.  The 
besiegers  went  on  slowly  and  surely,  with 
almost  incredible  labours,  to  invest  and 
isolate  the  city.  They  connected  their 
camps  by  a  deep  trench  across  the  plain, 


a  league  in  length,  into  which  they  di 
verted  the  waters  of  the  mountain  streams. 
They  protected  this  trench  by  palisadoes, 
fortified  by  fifteen  castles,  at  regular  dis 
tances.  They  dug  a  deep  trench  also, 
two  leagues  in  length,  across  the  moun 
tain,  in  the  rear  of  the  city,  reaching 
from  camp  to  camp,  and  fortified  it  on 
each  side  with  walls  of  earth  and  stone, 
and  wood.  Thus  the  Moors  were  en 
closed  on  all  sides  by  trenches,  palisa 
does,  walls,  and  castles ;  so  that  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  sally  beyond  this 
great  line  of  circumvallation,  nor  could 
any  force  enter  to  their  succour.  Ferdi 
nand  made  an  attempt  likewise  to  cut 
off  the  supply  of  water  from  the  city  : 
"  for  water,"  observes  the  worthy  Aga- 
pida,  "  is  more  necessary  to  these  infi 
dels  than  bread  ;  as  they  rrake  use  of  it 
in  repeated  daily  ablutions,  enjoined  by 
their  damnable  religion,  and  employ  it 
in  baths,  and  in  a  thousand  other  idle 
and  extravagant  modes,  of  which  we 
Spaniards  and  Christians  make  but  little 
account." 

There  was  a  noble  fountain  of  pure 
water,  which  gushed  out  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  Albohacen,  just  behind  the  city. 
The  Moors  had  almost  a  superstitious 
fondness  for  this  fountain,  and  daily  de 
pended  upon  it  for  their  supplies.  Re 
ceiving  intimation  from  some  deserters 
of  the  plan  of  King  Ferdinand  to  get 
possession  of  this  precious  fountain,  they 
sallied  forth  at  night,  and  threw  up 
such  powerful  works  upon  the  impending 
hill,  as  to  set  all  attempts  of  the  Chris 
tian  assailants  at  defiance. 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

Exploit  of  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  and  other 
cavaliers. 

THE  siege  of  Baza,  while  it  displayed 
the  skill  and  science  of  the  Christian 
commanders,  gave  but  little  scope  for 
the  adventurous  spirit  and  fiery  valour 
of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers.  They 
repined  at  the  tedious  monotony  and  dull 
security  of  their  fortified  camp  ;  and 
longed  for  some  soul-stirring  exploit  of 
difficulty  and  danger.  Two  of  the  most 
spirited  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  were 
Francisco  de  Bazan,  and  Antonio  de 
Cueva,  the  latter  of  whom  was  son  to 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


339 


the  Duke  of  Albuquerque.  As  they 
were  one  day  seated  on  the  ramparts  of 
the  camp,  and  venting  their  impatience 
at  this  life  of  inaction,  they  were  over 
heard  by  a  veteran  adalid,  one  of  tho'se 
scouts,  or  guides,  who  are  acquainted 
with  all  parts  of  the  country.  "  Seiiores," 
said  he,  «« if  you  wish  for  a  service  of 
peril  and  profit,  if  you  are  willing  to 
pluck  the  fiery  old  Moor  by  the  beard,  I 
can  lead  you  to  where  you  may  put  your 
mettle  to  the  proof.  Hard  by  the  city  of 
Guadix  are  certain  hamlets,  rich  in  booty : 
I  can  conduct  you  by  a  way  in  which  you 
may  come  upon  them  by  surprise  ;  and, 
if  you  are  as  cool  in  the  head  as  you  are 
hot  in  the  spur,  you  may  bear  off  your 
spoils  from  under  the  very  eyes  of  old 
El  Zagal."  The  idea  of  thus  making 
booty  at  the  very  gates  of  Guadix  pleased 
the  hot-spirited  youths.  These  predatory 
excursions  were  frequent  about  this  time ; 
and  the  Moors  of  Padul,  Alhenden,  and 
other  towns  of  the  Alpuxarras,  had  re 
cently  harassed  the  Christian  territories 
by  expeditions  of  the  kind.  Francisco 
de  Bazan  and  Antonio  de  Cueva  soon 
found  other  young  cavaliers  of  their  age 
ready  to  join  them  in  the  adventure  ; 
and,  in  a  little  while,  they  had  nearly 
three  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred 
foot,  ready  equipped,  and  eager  for  the 
foray. 

Keeping  their  destination  secret,  they 
sallied  out  of  the  camp,  on  the  edge  of  an 
evening,  and,  guided  by  the  adalid,  made 
their  way  by  starlight  through  the  most 
secret  roads  of  the  mountains.  In  this 
way  they  pressed  on  rapidly  day  and 
night,  until,  early  one  morning  before 
cock-crowing,  they  fell  suddenly  upon 
the  hamlets,  made  prisoners  of  the  inha 
bitants,  sacked  the  houses,  ravaged  the 
fields,  and,  sweeping  through  the  mea 
dows,  gathered  together  all  the  flocks 
and  herds.  Without  giving  themselves 
time  to  rest,  they  set  out  upon  their  return, 
making  with  all  speed  for  the  mountains, 
before  the  alarm  should  be  given,  and 
the  country  roused. 

Several  of  the  herdsmen,  however, 
had  fled  to  Guadix,  and  carried  tidings  of 
the  ravage  to  El  Zagal.  The  beard  of 
old  Muley  trembled  with  rage.  He  im 
mediately  sent  out  six  hundred  of  his 
choicest  horse  and  foot,  with  orders  to 


recover  the  booty,  and  to  bring  those 
insolent  marauders  captive  to  Guadix. 

The  Christian  cavaliers  were  urging 
their  cavalgada  of  cattle  and  sheep  up  a 
mountain  as  fast  as  their  own  weariness 
would  permit;  when,  looking  back,  they 
beheld  a  great  cloud  of  dust,  and  pre 
sently  descried  the  turbaned  host  hot 
upon  their  traces. 

They  saw  that  the  Moors  were  supe 
rior  in  number ;  they  were  fresh  also, 
both  man  and  steed  :  whereas  both  they 
and  their  horses  were  fatigued  by  two 
days  and  two  nights  of  hard  marching. 
Several  of  the  horsemen,  therefore, 
gathered  round  the  commanders,  and 
proposed,  that  they  should  relinquish 
their  spoil,  and  save  themselves  by  flight. 
The  captains,  Francisco  de  Bazan  and 
Antonio  de  Cueva,  spurned  at  such 
craven  counsel.  "  What !"  cried  they, 
"  abandon  our  prey  without  striking  a 
blow !  Leave  our  foot-soldiers  too  in 
the  lurch,  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the 
enemy  1  If  any  one  gives  such  counsel 
through  fear,  he  mistakes  the  course  of 
safety  ;  for  there  is  less  danger  in  pre 
senting  a  bold  front  to  a  foe,  than  in 
turning  a  dastard  back  ;  and  fewer  men 
are  killed  in  a  brave  advance,  than  in  a 
cowardly  retreat." 

Some  of  the  cavaliers  were  touched  by 
these  words,  and  declared  that  they  would 
stand  by  the  foot-soldiers,  like  true  com 
panions  in  arms.  The  great  mass  of  the 
party,  however,  were  volunteers,  brought 
together  by  chance,  who  received  no  pay, 
nor  had  any  common  tie  to  keep  them 
together  in  time  of  danger.  The  plea 
sure  of  the  expedition  being  over,  each 
thought  but  of  his  own  safety,  regard 
less  of  his  companions.  As  the  enemy 
approached,  the  tumult  of  opinions  in 
creased  ;  and  every  thing  was  in  confu 
sion.  The  captains,  to  put  an  end  to 
the  dispute,  ordered  the  standard-bearer 
to  advance  against  the  Moors ;  well 
knowing  that  no  true  cavalier  would 
hesitate  to  follow  and  defend  his  banner. 
The  standard-bearer  hesitated ;  the  troops 
were  on  the  point  of  taking  to  flight. 
Upon  this,  a  cavalier  of  the  royal  guards, 
named  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  al- 
cayde  of  the  fortress  of  Salar,  rode  to 
the  front.  He  took  off  a  handkerchief 
which  he  wore  round  his  head,  after  the 


340 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Andalusian  fashion,  and,  tying  it  to  the 
end  of  his  lance,  elevated  it  in  the  air. 
"  Cavaliers,"  cried  he,  "  why  do  you 
take  weapons  in  your  hands,  if  you  de 
pend  upon  your  feet  for  safety  ?  This 
day  will  determine  who  is  the  brave  man, 
and  who  the  coward.  He  who  is  dis 
posed  to  fight  shall  not  want  a  standard ; 
let  him  follow  this  handkerchief!"  So 
saying,  he  waved  his  banner,  and  spurred 
bravely  against  the  Moors.  His  exam 
ple  shamed  some,  and  filled  others  with 
generous  emulation.  All  turned  with 
one  accord,  and,  following  the  valiant 
Pulgar,  rushed  with  shouts  upon  the 
enemy. 

The  Moors  scarcely  waited  to  receive 
the  shock  of  their  encounter.  Seized 
with  a  sudden  panic,  they  took  to  flight, 
and  were  pursued  for  a  great  distance 
with  great  slaughter.  Three  hundred  of 
their  dead  strewed  the  road,  and  were 
stripped  and  despoiled  by  the  conquerors ; 
many  were  taken  prisoners ;  and  the 
Christian  cavaliers  returned  in  triumph 
to  the  camp,  with  a  long  cavalgada  of 
sheep  and  cattle,  and  mules  laden  with 
booty,  and  bearing  before  them  the  sin 
gular  standard,  which  had  conducted 
them  to  victory. 

When  King  Ferdinand  was  informed  of 
the  gallant  action  of  Hernando  Perez  del 
Pulgar,  he  immediately  conferred  on  him 
the  honour  of  knighthood  ;  and  ordered, 
that,  in  memory  of  his  achievements,  he 
should  bear  for  arms  a  lance  with  a 
handkerchief,  together  with  a  castle,  and 
twelve  lions.  This  is  but  one  of  many 
hardy  and  heroic  deeds,  done  by  that 
brave  cavalier,  in  the  wars  against  the 
Moors ;  by  which  he  gained  great  re 
nown,  and  the  distinguished  appellation 
of  "  El  de  las  hazanas,"  or,  "  he  of  the 
exploits."* 

CHAPTER  LXXV. 

Continuation  of  the  siege  of  Baza. 

THE  old  Moorish  king  El  Zagal 
mounted  a  tower,  and  looked  out  eager 
ly,  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  Christian 

*  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  the  historian,  secretary 
to  Queen  Isabella,  is  confounded  with  this  cavalier 
by  some  writers.  He  was  also  present  at  the  siege 
of  Baza,  and  recounted  this  transaction  in  his 
"  Chronicle  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns,  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella." 


marauders,  brought  captive  into  the 
gates  of  Guadix ;  but  his  spirits  fell, 
when  he  beheld  his  own  troops  stealing 
back  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  in 
broken,  dejected  parties. 

The  fortune  of  war  bore  hard  against 
the  old  monarch.  His  mind  was  harass 
ed  by  the  disastrous  tidings  brought  each 
day  from  Baza,  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  the  numbers  of  the  gar 
rison  slain  in  the  frequent  skirmishes. 
He  dared  not  go  in  person  to  the  relief  of 
the  place ;  for  his  presence  was  neces 
sary  in  Guadix,  to  keep  a  check  upon  his 
nephew  in  Granada.  He  made  efforts  to 
send  reinforcements  and  supplies ;  but 
they  were  intercepted,  and  either  cap 
tured  or  driven  back.  Still  his  situation 
was,  in  some  respects,  preferable  to  that 
of  his  nephew  Boabdil.  The  old  mo 
narch  was  battling  like  a  warrior  on  the 
last  step  of  his  throne.  El  Chico  re 
mained,  a  kind  of  pensioned  vassal,  in 
the  luxurious  abode  of  the  Alharnbra. 
The  chivalrous  part  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Granada  could  not  but  compare  the 
generous  stand  made  by  the  warriors  of 
Baza,  for  their  country  and  their  faith, 
with  their  own  time-serving  submission 
to  the  yoke  of  an  unbeliever.  Every 
account  they  received  of  the  wars  of 
Baza  wrung  their  hearts  with  agony ; 
every  account  of  the  exploits  of  its  de 
voted  defenders  brought  blushes  to  their 
cheeks.  Many  stole  forth  secretly  with 
their  weapons,  and  hastened  to  join  the 
besieged  ;  and  the  partisans  of  El  Zagal 
wrought  upon  the  patriotism  and  passions 
of  the  remainder,  until  another  of  those 
conspiracies  was  formed,  that  were  con 
tinually  menacing  the  unsteady  throne  of 
Granada.  It  was  concerted  by  the  con 
spirators,  to  assail  the  Alhambra  on  a 
sudden  ;  to  slay  Boabdil ;  to  assemble  all 
the  troops,  and  march  to  Guadix;  where, 
being  reinforced  by  the  garrison  of  that 
place,  and  led  on  by  the  old  warrior  mo 
narch,  they  might  fall,  with  overwhelm 
ing  power,  upon  the  Christian  army  be 
fore  Baza. 

Fortunately  for  Boabdil,  he  discovered 
the  conspiracy  in  time,  and  had  the  heads 
of  the  leaders  struck  off,  and  placed  upon 
the  walls  of  the  Alhambra :  an  act  of 
severity,  unusual  with  the  mild  and 
wavering  monarch,  which  struck  terror 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


341 


into  the  disaffected,  and  produced  a  kinc 
of  mute  tranquillity  throughout  the  city 

King  Ferdinand  had  full  information 
of  all  these  movements  and  measures 
for  the  relief  of  Baza,  and  took  timely 
I  precautions  to  prevent  them.  Bodies  oJ 
horsemen  held  watch  in  the  mountain 
|  passes,  to  prevent  all  supplies,  and  to 
intercept  any  generous  volunteers  from 
Granada ;  and  watchtowers  were  erect 
ed,  or  scouts  placed,  on  any  commanding 
height,  to  give  the  alarm,  at  the  least 
sign  of  a  hostile  turban. 

The  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  brave 
companions  in  arms  were  thus  gradually 
walled  up,  as  it  were,  from  the  rest  of  the 
world.  A  line  of  towers,  the  battlements 
of  which  bristled  with  troops,  girdled  their 
city ;  and  behind  the  intervening  bulwarks 
and  palisadoes  passed  and  repassed  con 
tinual  bodies  of  troops.  Week  after 
week,  and  month  after  month,  glided 
away  ;  but  Ferdinand  waited  in  vain  for 
the  garrison  to  be  either  terrified  or 
starved  into  surrender.  Every  day  they 
sa.Mied  forth  with  the  spirit  and  alacrity 
of  troops  high  fed,  and  flushed  with  con 
fidence.  "  The  Christian  monarch,"  said 
the  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Hassan, 
"  builds  his  hopes  upon  our  growing 
faint  and  desponding :  we  must  manifest 
unusual  cheerfulness  and  vigour.  What 
would  be  rashness  in  other  service,  be 
comes  prudence  with  us."  The  Prince 
Cidi  Yahye  agreed  with  him  in  opinion ; 
and  sallied  forth,  with  his  troops,  upon 
all  kinds  of  hare-brained  exploits.  They 
laid  ambushes,  concerted  surprises,  and 
made  the  most  desperate  assaults.  The 
great  extent  of  the  Christian  works  ren 
dered  them  weak  in  many  parts.  Against 
these  the  Moors  directed  their  attacks ; 
suddenly  breaking  into  them,  making  a 
hasty  ravage,  and  bearing  off  their  booty, 
in  triumph,  to  the  city.  Sometimes  they 
would  sally  forth,  by  the  passes  and  clefts 
of  the  mountain  in  the  rear  of  the  city, 
which  it  was  difficult  to  guard,  and,  hur 
rying  down  into  the  plain,  would  sweep 
off  all  cattle  and  sheep  that  were  grazing 
near  the  suburbs,  and  all  stragglers  from 
the  camp. 

These  partisan  sallies  brought  on  many 
sharp  and  bloody  encounters ;  in  some  of 
which,  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar  and  the 
alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  distinguished 


themselves  greatly.  During  one  of  these 
hot  skirmishes,  which  happened  on  the 
skirts  of  the  mountain  about  twilight,  a 
valiant  cavalier,  named  Martin  Galindo, 
beheld  a  powerful  Moor  dealing  deadly 
blows  about  him,  and  making  great  havoc 
among  the  Christians.  Galindo  pressed 
forward,  and  challenged  him  to  single 
combat.  The  Moor,  who  was  of  the 
valiant  tribe  of  the  Abencerrages,  was 
not  slow  in  answering  the  call.  Couch 
ing  their  lances,  they  rushed  furiously 
upon  each  other.  At  the  first  shock,  the 
Moor  was  wounded  in  the  face,  and 
borne  out  of  his  saddle.  Before  Galindo 
could  check  his  steed,  and  turn  from  his 
career,  the  Moor  sprang  upon  his  feet, 
recovered  his  lance,  and,  rushing  upon 
him,  wounded  him  in  the  head  and  the 
arm.  Though  Galindo  was  on  horse 
back,  and  the  Moor  on  foot,  yet  such  was 
the  prowess  and  address  of  the  latter,  that 
the  Christian  knight,  being  disabled  in 
the  arm,  was  in  the  utmost  peril,  when 
his  comrades  hastened  to  his  assistance. 
At  their  approach,  the  valiant  pagan 
retreated  slowly  up  the  rocks,  keeping 
them  at  bay,  until  he  found  himself 
among  his  companions. 

Several  of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers, 
stung  by  the  triumph  of  this  Moslem 
knight,  would  have  challenged  others  of 
the  Moors  to  single  combat ;  but  King 
Ferdinand  prohibited  all  vaunting  en 
counters  of  the  kind.  He  forbade  his 
troops,  also,  to  provoke  skirmishes ;  well 
knowing,  that  the  Moors  were  more  dex 
terous  than  most  people  in  this  irregular 
mode  of  fighting,  and  were  better  ac 
quainted  with  the  ground. 

CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

How  two  friars  arrived  at  the  camp;  and  how  they 
came  from  the  Holy  Land. 

"  WHILE  the  holy  Christian  army," 
says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  was  thus 
beleaguering  this  infidel  city  of  Baza, 
there  rode  into  the  camp,  one  day,  two 
reverend  friars  of  the  order  of  Saint 
Francis.  One  was  of  portly  person,  and 
authoritative  air.  He  bestrode  a  goodly 
steed,  well  conditioned,  and  well  capa 
risoned  ;  while  his  companion  rode  be 
hind  him,  upon  a  humble  hack,  poorly 
accoutred ;  and,  as  he  rode,  he  scarcely 

29* 


342 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


raised   his   eyes   from  the  ground,  but 
maintained  a  meek  and  lowly  air. 

The  arrival  of  two  friars  in  the  camp 
was  not  a  matter  of  much  note ;  for,  in 
these  holy  wars,  the  church  militant  con 
tinually  mingled  in  the  affray,  and  helmet 
and  cowl  were  always  seen  together;  but 
it  was  soon  discovered,  that  these  worthy 
saints  errant  were  from  a  far  country, 
and  on  a  mission  of  great  import.  They 
were,  in  truth,  just  arrived  from  the  Holy 
Land  ;  being  two  of  the  saintly  men  who 
kept  vigil  over  the  sepulchre  of  our  bless 
ed  Lord  at  Jerusalem.  He,  of  the  tall 
and  portly  form,  and  commanding  pre 
sence,  was  Fray  Antonio  Millan,  prior  of 
the  Franciscan  convent  in  the  Holy  City. 
He  had  a  full  and  florid  countenance,  a 
sonorous  voice,  and  was  round,  and 
swelling,  and  copious,  in  his  periods, 
like  one  accustomed  to  harangue,  and  to 
be  listened  to  with  deference.  His  com 
panion  was  small  and  spare  in  form, 
pale  of  visage,  and  soft,  and  silken,  and 
almost  whispering,  in  speech.  "  He  had 
a  humble  and  lowly  way,"  said  Agapida  ; 
"  evermore  bowing  the  head,  as  became 
one  of  his  calling.  Yet  he  was  one  of 
the  most  active,  zealous,  and  effective 
brothers  of  the  convent ;  and,  when  he 
raised  his  small  black  eye  from  the  earth, 
there  was  a  keen  glance  out  of  the  corner, 
which  showed,  that,  though  harmless  as 
a  dove,  he  was,  nevertheless,  as  wise  as 
a  serpent." 

These  holy  men  had  come  on  a  mo 
mentous  embassy,  from  the  Grand  Soldan 
of  Egypt ;  or,  as  Agapida  terms  him,  in 
the  language  of  the  day,  the  Soldan  of 
Babylon.  The  league,  which  had  been 
made  between  that  potentate  and  his  arch 
foe,  the  Grand  Turk,Bajazet  II.,  to  unite 
in  arms  for  the  salvation  of  Granada,  as 
has  been  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter 
of  this  chronicle,  had  come  to  nought. 
The  infidel  princes  had  again  taken  up 
arms  against  each  other,  and  had  re 
lapsed  into  their  ancient  hostility.  Still 
the  Grand  Soldan,  as  head  of  the  whole 
Moslem  sect,  considered  himself  bound 
to  preserve  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
from  the  grasp  of  unbelievers.  He  des 
patched,  therefore,  tjiese  two  holy  friars, 
with  letters  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
a«  well  as  to  the  pope,  and  to  the  King  of 
Naples  j  remonstrating  against  the  evils 


done  to  the  Moors  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  who  were  of  his  faith  and 
kindred  :  whereas,  it  was  well  known, 
that  great  numbers  of  Christians  were 
indulged  and  protected  in  the  full  enjoy 
ment  of  their  property,  their  liberty,  and 
their  faith,  in  his  dominions.  He  insisted, 
therefore,  that  this  war  should  cease ; 
that  the  Moors  of  Granada  should  be 
reinstated  in  the  territory  of  which  they 
had  been  dispossessed  :  otherwise,  he 
threatened  to  put  to  death  all  the  Chris 
tians  beneath  his  sway,  to  demolish  their 
convents  and  temples,  and  to  destroy  the 
Holy  Sepulchre. 

This  fearful  menace  had  spread  con 
sternation  among  the  Christians  of  Pales 
tine  ;  and  when  the  intrepid  Fray  Antonio 
Millan  and  his  lowly  companions  departed 
on  their  mission,  they  were  accompanied 
far  from  the  gates  of  Jerusalem  by  an 
anxious  throng  of  brethren  and  disciples, 
who  remained  watching  them  with  tearful 
eyes,  as  they  journeyed  over  the  plains 
of  Judea. 

These  holy  ambassadors  were  received 
with  great  distinction  by  King  Ferdinand  ; 
for  men  of  their  cloth  had  ever  high  ho 
nour  and  consideration  in  his  court.  He 
had  long  and  frequent  conversations  with 
them,  about  the  Holy  Land,  the  state  of 
the  Christian  church  in  the  dominions  of 
the  Grand  Soldan,  and  of  the  policy  and 
conduct  of  that  arch  infidel  towards  it. 
The  portly  prior  of  the  Franciscan  con 
vent  was  full,  and  round,  and  oratorical 
in  his  replies,  and  the  king  expressed 
himself  much  pleased  with  the  eloquence 
of  his  periods :  but  the  politic  monarch 
was  observed  to  lend  a  close  and  atten 
tive  ear  to  the  whispering  voice  of  the 
lowly  companion  ;  "  whose  discourse," 
adds  Agapida,  "  though  modest  and  low, 
was  clear  and  fluent,  and  full  of  subtle 
wisdom." 

These  holy  friars  had  visited  Rome  in 
their  journeying,  where  they  had  deli 
vered  the  letter  of  the  Soldan  to  the 
sovereign  pontiff.  His  holiness  had  writ 
ten  by  them  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
requesting  to  know  what  reply  they  had 
to  offer  to  this  demand  of  the  oriental 
potentate. 

The  King  of  Naples  also  wrote  to 
them  on  the  subject,  but  in  wary  terms. 
He  inquired  into  the  cause  of  this  war 


Pi- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


343 


with  the  Moors  of  Granada,  and  express 
ed  great  marvel  at  its  events  ;  "  as  if," 
says  Agapida,  "  both  were  not  notorious 
throughout  all  the  Christian  world.  Nay," 
adds  the  worthy  friar,  with  becoming  In 
dignation,  "  he  uttered  opinions  savouring 
of  little  better  than  damnable  heresy ;  for 
he  observed,  that  although  the  Moors 
were  of  a  different  sect,  they  ought  not 
to  be  maltreated  without  just  cause ;  and 
hinted,  that,  if  the  Castilian  sovereigns 
did  not  suffer  any  crying  injury  from  the 
Moors,  it  would  be  improper  to  do  any 
thing  which  might  draw  great  damage 
upon  the  Christians :  as  if,  when  once 
the  sword  of  the  faith  was  drawn,  it  ought 
ever  to  be  sheathed,  until  this  scum  of 
heathendom  were  utterly  destroyed,  or 
driven  from  the  land.  But  this  monarch," 
he  continues,  "  was  more  kindly  disposed 
towards  the  infidels,  than  was  honest  and 
lawful  in  a  Christian  prince,  and  was  at 
that  very  time  in  league  with  the  Soldan, 
against  their  common  enemy,  the  Grand 
Turk." 

These  pious  sentiments  of  the  truly 
catholic  Agapida  are  echoed  by  Padre 
Mariana,  in  his  history  ;*  but  the  worthy 
chronicler,  Pedro  Abarca,  attributes  the 
interference  of  the  King  of  Naples,  not 
to  lack  of  orthodoxy  in  religion,  but  to 
an  excess  of  worldly  policy ;  he  being 
apprehensive,  that,  should  Ferdinand 
conquer  the  Moors  of  Granada,  he  might 
have  time  and  means  to  assert  a  claim 
of  the  house  of  Aragon  to  the  crown  of 
Naples. 

"  King  Ferdinand,"  continues  the  wor 
thy  father  Pedro  Abarca,  "  was  no  less 
master  of  dissimulation  than  his  cousin 
of  Naples ;  so  he  replied  to  him  with  the 
utmost  suavity  of  manner ;  going  into  a 
minute  and  patient  vindication  of  the 
war,  and  taking  great  apparent  pains  to 
inform  him  of  those  things,  which  all  the 
world  knew,  but  of  which  the  other  pre 
tended  to  be  ignorant. "f  At  the  same 
time,  he  soothed  his  solicitude  about  the 
fate  of  the  Christians  in  the  empire  of  the 
j  Grand  Soldan ;  assuring  him  that  the 
I  great  revenue  extorted  from  them  in  rents 
and  tributes,  would  be  a  certain  protec 
tion  against  the  threatened  violence. 
To  the  pope,  he  made  the  usual  vindi- 

»  Mariana,  lib.  xxv.  cap.  17. 

t  Abarca,  Anales  do  Aragon,  rey.  xxx.  cap.  3. 


cation  of  the  war ;  that  it  was  for  the 
recovery  of  ancient  territory  usurped  by 
the  Moors,  for  the  punishment  of  wars 
and  violences  inflicted  upon  the  Chris 
tians  ;  and,  finally,  that  it  was  a  holy 
crusade,  for  the  glory  and  advancement 
of  the  church. 

"  It  was  a  truly  edifying  sight,"  says 
Agapida,  "  to  behold  these  friars,  after 
they  had  had  their  audience  of  the  king, 
moving  about  the  camp,  always  sur 
rounded  by  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  high 
and  martial  renown.  These  were  insa 
tiable  in  their  questions  about  the  Holy 
Land,  the  state  of  the  sepulchre  of  our 
Lord,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  devoted 
brethren  who  guarded  it,  and  the  pious 
pilgrims  who  resorted  there  to  pay  their 
vows.  The  portly  prior  of  the  convent 
would  stand,  with  lofty  and  shining 
countenance,  in  the  midst  of  these  iron 
warriors,  and  declaim  with  resounding 
eloquence  on  the  history  of  the  sepul 
chre;  but  the  humble  brother  would  ever 
and  anon  sigh  deeply,  and,  in  low  tones, 
utter  some  tale  of  suffering  and  outrage, 
at  which  his  steel-clad  hearers  would 
grasp  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  and  mutter 
between  their  clenched  teeth  prayers  for 
another  crusade." 

The  pious  friars,  having  finished  their 
mission  to  the  king,  and  been  treated 
with  all  due  distinction,  took  their  leave, 
and  wended  their  way  to  Jaen,  to  visit 
the  most  catholic  of  queens.  Isabella, 
whose  heart  was  the  seat  of  piety,  re 
ceived  them  as  sacred  men,  invested  with 
more  than  human  dignity.  During  their 
residence  at  Jaen,  they  were  continually 
in  the  royal  presence;  the  respectable 
prior  of  the  convent  moved  and  melted 
the  ladies  of  the  court  by  his  florid 
rhetoric ;  but  his  lowly  companion  was 
observed  to  have  continual  access  to  the 
royal  ear.  "  That  saintly  and  soft-spoken 
messenger,"  says  Agapida,  "  received  the 
reward  of  his  humility ;  for  the  queen, 
moved  by  his  frequent  representations, 
made  in  all  modesty  and  lowliness  of 
spirit,  granted  a  yearly  sum  in  perpe 
tuity  of  one  thousand  ducats  in  gold  for 
the  support  of  the  monks  of  the  convents 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre."* 

*  La  Rcyna  dio  a  los  fraiJes  mil  ducados  de  renta 
cada  ano  para  el  sustento  de  los  religiosos  del 
Santo  Sepulcro,  que  es  la  mejor  limosna  y  sustento 


-n 


844 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Moreover,  on  the  departure  of  these 
holy  ambassadors,  the  excellent  and  most 
catholic  queen  delivered  to  them  a  veil 
devoutly  embroidered  with  her  own  royal 
hands,  to  be  placed  over  the  Holy  Sepul 
chre.  A  precious  and  inestimable  pre 
sent,  which  called  forth  a  most  eloquent 
tribute  of  thanks  from  the  portly  prior, 
but  which  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of 
his  lowly  companion.* 

CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

How  Queen  Isabella  devised  means  to  supply  the 
army  with  provisions. 

IT  has  been  the  custom  to  laud  the 
conduct  and  address  of  King  Ferdinand 
in  this  most  arduous  and  protracted  war  ; 
but  the  sage  Agapida  is  more  disposed  to 
give  credit  to  the  counsels  and  measures 
of  the  queen,  who,  he  observes,  though 
less  ostensible  in  action,  was  in  truth  the 
very  soul,  the  vital  principle,  of  this  great 
enterprise.  While  King  Ferdinand  was 
bustling  in  his  camp,  and  making  a 
glittering  display  with  his  gallant  chi 
valry  ;  she,  surrounded  by  her  saintly 
counsellors,  in  the  episcopal  palace  of 
Jaen,  was  devising  ways  and  means  to 
keep  the  king  and  his  army  in  existence. 
She  had  pledged  herself  to  provide  a 
supply  of  men  and  money,  and  provisions, 
until  the  city  should  be  taken.  The 
hardships  of  the  siege  caused  a  fearful 
waste  of  life;  but  the  supply  of  men  was 
the  least  difficult  part  of  her  undertaking. 
So  beloved  was  the  queen  by  the  chivalry 
of  Spain,  that,  on  her  calling  on  them  for 
assistance,  not  "a  grandee  or  cavalier, 

que  hasta  nuestros  dias  ha  quedado  a  estos  religio- 
sos  de  Jerusalem :  para  donde  les  dio  la  reyna  un 
velo  labrado  por  sus  manos,  para  poner  encima  de 
la  santa  sepultura  del  Sefior.  Garibay,  Comp.  Hist., 
lib.  xviii.  cap.  36. 

*  it  is  proper  to  mention  the  result  of  this  mis 
sion  of  the  two  friars,  and  which  the  worthy  Aga 
pida  has  neglected  to  record.  At  a  subsequent 
period,  the  catholic  sovereigns  sent  the  distin 
guished  historian  Pietro  Martyr  of  Angleria,  as 
ambassador  to  the  Grand  Soldan.  That  able  man 
made  such  representations  as  were  perfectly  satis 
factory  to  the  oriental  potentate.  He  also  obtained 
from  him  the  remission  of  many  exactions  and 
extortions  heretofore  practised  upon  Christian  pil 
grims  visiting  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  which,  it  is 
presumed,  had  been  gently,  but  cogently,  detailed 
to  the  monarch  by  the  lowly  friar.  Pietro  Martyr 
wrote  an  account  of  his  embassy  to  the  Grand 
Soldan  ;  a  work  greatly  esteemed  by  the  learned, 
and  containing  much  curious  information.  It  is 
entitled  "  De  Legatione  Babylonica." 


that  yet  lingered  at  home,  but  either 
repaired  in  person  or  sent  forces  to  the 
camp  ;  the  ancient  and  warlike  families 
vied  with  each  other,  in  marshalling 
forth  their  vassals ;  and  thus  the  besieged 
Moors  beheld  each  day  fresh  troops  ar 
riving  before  their  city,  and  new  ensigns 
and  pennons  displayed,  emblazoned  with 
arms  well  known  to  the  veteran  warriors. 

But  the  most  arduous  task  was  to  keep 
up  a  regular  supply  of  provisions.  It 
was  not  the  army  alone  that  had  to  be 
supported,  but  also  the  captured  towns 
and  their  garrisons  ;  for  the  whole  coun 
try  round  them  had  been  ravaged,  and 
the  conquerors  were  in  danger  of  starving 
in  the  midst  of  the  land  they  had  deso 
lated.  To  transport  what  was  daily 
required  for  such  immense  numbers  was 
a  gigantic  undertaking,  in  a  country 
where  there  was  neither  water-convey 
ance  nor  roads  for  carriages.  Every 
thing  had  to  be  borne  by  beasts  of  burden, 
over  rugged  and  broken  paths  of  the 
mountains,  and  through  dangerous  defiles, 
exposed  to  the  attacks  and  plunderings  of 
the  Moors. 

The  wary  and  calculating  merchants 
accustomed  to  supply  the  army,  shrunk 
from  engaging,  at  their  own  risk,  in  so 
hazardous  an  undertaking.  The  queen 
therefore  hired  fourteen  thousand  beasts 
of  burden,  and  ordered  all  the  wheat  and 
barley  to  be  bought  up  in  Andalusia, 
and  in  the  domains  of  the  knights  of  San 
tiago  and  Calatrava.  She  distributed 
the  administration  of  these  supplies 
among  able  and  confidential  persons. 
Some  were  employed  to  collect  the  grain, 
others  to  take  it  to  the  mills,  others  to 
superintend  the  grinding  and  delivery, 
and  others  to  convey  it  to  the  camp.  To 
every  two  hundred  animals  a  muleteer 
was  allotted,  to  take  charge  of  them  on 
the  route.  Thus  great  lines  of  convoys 
were  in  constant  movement  traversing  the 
mountains  to  and  fro,  guarded  by  large 
bodies  of  troops,  to  defend  them  from 
hovering  parties  of  the  Moors.  Not  a 
single  day's  intermission  was  allowed ; 
for  the  army  depended  upon  the  constant 
arrival  of  these  supplies  for  daily  food. 
The  grain,  when  brought  into  the  camp, 
was  deposited  in  an  immense  granary, 
and  sold  to  the  army  at  a  fixed  price, 
which  was  never  either  raised  or  lowered. 


-[•1 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


345 


Incredible  were  the  expenses  incurred 
in  this  business ;  but  the  queen  had 
ghostly  advisers,  thoroughly  versed  in 
the  art  of  getting  at  the  resources  of  the 
country.  Many  worthy  prelates  opened 
the  deep  purses  of  the  church,  and  fur 
nished  loans  from  the  revenues  of  their 
dioceses  and  convents  ;  and  their  pious 
contributions  were  eventually  rewarded 
by  Providence  a  hundredfold.  Merchants 
and  other  wealthy  individuals,  confident 
of  the  punctual  faith  of  the  queen,  ad 
vanced  large  sums  on  the  security  of  her 
word  :  many  noble  families  lent  their 
plate  without  waiting  to  be  asked.  The 
queen,  also,  sold  certain  annual  rents  in 
inheritance,  at  great  sacrifices,  assigning 
the  revenues  of  towns  and  cities  for  the 
payment.  Finding  all  this  insufficient  to 
satisfy  the  enormous  expenditure,  she 
sent  her  gold  and  plate,  and  all  her 
jewels  to  the  cities  of  Valencia  and  Bar 
celona,  where  they  were  pledged  for  a 
great  amount  of  money  ;  which  was  im 
mediately  appropriated  to  keep  up  the 
supplies  of  the  army. 

Thus,  through  the  wonderful  activity, 
judgment,  and  enterprise  of  this  heroic 
and  magnanimous  woman,  a  great  host, 
encamped  in  the  heart  of  a  warlike  coun 
try,  accessible  only  over  mountain  roads, 
was  maintained  in  continual  abundance  : 
nor  was  it  merely  supplied  with  the  neces 
saries  and  comforts  of  life.  The  powerful 
escorts  drewmerchants  and  artificers  from 
all  parts,  to  repair,  as  if  in  caravans,  to 
this  great  military  market.  In  a  little  while 
the  camp  abounded  with  tradesmen  and 
artists  of  all  kinds,  to  administer  to  the 
luxury  and  ostentation  of  the  youthful 
chivalry.  Here  might  be  seen  cunning 
artificers  in  steel,  and  accomplished 
armourers,  achieving  those  rare  and 
sumptuous  helmets  and  cuirasses  richly 
gilt,  inlaid,  and  embossed,  in  which  the 
Spanish  cavaliers  delighted ;  saddlers, 
and  harness-makers,  and  horse-milliners 
also,  whose  tents  glittered  with  gorgeous 
housings  and  caparisons.  The  merchants 
spread  forth  their  sumptuous  silks,  cloths, 
brocades,  fine  linen,  and  tapestry.  The 
tents  of  the  nobility  were  prodigally 
decorated  with  all  kinds  of  the  richest 
stuffs,  and  dazzled  the  eye  with  their 
magnificence  :  nor  could  the  grave  looks 
and  grave  speeches  of  King  Ferdinand 


prevent  his  youthful  cavaliers  from  vying 
with  each  other  in  the  splendour  of  their 
dresses  and  caparisons,  on  all  occasions 
of  parade  and  ceremony. 

CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

Of  the  disaster  which  befel  the  camp. 

WHILE  the  Christian  camp,  thus  gay 
and  gorgeous,  spread  itself  out  like  a 
holiday  pageant  before  the  walls  of  Baza  ; 
while  a  long  line  of  beasts  of  burden, 
laden  with  provisions  and  luxuries,  were 
seen  descending  the  valley  from  morning 
till  night,  and  pouring  into  the  camp  a 
continued  stream  of  abundance,  the  un 
fortunate  garrison  found  their  resources 
rapidly  wasting  away,  and  famine  already 
began  to  pinch  the  peaceful  part  of  the 
community. 

Cidi  Yahye  had  acted  with  great  spirit 
and  valour,  as  long  as  there  was  any 
prospect  of  success  ;  but  he  began  to  lose 
his  usual  fire  and  animation,  and  was 
observed  to  pace  the  walls  of  Baza  with 
a  pensive  air,  casting  many  a  wistful 
look  towards  the  Christian  camp,  and 
sinking  into  profound  reveries  and  cogi 
tations.  The  veteran  alcayde,  Mohammed 
ben  Hassan,  noticed  these  desponding 
moods,  and  endeavoured  to  rally  the 
spirits  of  the  prince.  "  The  rainy  season 
is  at  hand,"  would  he  cry :  "  the  floods 
will  soon  pour  down  from  the  mountains  ; 
the  rivers  will  overflow  their  banks,  and 
inundate  the  valleys.  The  Christian  king 
already  begins  to  waver ;  he  dares  not 
linger  and  encounter  such  a  season,  in  a 
plain  cut  up  by  canals  and  rivulets.  A 
single  wintry  storm  from  our  mountains 
would  wash  away  his  canvass  city,  and 
sweep  off  those  gay  pavilions,  like 
wreaths  of  snow  before  the  blast." 

The  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  took  heart  at 
these  words,  and  counted  the  days  as 
they  passed,  until  the  stormy  season 
should  commence.  As  he  watched  the 
Christian  camp,  he  beheld  it  one  morn 
ing  in  universal  commotion.  There  was 
an  unusual  sound  of  hammers  in  every 
part,  as  if  some  new  engines  of  war 
were  constructing.  At  length,  to  his 
astonishment,  the  walls  and  roofs  of 
houses  began  to  appear  above  the  bul 
warks.  In  a  little  while  there  were 
above  a  thousand  edifices  of  wood  and 


346 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


plaster  erected,  covered  with  tiles,  taken 
from  the  demolished  towers  of  the  or 
chards,  and  bearing  pennons  of  various 
commanders  and  cavaliers ;  while  the 
common  soldiery  constructed  huts  of 
clay  and  branches  of  trees,  and  thatched 
them  with  straw.  Thus,  to  the  dismay 
of  the  Moors,  within  four  days  the  light 
tents  and  gay  pavilions,  which  had 
whitened  the  hills  and  plains,  passed 
away  like  summer  clouds  ;  and  the  un 
substantial  camp  assumed  the  solid  ap 
pearance  of  a  city  laid  out  into  streets 
and  squares.  In  the  centre  rose  a  large 
edifice,  which  overlooked  the  whole,  and 
the  royal  standard  of  Aragon  and  Castile, 
proudly  floating  above  it,  showed  it  to  be 
the  palace  of  the  king.* 

Ferdinand  had  taken  the  sudden  reso 
lution  thus  to  turn  his  camp  into  a  city, 
partly  to  provide  against  the  approaching 
season,  and  partly  to  convince  the  Moors 
of  his  fixed  determination  to  continue  the 
siege.  In  their  haste  to  erect  their 
dwellings,  however,  the  Spanish  cavaliers 
had  not  properly  considered  the  nature 
of  the  climate.  For  the  greater  part  of 
the  year  there  scarcely  falls  a  drop  of 
rain  on  the  thirsty  soil  of  Andalusia  :  the 
ramblas,  or  dry  channels  of  the  torrents, 
remain  deep  and  arid  gashes  and  clefts 
in  the  sides  of  the  mountains.  The 
perennial  streams  shrink  up  to  mere 
threads  of  water,  which  tinkling  down 
the  bottoms  of  the  deep  barrancas  or 
ravines,  scarcely  feed  and  keep  alive  the 
rivers  of  the  valleys.  The  rivers,  almost 
lost  in  their  wide  and  naked  beds,  seem 
like  thirsty  rills,  winding  in  [serpentine 
mazes  through  deserts  of  sand  and 
stones  ;  and  so  shallow  and  tranquil  in 
their  course,  as  to  be  forded  in  safety  in 
almost  every  part.  One  autumnal  tem 
pest  of  rain,  however,  changes  the  whole 
face  of  nature.  The  clouds  break  in 
deluges  among  the  vast  congregation  of 
mountains.  The  ramblas  are  suddenly 
filled  with  raging  floods,  the  tinkling 
rivulets  swell  to  thundering  torrents,  that 
come  roaring  down  from  the  mountains, 
precipitating  great  masses  of  rocks  in 
their  career.  The  late  meandering  river 
spreads  over  its  once  naked  bed,  lashes 
its  surges  against  the  banks,  and  rushes, 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios.    Pulgar,  etc. 


like   a    wide    and   foaming    inundation, 
through  the  valley. 

Scarcely  had  the  Christians  finished 
their  slightly  built  edifices,  when  an 
autumnal  tempest  of  this  kind  came  scour 
ing  from  the  mountains.  The  camp  was 
immediately  overflowed.  Many  of  the 
houses,  undermined  by  the  floods  or 
beaten  by  the  rain,  crumbled  away,  and 
fell  to  the  earth,  burying  man  and  beast 
beneath  their  ruins.  Several  valuable 
lives  were  lost,  and  great  numbers  of 
horses  and  other  animals  perished.  To 
add  to  the  distress  and  confusion  of  the 
camp,  the  daily  supply  of  provisions  sud 
denly  ceased  ;  for  the  rain  had  broken  up 
the  roads,  and  rendered  the  rivers  im 
passable.  A  panic  seized  upon  the  army, 
for  the  cessation  of  a  single  day's  supply 
produced  a  scarcity  of  bread  and  pro 
vender.  Fortunately  the  rain  was  but 
transient.  The  torrents  rushed  by,  and 
ceased ;  the  rivers  shrunk  back  again  to 
their  narrow  channels ;  and  the  convoys, 
that  had  been  detained  upon  their  banks, 
arrived  safely  in  the  camp. 

No  sooner  did  Queen  Isabella  hear  of 
this  interruption  of  her  supplies,  than, 
with  her  usual  vigilance  and  activity, 
she  provided  against  its  recurrence.  She 
despatched  six  thousand  foot-soldiers, 
under  the  command  of  experienced  offi 
cers,  to  repair  the  roads,  and  to  make 
causeways  and  bridges,  for  the  distance 
of  seven  Spanish  leagues.  The  troops, 
also,  who  had  been  stationed  in  the 
mountains  by  the  king,  to  guard  the 
defiles,  made  two  paths,  one  for  the  con 
voys  going  to  the  camp,  and  the  other 
for  those  returning,  that  they  might  not 
meet  and  impede  each  other.  The 
edifices  which  had  been  demolished  by 
the  late  floods,  were  rebuilt  in  a  firmer 
manner,  and  precautions  were  taken  to 
protect  the  camp  from  future  inunda 
tions. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

Encounter  between  the  Christians  and  Moors  before 
Baza  ;  and  the  devotion  of  the  inhabitants  to  the 
defence  of  the  city. 

WHEN  King  Ferdinand  beheld  the  ra 
vage  and  confusion  produced  by  a  single 
autumnal  storm,  and  bethought  him  of  all 
the  maladies  to  which  a  besieging  camp 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


347 


is  exposed,  in  inclement  seasons,  he  began 
to  feel  his  compassion  kindling  for  the 
suffering  people  of  Baza,  and  an  inclina 
tion  to  grant  them  more  favourable  terms. 
He  sent,  therefore,  several  messages  to 
the  alcayde,  Mohammed  ben  Hassan, 
offering  liberty  of  person  and  security  of 
property  for  the  inhabitants,  and  large 
rewards  for  himself,  if  he  would  surrender 
the  city.  The  veteran  Mohammed  was 
not  to  be  dazzled  by  the  splendid  offers  of 
the  monarch.  He  had  received  exag 
gerated  accounts  of  the  damage  done  to 
the  Christian  camp  by  the  late  storm,  and 
of  the  sufferings  and  discontents  of  the 
army,  in  consequence  of  the  transient 
interruption  of  supplies.  He  considered 
the  overtures  of  Ferdinand  as  proofs  of 
the  desperate  state  of  his  affairs.  "  A 
little  more  patience,"  said  the  shrewd  old 
warrior,  "  and  we  shall  see  this  cloud  of 
Christian  locusts  driven  away  before  the 
winter  storms.  When  they  once  turn 
their  backs,  it  will  be  our  lot  to  strike  ; 
and,  with  the  help  of  Allah,  the  blow 
shall  be  decisive."  He  sent  a  firm  though 
courteous  refusal  to  the  Christian  mo 
narch  ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  animated 
his  companions  to  sally  forth,  with  more 
spirit  than  ever,  to  attack  the  Spanish 
outposts,  and  those  labouring  in  the 
trenches.  The  consequence  was  a  daily 
occurrence  of  the  most  daring  and  bloody 
skirmishes,  that  cost  the  lives  of  many  of 
the  bravest  and  most  adventurous  ca 
valiers  of  either  army. 

In  one  of  these  sallies,  near  three  hun 
dred  horse  and  two  thousand  foot  mounted 
the  heights  behind  the  city,  to  capture  the 
Christians  who  were  employed  upon  the 
works.  They  came  by  surprise  upon  a 
body  of  guards,  esquires  of  the  Count  de 
Urena ;  killed  some,  put  the  rest  to  flight, 
and  pursued  them  down  the  mountain, 
until  they  came  in  sight  of  a  small  force 
under  the  Count  de  Tendilla  and  Gonsalvo 
of  Cordova.  The  Moors  came  rushing 
down  with  such  fury,  that  many  of  the 
men  of  the  Count  de  Tendilla  betook 
themselves  to  flight.  The  brave  count 
considered  it  less  dangerous  to  fight  than 
to  flee.  Bracing  his  buckler,  therefore, 
and  grasping  his  trusty  weapon,  he  stood 
his  ground  with  his  accustomed  prowess. 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  ranged  himself  by 
his  side;  and  marshalling  the  troops 


which  remained  with  them,  a  valiant 
front  was  made  to  the  Moors. 

The  infidels  pressed  them  hard,  and 
were  gaining  the  advantage,  when  Alonso 
de  Aguilar,  hearing  of  the  danger  of  his 
brother  Gonsalvo,  flew  to  his  assistance, 
accompanied  by  the  Count  of  Urena  and 
a  body  of  their  troops.  A  hot  contest 
ensued,  from  cliff  to  cliff  and  glen  to  glen. 
The  Moors  were  fewer  in  number ;  but 
they  excelled  in  the  dexterity  and  light 
ness  requisite  for  these  scrambling  skir 
mishes.  They  were  at  length  driven 
from  their  vantage-ground,  and  pursued 
by  Alonso  de  Aguilar  and  his  brother 
Gonsalvo  to  the  very  suburbs  of  the  city ; 
leaving  many  of  the  bravest  of  their  men 
upon  the  field. 

Such  was  one  of  innumerable  rough 
encounters,  which  were  daily  taking 
place ;  in  which  many  brave  cavaliers 
were  slain,  without  any  apparent  benefit 
to  either  party.  The  Moors,  notwith 
standing  repeated  defeats  and  losses, 
continued  to  sally  forth  daily  with  as 
tonishing  spirit  and  vigour ;  and  the 
obstinacy  of  their  defence  seemed  to 
increase  with  their  sufferings. 

The  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  was  ever  fore 
most  in  these  sallies ;  but  he  grew  daily 
more  despairing  of  success.  All  the 
money  in  the  military  chest  was  ex 
pended,  and  there  was  no  longer  where 
withal  to  pay  the  hired  troops.  Still 
the  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  un 
dertook  to  provide  for  this  emergency. 
Summoning  the  principal  inhabitants,  he 
represented  the  necessity  of  some  exertion 
and  sacrifice  on  their  part,  to  maintain 
the  defence  of  the  city.  "  The  enemy," 
said  he,  "  dreads  the  approach  of  winter, 
and  our  perseverance  drives  him  to  de 
spair.  A  little  longer,  and  he  will  leave 
you  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  your  homes  and 
families.  But  our  troops  must  be  paid, 
to  keep  them  in  good  heart.  Our  money 
is  exhausted,  and  all  our  supplies  are  cut 
off.  It  is  impossible  to  continue  our  de 
fence  without  your  aid." 

Upon  this  the  citizens  consulted  to 
gether  ;  and  they  collected  all  their 
vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  and  brought 
them  to  Mohammed  ben  Hassan.  "  Take 
these,"  said  they,  "  and  coin  them,  or 
sell  them,  or  pledge  them  for  money, 
wherewith  to  pay  the  troops."  The 


348 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


women  of  Baza,  also,  were  seized  with 
generous  emulation.  "  Shall  we  deck 
ourselves  with  gorgeous  apparel,"  said 
they,  "  when  our  country  is  desolate, 
and  its  defenders  in  want  of  bread  ?"  So 
they  took  their  collars,  and  bracelets, 
and  anklets,  and  other  ornaments  of  gold, 
and  all  their  jewels,  and  placed  them  in 
the  hands  of  the  veteran  alcayde.  "  Take 
these  spoils  of  our  vanity,"  said  they  ; 
"  and  let  them  contribute  to  the  defence  of 
our  homes  and  families.  If  Baza  be  de 
livered,  we  need  no  jewels  to  grace  our 
rejoicing ;  and  if  Baza  falls,  of  what 
avail  are  ornaments  to  the  captive  ?" 

By  these  contributions  was  Mohammed 
enabled  to  pay  the  soldiery,  and  to  carry 
on  the  defence  of  the  city  with  unabated 
spirit.  Tidings  were  speedily  conveyed 
to  King  Ferdinand  of  this  generous  de 
votion  on  the  part  of  the  people  of  Baza, 
and  the  hopes  which  the  Moorish  com 
manders  gave  them,  that  the  Christian 
army  would  soon  abandon  the  siege  in 
despair.  "  They  shall  have  a  convincing 
proof  of  the  fallacy  of  such  hopes,"  said 
the  politic  monarch.  So  he  wrote  forth 
with  to  Queen  Isabella,  praying  her  to 
come  to  the  camp  in  state,  with  all  her 
train  and  retinue ;  and  publicly  to  take 
up  her  residence  there  for  the  winter. 
By  these  means,  the  Moors  would  be 
convinced  of  the  settled  determination  of 
the  sovereigns  to  persist  in  the  siege  until 
the  city  should  surrender  ;  and  he  trusted 
they  would  be  brought  to  speedy  capitu 
lation. 

CHAPTER  LXXX. 

How  Queen  Isabella  arrives  at  the  camp ;  and  the 
consequences  of  her  arrival. 

MOHAMMED  BEN  HASSAN  still  encou 
raged  his  companions,  with  hopes  that 
the  royal  army  would  soon  relinquish  the 
siege ;  when  they  heard  one  day  shouts 
of  joy  from  the  Christian  camp,  and 
thundering  salvos  of  artillery.  Word 
was  brought  at  the  same  time,  from  the 
sentinels  on  the  watchtowers,  that  a 
Christian  army  was  approaching  down 
the  valley.  Mohammed  and  his  fellow- 
commanders  ascended  one  of  the  highest 
towers  of  the  walls,  and  beheld  in  truth 
a  numerous  force,  in  shining  array,  de 
scending  the  hills  ;  and  heard  the  distant 


clangour  of  the  trumpets,  and  the  faint 
swell  of  the  triumphant  music.  As  the 
host  drew  nearer,  they  descried  a  stately 
dame,  magnificently  attired,  whom  they 
soon  discovered  to  be  the  queen.  She 
was  riding  on  a  mule ;  the  sumptuous 
trappings  of  which  were  resplendent  with 
gold,  and  reached  to  the  ground.  On  her 
right  hand  rode  her  daughter,  the  Princess 
Isabella,  equally  splendid  in  her  array  : 
on  her  left,  the  venerable  grand  cardinal 
of  Spain.  A  noble  train  of  ladies  and 
cavaliers  followed  her,  together  with  pages 
and  esquires,  and  a  numerous  guard  of 
hidalgos  of  high  rank,  arrayed  in  superb 
armour.  When  the  veteran  Mohammed 
ben  Hassan  beheld  that  this  was  the 
Queen  Isabella,  arriving  in  state  to  take 
up  her  residence  in  the  camp,  his  heart 
failed  him.  He  shook  his  head  mourn 
fully,  and,  turning  to  his  captains,  "  Ca 
valiers,"  said  he,  "  the  fate  of  Baza  is 
decided !" 

The  Moorish  commanders  remained 
gazing,  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  grief 
and  admiration,  at  this  magnificent  pa 
geant,  which  foreboded  the  fall  of  their 
city.  Some  of  the  troops  would  have 
sallied  forth  in  one  of  their  desperate 
skirmishes,  to  attack  the  royal  guard  ; 
but  the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  forbade  them : 
nor  would  he  allow  any  artillery  to  be 
discharged,  or  any  molestation  or  insult 
to  be  offered :  for  the  character  of  Isabella 
was  venerated  even  by  the  Moors ;  and 
most  of  the  commanders  possessed  that 
high  and  chivalrous  courtesy  which 
belongs  to  heroic  spirits ;  for  they  were 
among  the  noblest  and  bravest  cavaliers 
of  the  Moorish  nation. 

The  inhabitants  of  Baza,  when  they 
learned,  that  the  Christian  queen  was 
approaching  the  camp,  eagerly  sought 
every  eminence  that  could  command  a 
view  of  the  plain  ;  and  every  battlement, 
and  tower,  and  mosque,  was  covered  with 
turbaned  heads,  gazing  at  the  glorious 
spectacle.  They  beheld  King  Ferdinand 
issue  forth  in  royal  state,  attended  by  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  Master  of  Santiago, 
the  Duke  of  Alva,  the  Admiral  of  Castile, 
and  many  other  nobles  of  renown ;  while 
the  whole  chivalry  of  the  camp,  sumptu 
ously  arrayed,  followed  in  his  train,  and 
the  populace  rent  the  air  with  accla 
mations  at  the  sight  of  the  patriot  queen. 


-13 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


349 


When  the  sovereigns  had  met  and  em 
braced  each  other,  the  two  hosts  mingled 
together,  and  entered  the  camp  in  martial 
pomp ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  infidel  be 
holders  were  dazzled  by  the  flash  'of 
armour,  the  splendour  of  golden  capa 
risons,  the  gorgeous  display  of  silks,  and 
brocades,  and  velvets,  of  tossing  plumes 
and  fluttering  banners.  There  was  at 
the  same  time  a  triumphant  sound  of 
drums  and  trumpets,  clarions  and  sack- 
buts,  mingled  with  the  sweet  melody  of 
the  dulcimer,  which  came  swelling  in 
bursts  of  harmony,  that  seemed  to  rise 
up  to  the  heavens.* 

"  On  the  arrival  of  the  queen,"  says 
the  historian  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  who 
was  present  at  the  time,  "  it  was  mar 
vellous  to  behold  how,  all  at  once,  the 
rigour  and  turbulence  of  war  were  soften 
ed,  and  the  storm  of  passion  sunk  into  a 
calm.  The  sword  was  sheathed,  the 
crossbow  no  longer  launched  its  deadly 
shafts,  and  the  artillery,  which  had 
hitherto  kept  up  an  incessant  uproar,  now 
ceased  its  thundering.  On  both  sides 
there  was  still  a  vigilant  guard  kept  up, 
the  sentinels  bristled  the  walls  of  Baza 
with  their  lances,  and  the  guards  patrolled 
the  Christian  camp ;  but  there  was  no 
sallying  forth  to  skirmish,  nor  any  wanton 
violence  nor  carnage." 

Prince  Cidi  Yahye  saw,  by  the  arrival 
of  the  queen,  that  the  Christians  were 
determined  to  continue  the  siege ;  and  he 
knew  that  the  city  would  have  to  capitu 
late.  He  had  been  prodigal  of  the  lives 
of  his  soldiers,  as  long  as  he  thought  a 
military  good  was  to  be  gained  by  the 
sacrifice ;  but  he  was  sparing  of  their 
blood  in  a  hopeless  cause,  and  wary  of 
exasperating  the  enemy  by  an  obstinate, 
hopeless  defence. 

At  the  request  of  Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  a 
parley  was  granted,  and  the  master  com 
mander  of  Leon,  Don  Gutiere  de  Car 
denas,  was  appointed  to  confer  with  the 
valiant  alcayde  Mohammed.  They  met 
at  an  appointed  place,  within  view  of 
both  camp  and  city,  honourably  attended 
by  cavaliers  of  either  army.  Their 
meeting  was  highly  courteous ;  for  they 
had  learned  from  rough  encounters  in  the 
field,  to  admire  each  other's  prowess. 


*Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


VOL.  n. 


30 


The  commander  of  Leon,  in  an  earnest 
speech,  pointed  out  the  hopelessness  of 
any  further  defence,  and  warned  Mo 
hammed  of  the  ills  which  Malaga  had 
incurred  by  its  obstinacy.  "  I  promise, 
in  the  name  of  my  sovereign,"  said  he, 
"  that,  if  you  surrender  immediately,  the 
inhabitants  shall  be  treated  as  subjects, 
and  protected  in  property,  liberty,  and 
religion.  If  you  refuse,  you,  who  are 
now  renowned  as  an  able  and  judicious 
commander,  will  be  chargeable  with  the 
confiscations,  captivities,  and  deaths, 
which  may  be  suffered  by  the  people  of 
Baza." 

The  commander  ceased,  and  Moham 
med  returned  to  the  city,  to  consult  with 
his  companions.  It  was  evident,  that  all 
further  resistance  was  hopeless ;  but  the 
Moorish  commanders  felt,  that  a  cloud 
might  rest  upon  their  names  should  they, 
of  their  own  discretion,  surrender  so  im 
portant  a  place,  without  its  having  sus 
tained  an  assault.  Prince  Cidi  Yahye 
requested  permission,  therefore,  to  send 
an  envoy  to  Guadix,  with  a  letter  to  the 
old  monarch,  El  Zagal,  treating  of  the 
surrender.  The  request  was  granted ; 
a  safe  conduct  assured  to  the  envoy,  and 
the  veteran  alcayde,  Mohammed  ben 
Hassan,  departed  upon  this  momentous 
mission. 

CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

Surrender  of  Baza. 

THE  old  warrior  king  was  seated  in 
an  inner  chamber  of  the  castle  of  Gua 
dix,  much  cast  down  in  spirit,  and  rumi 
nating  on  his  gloomy  fortunes,  when  an 
envoy  from  Baza  was  announced,  and 
the  veteran  alcayde  Mohammed  stood 
before  him.  El  Zagal  saw  disastrous 
tidings  written  in  his  countenance.  "  How 
fares  it  with  Baza  ?"  said  he,  summoning 
up  his  spirits  to  the  question.  "  Let  this 
inform  thee,"  replied  Mohammed  ;  and 
he  delivered  into  his  hands  the  letter 
from  the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye.  This  letter 
spoke  of  the  desperate  situation  of  Baza, 
the  impossibility  of  holding  out  longer, 
without  assistance  from  El  Zagal,  and 
the  favourable  terms  offered  by  the  Cas- 
tilian  sovereigns.  Had  it  been  written 
by  any  other  person,  El  Zagal  might 
have  received  it  with  distrust  and  indig- 


350 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


nation ;  but  he  confided  in  Cidi  Yahye 
as  in  a  second  self;  and  the  words  of  his 
letter  sunk  deep  in  his  heart.  When  he 
had  finished  reading  it,  he  sighed  deeply, 
and  remained  for  some  time  lost  in 
thought,  with  his  head  drooping  upon  his 
bosom.  Recovering  himself  at  length, 
he  called  together  the  alfaqais,  and  the 
old  men  of  Guadix ;  and,  communicating 
the  tidings  from  Baza,  solicited  their 
advice.  It  was  a  sign  of  sore  trouble  of 
mind  and  dejection  of  heart,  when  El 
Zagal  sought  the  advice  of  others  ;  but 
his  fierce  courage  was  tamed,  for  he  saw 
the  end  of  his  power  approaching.  The 
alfaquis  and  the  old  men  did  but  increase 
the  distraction  of  his  mind  by  a  variety 
of  counsels,  none  of  which  appeared  of 
any  avail ;  for,  unless  Baza  were  suc 
coured,  it  was  impossible  that  it  should 
hold  out,  and  every  attempt  to  succour  it 
had  proved  ineffectual. 

El  Zagal  dismissed  his  council  in  de 
spair,  and  summoned  the  veteran  Moham 
med  before  him.  "  Allah  achbar !"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  God  is  great ;  there  is  but 
one  God,  and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet ! 
Return  to  my  cousin,  Cidi  Yahye ;  tell 
him,  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  aid  him ; 
he  must  do  as  seems  to  him  for  the  best. 
The  people  of  Baza  have  performed 
deeds  worthy  of  immortal  fame :  I  can 
not  ask  them  to  encounter  further  ills 
and  perils,  in  maintaining  a  hopeless  de 
fence." 

The  reply  of  El  Zagal  determined  the 
fate  of  the  city.  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  fel 
low-commanders  immediately  capitulated, 
and  were  granted  the  most  favourable 
terms.  The  cavaliers  and  soldiers,  who 
had  come  from  other  parts  to  the  defence 
of  the  place,  were  permitted  to  depart 
freely,  with  their  arms,  horses  and  ef 
fects.  The  inhabitants  had  their  choice, 
either  to  depart  with  their  property,  or  to 
dwell  in  the  suburbs,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  their  religion  and  laws  ;  taking  an  oath 
of  fealty  to  the  sovereigns,  and  paying 
the  same  tribute  they  had  paid  to  the 
Moorish  kings.  The  city  and  citadel 
were  to  be  delivered  up  in  six  days ; 
within  which  period  the  inhabitants  were 
to  remove  all  their  effects  ;  and,  in  the 
mean  time,  they  were  to  place  as  hos 
tages,  fifteen  Moorish  youths,  sons  of  the 
principal  inhabitants,  in  the  hands  of  the 


commander  of  Leon.  When  Cidi  Yahye 
and  the  alcayde  Mohammed  came  to 
deliver  up  the  hostages,  among  whom 
were  the  sons  of  the  latter,  they  paid 
homage  to  the  king  and  queen ;  who  re 
ceived  them  with  the  utmost  courtesy 
and  kindness,  and  ordered  magnificent 
presents  to  be  given  to  them,  and  like 
wise  to  the  other  Moorish  cavaliers;  con 
sisting  of  money,  robes,  horses,  and  other 
things  of  great  value. 

The  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  was  so  capti 
vated  by  the  grace,  the  dignity,  and 
generosity  of  Isabella,  and  the  princely 
courtesy  of  Ferdinand,  that  he  vowed 
never  again  to  draw  his  sword  against 
such  magnanimous  sovereigns. 

The  queen,  charmed  with  his  gallant 
bearing  and  his  animated  profession  of 
devotion,  assured  him,  that  having  him 
on  her  side,  she  already  considered  the 
war  terminated,  which  had  desolated  the 
kingdom  of  Granada. 

Mighty  and  irresistible  are  words  of 
praise  from  the  lips  of  sovereigns.  Cidi 
Yahye  was  entirely  subdued  by  this  fair 
speech  from  the  illustrious  Isabella.  His 
heart  burned  with  a  sudden  flame  of 
loyalty  towards  the  sovereigns.  He 
begged  to  be  enrolled  amongst  the  most 
devoted  of  their  subjects ;  and  in  the 
fervour  of  his  sudden  zeal,  engaged,  not 
merely  to  dedicate  his  sword  to  their 
service,  but  to  exert  all  his  influence, 
which  was  great,  in  persuading  his 
cousin,  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal,  to  sur 
render  the  cities  of  Guadix  and  Almeria, 
and  to  give  up  all  further  hostilities. 
Nay,  so  powerful  was  the  effect  produced 
upon  his  mind  by  his  conversations  with 
the  sovereigns,  that  it  extended  even  to 
his  religion ;  for  he  became  immediately 
enlightened  as  to  the  heathenish  abomi 
nations  of  the  vile  sect  of  Mahomet,  and 
struck  with  the  truths  of  Christianity,  as 
illustrated  by  such  powerful  monarchs. 
He  consented,  therefore,  to  be  baptized, 
and  to  be  gathered  into  the  fold  of  the 
church.  The  pious  Agapida  indulges  in 
a  triumphant  strain  of  exultation,  on  the 
sudden  and  surprising  conversion  of  this 
princely  infidel.  He  considers  it  one  of 
the  greatest  achievements  of  the  catholic 
sovereigns  ;  and,  indeed,  one  of  the  mar 
vellous  occurrences  of  this  holy  war. 
"  But  it  is  given  to  saints  and  pious 


E- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


351 


monarchs,"  says  he,  "  to  work  miracles 
in  the  cause  of  the  faith ;  and  such  did 
the  most  catholic  Ferdinand  in  the  con 
version  of  the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye." 

Some  of  the  Arabian  writers  have 
sought  to  lessen  the  wonder  of  this  mi 
racle,  by  alluding  to  great  revenues, 
granted  to  the  prince  and  his  heirs  by 
the  Castilian  monarchs ;  together  with  a 
territory  in  Marchena,  with  towns,  lands, 
and  vassals.  "  But  in  this,"  says  Aga- 
pida,  "  we  only  see  a  wise  precaution  of 
King  Ferdinand,  to  clinch  and  secure  the 
conversion  of  his  proselyte."  The  policy 
of  the  catholic  monarch  was  at  all  times 
equal  to  his  piety.  Instead  also  of 
vaunting  of  this  great  conversion,  and 
making  a  public  parade  of  the  entry  of 
the  prince  into  the  Church,  King  Ferdi 
nand  ordered  that  the  baptism  should  be 
performed  in  private,  and  kept  a  profound 
secret.  He  feared,  that  Cidi  Yahye 
might  otherwise  be  denounced  as  an 
apostate,  and  abhorred  and  abandoned 
by  the  Moors;  and  thus  his  influence 
destroyed  in  bringing  the  war  to  a 
speedy  termination.* 

The  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Hassan 
was  likewise  won  by  the  magnanimity 
and  munificence  of  the  Castilian  sove 
reigns,  and  entreated  to  be  received  into 
their  service;  and  his  example  was  fol 
lowed  by  many  other  Moorish  cavaliers, 
whose  services  were  graciously  accepted 
and  munificently  rewarded. 

Thus  after  a  siege  of  six  months  and 
twenty  days,  the  city  of  Baza  surren 
dered,  on  the  4th  of  December,  1489, 
the  festival  of  the  glorious  Santa  Bar 
bara  ;  who  is  said,  in  the  catholic  calen 
dar,  to  preside  over  thunder  and  lightning, 
fire  and  gunpowder,  and  all  kind  of  com 
bustible  explosions.  The  king  and  queen 
made  their  solemn  and  triumphal  entry 
on  the  following  day;  and  the  public  joy 
was  heightened  by  the  sight  of  upwards 
of  five  hundred  Christian  captives,  men, 
women,  and  children,  delivered  from  the 
Moorish  dungeons. 

The  loss  of  the  Christians  in  this  siege, 
amounted  to  twenty  thousand  men;  of 
whom  seventeen  thousand  died  of  disease, 
and  not  a  few  of  mere  cold ;  "  a  kind  of 
death,"  says  the  historian  Mariana,  "  pe- 

*  Conde,  torn.  iii.  cap.  40. 


culiarly  uncomfortable.  But,"  adds  the 
venerable  Jesuit,  "  as  these  latter  were 
chiefly  people  of  ignoble  rank,  baggage- 
carriers  and  such  like,  the  loss  was  not 
of  great  importance." 

The  surrender  of  Baza  was  followed 
by  that  of  Almunecar,  Tavernas,  and 
most  of  the  fortresses  of  the  Alpuxarra 
mountains.  The  inhabitants  hoped,  by 
prompt  and  voluntary  submission,  to  se 
cure  equally  favourable  terms  with  those 
granted  to  the  captured  city;  and  the 
alcaydes,  to  receive  similar  rewards  to 
those  lavished  on  its  commanders ;  nor 
were  either  of  them  disappointed.  The 
inhabitants  were  permitted  to  remain  as 
Mudixares,  in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of 
their  property  and  religion ;  and  as  to  the 
alcaydes,  when  they  came  to  the  camp  to 
render  up  their  charges,  they  were  re 
ceived  by  Ferdinand  with  distinguished 
favour,  and  rewarded  with  presents  of 
money,  in  proportion  to  the  importance  of 
the  places  they  had  commanded.  Care 
was  taken  by  the  politic  monarch,  how 
ever,  not  to  wound  their  pride,  or  shock 
their  delicacy :  so  these  sums  were  paid, 
under  colour  of  arrears  due  to  them,  for 
their  services  to  the  former  government. 
Ferdinand  had  conquered  by  dint  of 
sword,  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  war; 
but  he  found  gold  as  potent  as  steel  in 
this  campaign  of  Baza. 

With  several  of  these  mercenary  chief 
tains  came  one,  named  Ali  Aben  Fahar  ; 
a  seasoned  warrior,  who  had  held  many 
important  commands.  He  was  a  Moor 
of  a  lofty,  stern,  and  melancholy  aspect; 
and  stood  silent  and  apart,  while  his 
companions  surrendered  their  several 
fortresses,  and  retired  laden  with  trea 
sure.  When  it  came  to  his  turn  to  speak, 
he  addressed  the  sovereigns  with  the 
frankness  of  a  soldier,  but  with  a  tone  of 
dejection  and  despair.  "  I  am  a  Moor," 
said  he,  "  and  of  Moorish  lineage ;  and 
am  alcayde  of  the  fair  towns  and  castles 
ofPurchena  and  Paterna.  These  were 
intrusted  to  me  to  defend ;  but  those  that 
should  have  stood  by  me,  have  lost  all 
strength  and  courage,  and  seek  only  for 
security.  These  fortresses,  therefore, 
most  potent  sovereigns,  are  yours,  when 
ever  you  will  send  to  take  possession  of 
them." 

Large  sums  of  money  in  gold  were  im- 


352 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


mediately  ordered  by  Ferdinand  to  be 
delivered  to  the  alcayde,  as  a  recompence 
for  so  important  a  surrender.  The  Moor, 
however,  put  back  the  gift  with  a  firm 
and  haughty  demeanour.  "  I  come  not," 
said  he,  "  to  sell  what  is  not  mine,  but  to 
yield  what  fortune  has  made  yours ;  and 
your  majesties  may  rest  assured,  that, 
had  I  been  properly  seconded,  death 
would  have  been  the  price  at  which  I 
would  have  sold  my  fortresses,  and  not 
the  gold  you  offer  me." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  were  struck 
with  the  lofty  and  loyal  spirit  of  the 
Moor,  and  desired  to  engage  a  man  of 
such  fidelity  in  their  service ;  but  the 
proud  Moslem  could  not  be  induced  to 
serve  the  enemies  of  his  nation  and  his 
faith. 

"  Is  there  nothing,  then,"  said  Queen 
Isabella,  "that  we  can  do  to  gratify  thee, 
and  to  prove  to  thee  our  regard?" 
"Yes,"  replied  the  Moor;  "I  have  left 
behind  me,  in  the  towns  and  valleys 
which  I  have  surrendered,  many  of  my 
unhappy  countrymen,  with  their  wives 
and  children,  who  cannot  tear  themselves 
from  their  native  abodes.  Give  me  your 
royal  word,  that  they  shall  be  protected  in 
the  peaceable  enjoyment  of  their  religion 
and  their  homes."  "We  promise  it," 
said  Isabella,  "  they  shall  dwell  in  peace 
and  security.  But  for  thyself;  what  dost 
thou  ask  for  thyself?"  "  Nothing,"  re 
plied  Ali,  "  but  permission  to  pass  un 
molested,  with  my  horses  and  effects,  into 
Africa." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  would  fain 
have  forced  upon  him  gold  and  silver, 
and  superb  horses  richly  caparisoned ; 
not  as  rewards,  but  as  marks  of  personal 
esteem  :  but  Ali  Aben  Fahar  declined  all 
presents  and  distinctions,  as  if  he  thought 
it  criminal  to  flourish  individually,  during 
a  time  of  public  distress ;  and  disdained 
all  prosperity  that  seemed  to  grow  out  of 
the  ruins  of  his  country. 

Having  received  a  royal  passport,  he 
gathered  together  his  horses  and  servants, 
his  armour  and  weapons,  and  all  his  war 
like  effects,  bade  adieu  to  his  weeping 
countrymen,  with  a  brow  stamped  with 
anguish,  but  without  shedding  a  tear,  and, 
mounting  his  Barbary  steed,  turned  his 
back  upon  the  delightful  valleys  of  his 
conquered  country;  departing  on  his 


lonely  way,  to  seek  a  soldier's  fortune 
amidst  the  burning  sands  of  Africa.* 

CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

Submission  of  El  Zagal  to  the  Castilian  Sovereigns. 

EVIL  tidings  never  fail  by  the  way 
through  lack  of  messengers.  They  are 
wafted  on  the  wings  of  the  wind ;  and  it 
is  as  if  the  very  birds  of  the  air  would 
bear  them  to  the  ear  of  the  unfortunate. 
The  old  king,  El  Zagal,  buried  himself 
in  the  recesses  of  his  castle,  to  hide  him 
self  from  the  light  of  day,  which  no  longer 
shone  prosperously  upon  him  ;  but  every 
hour  brought  missives,  thundering  at  the 
gate  with  the  tale  of  some  new  disaster. 
Fortress  after  fortress  had  laid  its  keys 
at  the  feet  of  the  Christian  sovereigns. 
Strip  by  strip  of  warrior  mountain  and 
green  fruitful  valley  was  torn  from  his 
domains,  and  added  to  the  territories  of 
the  conquerors.  Scarcely  a  remnant  re 
mained  to  him,  except  a  tract  of  the  Al- 
puxarras,  and  the  noble  cities  of  Guadix 
and  Almeria.  No  one  any  longer  stood 
in  awe  of  the  fierce  old  monarch :  the 
terror  of  his  frown  had  declined  with  his 
power.  He  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of 
adversity,  when  a  man's  friends  feel  em 
boldened  to  tell  him  hard  truths,  and  to 
give  him  unpalatable  advice,  and  when 
his  spirit  is  bowed  down  to  listen  quietly, 
if  not  meekly. 

El  Zagal  was  seated  on  his  divan,  his 
whole  spirit  absorbed  in  rumination  on 
the  transitory  nature  of  human  glory, 
when  his  kinsman  and  brother-in-law,  the 
Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  was  announced.  That 
illustrious  convert  to  the  true  faith,  and 
the  interest  of  the  conquerors  of  his 
country,  hastened  to  Guadix  with  all  the 
fervour  of  a  new  proselyte,  eager  to  prove 
his  zeal  in  the  service  of  Heaven  and  the 
Castilian  sovereigns,  by  persuading  the 
old  monarch  to  abjure  his  faith,  and  sur 
render  his  possessions. 

Cidi  Yahye  still  bore  the  guise  of  a 
Moslem ;  for  his  conversion  was  as  yet  a 
secret.  The  stern  heart  of  El  Zagal  soft 
ened  at  beholding  the  face  of  a  kinsman, 
in  his  hour  of  adversity.  He  folded  his 
cousin  to  his  bosom,  and  gave  thanks  to 


*  Pulgar.    Garibay,  lib.  xl.  cap.  40.    Cura  de  Los 
Palacios. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


353 


Allah,  that,  amidst  all  his  troubles  he  had 
still  a  friend  and  counsellor,  on  whom  he 
might  rely.  Cidi  Yahye  soon  entered 
upon  the  real  purpose  of  his  mission. 
He  represented  to  El  Zagal  the  desperate 
state  of  affairs,  and  the  irretrievable  de 
cline  of  Moorish  power  in  the  kingdom 
of  Granada.  "  Fate,"  said  he,  "  is 
against  our  arms ;  our  ruin  is  written  in 
the  heavens  :  remember  the  prediction  of 
the  astrologers,  at  the  birth  of  your  ne 
phew  Boabdil.  We  had  hoped  that  their 
prediction  was  accomplished  by  his  cap 
ture  at  Lucena ;  but  it  is  now  evident, 
that  the  stars  portended,  not  a  temporary 
and  passing  reverse  of  the  kingdom,  but 
a  final  overthrow.  The  constant  succes 
sion  of  disasters,  which  have  attended 
our  efforts,  show,  that  the  sceptre  of  Gra 
nada  is  doomed  to  pass  into  the  hands  of 
the  Christian  monarchs.  Such,"  con 
cluded  the  prince,  emphatically,  and  with 
a  pious  reverence,  "  such  is  the  almighty 
will  of  God!" 

El  Zagal  listened  to  these  words  in 
mute  attention,  without  so  much  as  mov 
ing  a  muscle  of  his  face,  or  winking  an 
eyelid.  When  the  prince  had  concluded, 
he  remained  for  a  long  time  silent  and 
pensive.  At  length,  heaving  a  profound 
sigh  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart, 
"Alahumasubahana  hu  !"  exclaimed  he, 
"  the  will  of  God  be  done !  Yes,  my 
cousin,  it  is  but  too  evident  that  such  is 
the  will  of  Allah ;  and  what  he  wills,  he 
fails  not  to  accomplish.  Had  he  not  de 
creed  the  fall  of  Granada,  this  arm,  and 
this  cimeter,  would  have  maintained  it."* 

"  What  then  remains,"  said  Cidi  Yahye, 
"  but  to  draw  the  most  advantage  from 
the  wreck  of  empire  that  is  left  you  ?  To 
persist  in  a  war,  is  to  bring  complete  deso 
lation  upon  the  land,  and  ruin  and  death 
upon  its  faithful  inhabitants.  Are  you 
disposed  to  yield  up  your  remaining 
towns  to  your  nephew,  El  Chico,  that 
they  may  augment  his  power,  and  derive 
protection  from  his  alliance  with  the 
Christian  sovereigns'?" 

The  eye  of  El  Zagal  flashed  fire  at 
this  suggestion.  He  grasped  the  hilt  of 
his  cimeter,  and  gnashed  his  teeth  in 
fury.  "  Never,"  cried  he,  "  will  I  make 
terms  with  that  recreant  and  slave ! 

*Conde,  t.  iii.  c.  40. 


Sooner  would  I  see  the  banners  of  the 
Christian  monarchs  floating  above  my 
walls,  than  they  should  add  to  the  pos 
sessions  of  the  vassal  Boabdil." 

Cidi  Yahye  immediately  seized  upon 
this  idea,  and  urged  El  Zagal  to  make  a 
frank  and  entire  surrender.  "Trust," 
said  he,  "  to  the  magnanimity  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns.  They  will  doubt 
less  grant  you  high  and  honourable  terms. 
It  is  better  to  yield  to  them  as  friends, 
what  they  must  infallibly  and  before  long 
wrest  from  you  as  enemies :  for  such, 
my  cousin,  is  the  almighty  will  of  God !" 
"  Alahuma  subahana  hu !"  repeated  El 
Zagal,  «  the  will  of  God  be  done  !"  So 
the  old  monarch  bowed  his  haughty  neck, 
and  agreed  to  surrender  his  territories  to 
the  enemies  of  his  faith,  rather  than  suf 
fer  them  to  augment  the  Moslem  power, 
under  the  sway  of  his  nephew. 

Cidi  Yahye  now  returned  to  Baza,  em 
powered  by  El  Zagal  to  treat,  on  his  be 
half,  with  the  Christian  sovereigns.  The 
prince  felt  a  species  of  exultation,  as  he 
expatiated  on  the  rich  relics  of  empire 
which  he  was  authorized  to  cede.  There 
was  a  great  part  of  that  line  of  moun 
tains,  which  extends  from  the  metropolis 
to  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  with  its  series 
of  beautiful  green  valleys,  like  precious 
emeralds  set  in  a  golden  chain.  Above 
all  these  were  Guadix  and  Almeria,  two 
of  the  most  inestimable  jewels  in  the 
crown  of  Granada. 

In  return  for  these  possessions,  and  for 
the  claim  of  El  Zagal  to  the  rest  of  the 
kingdom,  the  sovereigns  received  him 
into  their  friendship  and  alliance,  and 
gave  him,  in  perpetual  inheritance,  the 
territory  of  Alhamin,  in  the  Alpuxarras, 
with  half  of  the  salinas,  or  salt-pits,  of 
Maleha.  He  was  to  enjoy  the  title  of 
King  of  Andaraxa,  with  two  thousand 
Mudixares,  or  conquered  Moors,  for  sub 
jects  ;  and  his  revenues  were  to  be  made 
up  to  the  sum  of  four  millions  of  mara- 
vedis  :*  all  these  he  was  to  hold  as  a  vas 
sal  of  the  Castilian  crown. 

These  arrangements  being  made,  Cidi 
Yahye  returned  with  them  to  Muley  Ab- 
dalla ;  and  it  was  concerted,  that  the 
ceremony  of  surrender  and  homage 
should  take  place  at  the  city  of  Almeria. 


*Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  cap.  94. 


30* 


354 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


On  the  17th  of  December,  King  Fer 
dinand  departed  from  Baza,  with  a  part 
of  his  army,  and  the  queen  soon  followed 
with  the  remainder.  Ferdinand  passed 
in  triumph  by  several  of  the  newly-ac 
quired  towns,  exulting  in  these  trophies 
of  his  policy  rather  than  his  valour.  As 
he  drew  near  to  Almeria,  the  Moorish 
king  came  forth  to  meet  him,  accom 
panied  by  the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  a 
number  of  the  principal  inhabitants  on 
horseback.  The  fierce  brow  of  El  Za- 
gal  was  clouded  with  a  kind  of  forced 
humility ;  but  there  was  an  impatient 
curl  of  the  lip,  with  now  and  then  a  swell- 

|  ing  of  the  bosom,  and  an  indignant  breath 
ing  from  the  distended  nostril.  It  was 

I  evident  he  considered  himself  conquered, 
not  by  the  power  of  man,  but  by  the  hand 

I  of  heaven ;  and  while  he  bowed  to  the 
decrees  of  fate,  it  galled  his  proud  spirit 
to  have  to  humble  himself  before  its  mor 
tal  agent.  As  he  approached  the  Chris 
tian  king,  he  alighted  from  his  horse,  and 
advanced  to  kiss  his  hand,  in  token  of 
homage.  Ferdinand,  however,  respected 
the  royal  title  which  the  Moor  had  held; 
and  would  not  permit  the  ceremony;  but, 
bending  from  his  saddle,  graciously  em 
braced  him,  and  requested  him  to  re 
mount  his  steed.*  Several  courteous 
speeches  passed  between  them,  and  the 
fortress  and  city  of  Almeria,  and  all  the 
remaining  territories  of  El  Zagal,  were 
delivered  up  in  form.  When  all  was  ac 
complished,  the  old  warrior  Moor  retired 
to  the  mountains,  with  a  handful  of  ad 
herents,  to  seek  his  petty  territory  of 
Andaraxa,  to  bury  his  humiliation  from 
the  world,  and  to  console  himself  with 
the  shadowy  title  of  a  king. 

CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

Events  at  Granada  subsequent  to  the  submission  of 
El  Zagal. 

WHO  can  tell  when  to  rejoice  in  this 
fluctuating  world  ?  Every  wave  of  pros 
perity  has  its  reacting  surge,  and  we  are 
often  overwhelmed  by  the  very  billow 
on  which  we  thought  to  be  wafted  into 
the  haven  of  our  hopes.  When  Jusef 
Aben  Commixa,  the  vizier  of  Boabdil, 
surnamed  El  Chico,  entered  the  royal  sa- 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacois,  cap.  93. 


loon  of  the  Alhambra,  and  announced  the 
capitulation  of  El  Zagal,  the  heart  of  the 
youthful  monarch  leaped  for  joy.  His 
great  wish  was  accomplished ;  his  uncle 
was  defeated  and  dethroned ;  and  he 
reigned  without  a  rival,  sole  monarch  of 
Granada.  At  length  he  was  about  to  en 
joy  the  fruits  of  his  humiliation  and  vas 
salage.  He  beheld  his  throne  fortified 
by  the  friendship  and  alliance  of  the  Cas- 
tilian  monarch  ;  there  could  be  no  ques 
tion,  therefore,  of  its  stability.  "  Allah 
achbar !"  exclaimed  he,  "  God  is  great ! 
Rejoice  with  me,  O  Jusef,  the  stars  have 
ceased  their  persecution  !  Henceforth  let 
no  man  call  me  Ei  Zogoybi !" 

In  the  first  moment  of  his  exultation, 
Boabdil  would  have  ordered  public  re 
joicings  ;  but  the  shrewd  Jusef  shook  his 
head.  "  The  tempest  has  ceased,"  said 
he,  "  from  one  point  of  the  heavens,  but 
it  may  begin  to  rage  from  another.  A 
troubled  sea  is  beneath  us,  and  we  are 
surrounded  by  rocks  and  quicksands  :  let 
my  lord  the  king  defer  rejoicings  until  all 
has  settled  into  a  cairn."  El  Chico,  how 
ever,  could  not  remain  tranquil  in  this  day 
of  exultation.  He  ordered  his  steed  to  be 
sumptuously  caparisoned,  and  issuing  out 
of  the  gate  of  the  Alhambra,  descended 
with  a  glittering  retinue  along  the  ave 
nue  of  trees  and  fountains  into  the  city, 
to  receive  the  acclamations  of  the  popu 
lace.  As  he  entered  the  great  square  of 
the  vivarrambla,  he  beheld  crowds  of 
people  in  violent  agitation ;  but,  as  he 
approached,  what  was  his  surprise  to  hear 
groans,  and  murmurs,  and  bursts  of  exe 
cration  !  The  tidings  had  spread  through 
Granada,  that  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal 
had  been  driven  to  capitulate,  and  that 
all  his  territories  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  Christians.  No  one  had 
inquired  into  the  particulars,  but  all  Gra 
nada  had  been  thrown  into  a  ferment 
of  grief  and  indignation.  In  the  heat  of 
the  moment,  old  Muley  was  extolled  to 
the  skies  as  a  patriot  prince,  who  had 
fought  to  the  last  for  the  salvation  of  his 
country ;  as  a  mirror  of  monarchs,  scorn 
ing  to  compromise  the  dignity  of  his 
crown  by  any  act  of  vassalage.  Boab 
dil,  on  the  contrary,  had  looked  on  exult- 
ingly  at  the  hopeless  yet  heroic  struggle 
of  his  uncle ;  he  had  rejoiced  in  the  de 
feat  of  the  faithful,  and  the  triumph  of 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


355 


unbelievers.  He  had  aided  in  the  dis 
memberment  and  downfall  of  the  empire. 
When  they  beheld  him  riding  forth  in 
gorgeous  state,  in  what  they  considered 
a  day  of  humiliation  for  all  true  Mos 
lems,  they  could  not  contain  their  rage, 
and,  amidst  the  clamours  that  prevailed, 
Boabdil  more  than  once  heard  his  name 
coupled  with  the  epithets  of  traitor  and 
renegado. 

Shocked  and  discomfited,  the  youthful 
monarch  returned  in  confusion  to  the 
Alhambra.  He  shut  himself  up  within 
its  innermost  courts,  and  remained  a 
kind  of  voluntary  prisoner,  until  the 
first  burst  of  popular  feeling  should  sub 
side.  He  trusted  that  it  would  soon  pass 
away  ;  that  the  people  would  be  too  sen 
sible  of  the  sweets  of  peace  to  repine  at 
the  price  at  which  it  was  obtained ;  at 
any  rate,  he  trusted  to  the  strong  friend 
ship  of  the  Christian  sovereigns  to  secure 
him  even  against  the  factions  of  his  sub 
jects. 

The  first  missives  from  the  politic  Fer 
dinand  showed  Boabdil  the  value  of  his 
friendship. 

The  catholic  monarch  reminded  him 
of  a  treaty  which  he  had  made,  when 
captured  in  the  city  of  Loxa.  By  this 
he  had  engaged,  that,  in  case  the  catholic 
sovereigns  should  capture  the  cities  of 
Guadix,  Baza,  and  Almeria,  he  would 
surrender  Granada  into  their  hands 
within  a  limited  time,  and  accept  in  ex 
change  certain  Moorish  towns,  to  be  held 
by  him  as  their  vassal.  Ferdinand  now 
informed  him  that  Guadix,  Baza,  and 
Almeria,  had  fallen;  he  called  upon  him, 
therefore,  to  fulfil  his  engagement.  If 
the  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  possessed 
the  will,  he  had  not  the  power,  to  comply 
with  this  demand.  He  was  shut  up  in 
the  Alhambra,  while  a  tempest  of  popu 
lar  fury  raged  without.  Granada  was 
thronged  by  refugees  from  the  captured 
towns,  many  of  them  disbanded  soldiers; 
others,  broken-down  citizens,  rendered 
fierce  and  desperate  by  ruin :  all  railed 
at  Boabdil  as  the  real  cause  of  their  mis 
fortunes.  How  was  he  to  venture  forth 
in  such  a  storm  1  above  all,  how  was  he 
to  talk  to  such  men  of  surrender?  In 
his  reply  to  Ferdinand,  he  represented 
the  difficulties  of  his  situation ;  and  that, 
so  far  from  having  control  over  his  sub 


jects,  his  very  life  was  in  danger  from 
their  turbulence.  He  entreated  the  king, 
therefore,  to  rest  satisfied  for  the  present 
with  his  recent  conquests,  promising  him 
that  should  he  be  able  to  regain  full  em 
pire  over  his  capital  and  its  inhabitants, 
it  would  be  but  to  rule  over  them  as 
vassal  to  the  Castilian  crown. 

Ferdinand  was  not  to  be  satisfied  with 
such  a  reply.  The  time  was  come  to 
bring  his  game  of  policy  to  a  close,  and 
to  consummate  his  conquest,  by  seating 
himself  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra. 
Professing  to  consider  Boabdil  as  a  faith 
less  ally,  who  had  broken  his  plighted 
word,  he  discarded  him  from  his  friend 
ship,  and  addressed  a  second  letter,  not 
to  that  monarch,  but  to  the  commanders 
and  council  of  the  city.  He  demanded 
a  complete  surrender  of  the  place,  with 
all  the  arms  in  the  possession  either 
of  the  citizens,  or  of  others  who  had  re 
cently  taken  refuge  within  its  walls.  If 
the  inhabitants  should  comply  with  this 
summons,  he  promised  them  the  indul 
gent  terms  which  had  been  granted  to 
Baza,  Guadix,  and  Almeria :  if  they 
should  refuse,  he  threatened  them  with 
the  fate  of  Malaga.* 

The  message  of  the  catholic  monarch 
produced  the  greatest  commotion  in  the 
city.  The  inhabitants  of  the  alcaceria, 
that  busy  hive  of  traffic,  and  all  others 
who  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  gainful 
commerce  during  the  late  cessation  of 
hostilities,  were  for  securing  their  golden 
advantages  by  timely  submission  :  others, 
who  had  wives  and  children,  looked  on 
them  with  tenderness  and  solicitude,  and 
dreaded,  by  resistance,  to  bring  upon 
them  the  horrors  of  slavery.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  Granada  was  crowded 
with  men  from  all  parts,  ruined  by  the 
war,  exasperated  by  their  sufferings,  and 
eager  only  for  revenge ;  with  others,  who 
had  been  reared  amidst  hostilities,  who 
had  lived  by  the  sword,  and  whom  a  re 
turn  of  peace  would  leave  without  home 
or  hope.  There  were  others,  too,  no  less 
fiery  and  warlike  in  their  disposition,  but 
animated  by  a  loftier  spirit :  valiant  and 
haughty  cavaliers  of  the  old  chivalrous 
lineages,  who  had  inherited  a  deadly 
hatred  to  the  Christians  from  a  long  line 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  cap.  96. 


t 


356 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


of  warrior  ancestors,  and  to  whom  the 
idea  was  worse  than  death,  that  Grana 
da,  illustrious  Granada,  for  ages  the  seat 
of  Moorish  grandeur  and  delight,  should 
become  the  abode  of  unbelievers.  Among 
these  cavaliers,  the  most  eminent  was 
Muza  ben  Abil  Gazan.  He  was  of  royal 
lineage,  of  a  proud  and  generous  nature, 
and  a  form  combining  manly  strength 
and  beauty.  None  could  excel  him  in 
the  management  of  the  horse,  and  dex 
terous  use  of  all  kinds  of  weapons.  His 
gracefulness  and  skill  in  the  tourney  was 
the  theme  of  praise  among  the  Moorish 
dames  ;  and  his  prowess  in  the  field  had 
made  him  the  terror  of  the  enemy.  He 
had  long  repined  at  the  timid  policy  of 
Boabdil,  and  had  endeavoured  to  coun- 
[  teract  its  enervating  effects,  and  to  keep 
I  alive  the  martial  spirit  of  Granada.  For 
!  this  reason,  he  had  promoted  jousts,  and 
I  tiltings  with  the  reed,  and  all  those  other 
public  games  which  bear  the  semblance 
|  of  war.  He  endeavoured,  also,  to  incul- 
!  cate  into  his  companions  in  arms  those 
high  chivalrous  sentiments,  which  lead 
to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds,  but 
which  are  apt  to  decline  with  the  in 
dependence  of  a  nation.  The  generous 
efforts  of  Muza  had  been  in  a  great  mea 
sure  successful :  he  was  the  idol  of  the 
youthful  cavaliers  ;  they  regarded  him  as 
a  mirror  of  chivalry,  and  endeavoured 
to  imitate  his  lofty  and  heroic  virtues. 

When  Muza  heard  the  demand  of  Fer 
dinand,  that  they  should  deliver  up  their 
arms,  his  eye  flashed  fire.  "  Does  the 
Christian  king  think  that  we  are  old 
men,"  said  he,  "  and  that  staffs  will  suf 
fice  us  ?  or  that  we  are  women,  and  can 
be  contented  with  distaffs?  Let  him 
know,  that  a  Moor  is  born  to  the  spear 
and  the  cimeter ;  to  career  the  steed, 
bend  the  bow,  and  launch  the  javelin : 
deprive  him  of  these,  and  you  deprive 
him  of  his  nature.  If  the  Christian  king 
desires  our  arms,  let  him  come  and  win 
them  ;  but  let  him  win  them  dearly.  For 
my  part,  sweeter  were  a  grave  beneath 
the  walls  of  Granada,  on  a  spot  I  have 
died  to  defend,  than  the  richest  couch 
within  her  palaces,  earned  by  submission 
to  the  unbeliever." 

The  words  of  Muza  were  received 
with  enthusiastic  shouts  by  the  warlike 
part  of  the  populace.  Granada  once 


more  awoke  as  a  warrior  shaking  off  a 
disgraceful  lethargy.  The  commanders 
and  council  partook  of  the  public  excite 
ment,  and  despatched  a  reply  to  the 
Christian  sovereigns,  declaring,  that 
they  would  suffer  death  rather  than  sur 
render  their  city. 

CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

How  King  Ferdinand  turned  his  hostilities  against 
the  city  of  Granada. 

WHEN  King  Ferdinand  received  the 
defiance  of  the  Moors,  he  made  prepara 
tions  for  bitter  hostilities.  The  winter 
season  did  not  admit  of  an  immediate 
campaign  :  he  contented  himself,  there 
fore,  with  throwing  strong  garrisons  into 
all  his  towns  and  fortresses  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Granada,  and  gave  the  com 
mand  of  all  the  frontier  of  Jaen  to  Inigo 
Lopez  de  Mendoza,  Count  of  Tendilla, 
who  had  shown  such  consummate  vigi 
lance  and  address  in  maintaining  the 
dangerous  post  of  Albania.  This  re 
nowned  veteran  established  his  head 
quarters  in  the  mountain  city  of  Alcala 
la  Real,  within  eight  leagues  of  the  city 
of  Granada,  and  commanding  the  most 
important  passes  of  that  rugged  frontier. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  city  of  Granada 
resounded  with  the  stir  of  war.  The 
chivalry  of  the  nation  had  again  control 
of  its  councils;  and  the  populace,  having 
once  more  resumed  their  weapons,  were 
anxious  to  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  their 
late  passive  submission,  by  signal  and 
daring  exploits. 

Muza  ben  Abil  Gazan  was  the  soul  of 
action.  He  commanded  the  cavalry, 
which  he  had  disciplined  with  uncom 
mon  skill.  He  was  surrounded  by  the 
noblest  youth  of  Granada,  who  had 
caught  his  own  generous  and  martial 
fire,  and  panted  for  the  field ;  while  the 
common  soldiers,  devoted  to  his  person, 
were  ready  to  follow  him  in  the  most 
desperate  enterprises.  He  did  not  allow 
their  courage  to  cool  for  want  of  action. 
The  gates  of  Granada  once  more  poured 
forth  legions  of  light  scouring  cavalry, 
which  skirred  the  country  up  to  the  very 
gates  of  the  Christian  fortresses  ;  sweep 
ing  off  flocks  and  herds.  The  name  of 
Muza  became  formidable  throughout  the 
frontier.  He  had  many  encounters  with 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


357 


the  enemy,  in  the  rough  passes  of  the 
mountains  ;  in  which  the  superior  light 
ness  and  dexterity  of  his  cavalry  gave 
him  the  advantage.  The  sight  of  his 
glistening  legion,  returning  across  the 
vega  with  long  cavalgadas  of  booty,  was 
hailed  by  the  Moors  as  a  revival  of  their 
ancient  triumphs  ;  but  when  they  beheld 
Christian  banners,  borne  into  their  gates 
as  trophies,  the  exultation  of  the  light- 
minded  populace  was  beyond  all  bounds. 
The  winter  passed  away,  the  spring  ad 
vanced  ;  yet  Ferdinand  delayed  to  take 
the  field.  He  knew  the  city  of  Granada 
to  be  too  strong  and  populous  to  be  taken 
by  assault,  and  too  full  of  provisions  to 
be  speedily  reduced  by  siege.  "  We  must 
have  patience  and  perseverance,"  said 
the  politic  monarch.  "  By  ravaging  the 
country  this  year,  we  shall  produce  a 
scarcity  the  next ;  and  then  the  city  may 
be  invested  with  effect." 

An  interval  of  peace,  aided  by  the 
quick  vegetation  of  a  prolific  soil  and 
happy  climate,  had  restored  the  vega  to 
all  its  luxuriance  and  beauty.  The  green 
pastures  on  the  borders  of  the  Xenil  were 
covered  with  flocks  and  herds.  The 
blooming  orchards  gave  promise  of 
abundant  fruit ;  and  the  open  plain  was 
waving  with  ripening  corn.  The  time  was 
at  hand  to  put  in  the  sickle  and  reap  the 
golden  harvest,  when,  suddenly,  a  torrent 
of  war  came  sweeping  down  from  the 
mountains ;  and  Ferdinand,  with  an 
army  of  five  thousand  horse  and  twenty 
thousand  foot,  appeared  before  the  walls 
of  Granada.  He  had  left  the  queen  and 
princess  at  the  fortress  of  Moclin ;  and 
came,  attended  by  the  Duke  of  Medina 
Sidonia,  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  Mar 
quis  de  Villena,  the  Counts  of  tlrena  and 
Cabras,  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  and 
other  renowned  cavaliers.  On  this  oc 
casion  King  Ferdinand,  for  the  first  time, 
led  his  son,  Prince  Juan,  into  the  field; 
and  bestowed  upon  him  the  dignity  of 
knighthood.  As  if  to  stimulate  him  to 
grand  achievements,  the  ceremony  took 
place  on  the  banks  of  the  grand  canal, 
almost  beneath  the  embattled  walls  of 
that  warlike  city,  the  object  of  such 
daring  enterprises ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
that  famous  vega,  which  had  been  the 
field  of  so  many  chivalrous  exploits. 
High  above  them  shone  resplendent  the 


red  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  rising  from 
amidst  delicious  groves,  with  the  standard 
of  Mahomet  waving  defiance  to  the  Chris 
tian  arms. 

The  Duke  oP  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the 
valiant  Rodrigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis 
of  Cadiz,  were  sponsors ;  and  all  the 
chivalry  of  the  camp  were  assembled  on 
the  occasion.  The  prince,  after  he  had 
been  knighted,  bestowed  the  same  honour 
on  several  youthful  cavaliers  of  high  rank, 
just  entering,  like  himself,  on  the  career 
of  arms. 

Ferdinand  did  not  loiter  in  carrying 
his  desolating  plans  into  execution.  He 
detached  parties  in  every  direction  to 
scour  the  country.  Villages  were  sacked, 
burnt  and  destroyed  ;  and  the  lovely  vega 
once  more  was  laid  waste  with  fire  and 
sword.  The  ravage  was  carried  so  close 
to  Granada,  that  the  city  was  wrapped  in 
the  smoke  of  its  hamlets  and  gardens. 
The  dismal  cloud  rolled  up  the  hill,  and 
hung  about  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra ; 
where  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  still  re 
mained,  shut  up  from  the  indignation 
of  his  subjects.  The  hapless  monarch 
smote  his  breast,  as  he  looked  down 
from  his  mountain  palace  on  the  desola 
tion  effected  by  his  late  ally.  He  dared 
not  even  show  himself  in  arms  among 
the  populace;  for  they  cursed  him,  as 
the  cause  of  the  miseries  brought  anew 
to  their  doors.  The  Moors,  however, 
did  not  suffer  the  Christians  to  carry  on 
their  ravages  as  unmolested  as  in  former 
years.  Muza  incited  them  to  incessant 
sallies.  He  divided  his  cavalry  into 
small  squadrons,  each  led  by  a  daring 
commander.  They  were  taught  to  hover 
round  the  Christian  camp ;  to  harass  it 
from  various  and  opposite  quarters,  cut 
ting  off  convoys  and  straggling  detach 
ments;  to  waylay  the  army  in  its 
ravaging  expeditions,  lurking  among 
rocks  and  passes  of  the  mountains,  or 
in  hollows  and  thickets  of  the  plain ;  and 
practising  a  thousand  stratagems  and 
surprises. 

The  Christian  army  had  one  day 
spread  itself  out,  rather  unguardedly, 
in  its  foraging  about  the  vega.  As  the 
troops  commanded  by  the  Marquis  de 
Villena  approached  the  skirts  of  the 
mountains,  they  beheld  a  number  of 
Moorish  peasants,  hastily  driving  a  herd 


358 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


of  cattle  into  a  narrow  glen.  The  sol 
diers,  eager  for  booty,  pressed  in  pursuit 
of  them.  Scarcely  had  they  entered 
the  glen,  when  shouts  arose  from  every 
side,  and  they  were  furiously  attacked 
by  an  ambuscade  of  horse  and  foot. 
Some  of  the  Christians  took  to  flight  ; 
others  stood  their  ground,  and  fought 
valiantly.  The  Moors  had  the  vantage 
ground.  Some  showered  darts  and  ar 
rows  from  the  clefts  of  the  rocks ;  others 
fought  hand  to  hand,  on  the  plain ;  while 
their  cavalry,  rapid  as  lightning  in  their 
movements,  carried  havoc  into  the  midst 
of  the  Christian  forces.  The  Marquis 
de  Villena,  with  his  brother,  Don  Alonso 
de  Pacheco,  at  the  first  onset  of  the 
Moors,  spurred  into  the  hottest  of  the 
fight.  They  had  scarce  entered,  when 
Don  Alonso  was  struck  lifeless  from  his 
horse,  before  the  eyes  of  his  brother. 
Estevan  de  Suzon,  a  gallant  captain, 
fell,  fighting  bravely  by  the  side  of  the 
marquis  ;  who  remained  with  his  cham 
berlain  Solier,  and  a  handful  of  knights, 
surrounded  by  the  enemy.  Several  ca 
valiers,  from  other  parts  of  the  army, 
hastened  to  their  assistance  ;  when  King 
Ferdinand,  seeing  that  the  Moors  had 
the  vantage  ground,  and  that  the  Chris 
tians  were  suffering  severely,  gave  sig 
nal  for  retreat.  The  marquis  obeyed 
slowly  and  reluctantly ;  for  his  heart 
was  full  of  grief  and  rage  at  the  death 
of  his  brother.  As  he  was  retiring,  he 
beheld  his  faithful  chamberlain,  Solier, 
defending  himself  bravely  against  six 
Moors.  The  marquis  turned,  and  rushed 
to  his  rescue.  He  killed  two  of  the 
enemy  with  his  own  hand,  and  put  the 
rest  to  flight.  One  of  the  Moors,  how 
ever,  in  retreating,  rose  in  his  stirrups, 
and,  hurling  his  lance  at  the  marquis, 
wounded  him  in  the  right  arm,  and  crip 
pled  him  for  life. 

In  consequence  of  this  wound,  the 
marquis  was  ever  after  obliged  to  write 
his  signature  with  his  left  hand,  though 
capable  of  managing  his  lance  with  his 
right.  The  queen  demanded  one  day 
of  him,  why  he  had  adventured  his  life 
for  that  of  a  domestic.  "  Does  not 

rour  majesty  think,"  replied  he,  "  that 
ought  to  risk   one  life  for  him,  who 
would   have   adventured   three   for   me, 
had  he  possessed   them?"     The   queen 


was  charmed  with  the  magnanimity  of 
the  reply;  and  often  quoted  the  marquis, 
as  setting  an  heroic  example  to  the  chi 
valry  of  the  age. 

Such  was  one  of  the  many  ambus 
cades  concerted  by  Muza ;  nor  did  he 
hesitate,  at  times,  to  present  a  bold  front 
to  the  Christian  forces,  and  defy  them 
in  the  open  field.  King  Ferdinand  soon 
perceived,  however,  that  the  Moors  sel 
dom  provoked  a  battle  without  having 
the  advantage  of  ground ;  and  that, 
though  the  Christians  generally  appeared 
to  have  the  victory,  they  suffered  the 
greatest  loss ;  for  retreating  was  a  part 
of  the  Moorish  system,  by  which  they 
would  draw  their  pursuers  into  confu 
sion,  and  then  turn  upon  them  with  a 
more  violent  and  fatal  attack.  He  com 
manded  his  captains,  therefore,  to  decline 
all  challenges  to  skirmish,  and  to  pursue 
a  secure  system  of  destruction  ;  ravaging 
the  country,  and  doing  all  possible  injury 
to  the  enemy,  with  slight  risk  to  them 
selves. 

CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

The  fate  of  the  castle  of  Roma. 

ABOUT  two  leagues  from  Granada,  on 
an  eminence  commanding  an  extensive 
view  of  the  vega,  stood  the  strong  Moor 
ish  castle  of  Roma;  a  great  place  of 
refuge  and  security.  Hither  the  neigh 
bouring  peasantry  drove  their  flocks  and 
herds,  and  hurried  with  their  most  pre 
cious  effects,  on  the  irruption  of  a  Chris 
tian  force ;  and  any  foraging  or  skir 
mishing  party  from  Granada,  on  being 
intercepted  in  their  return,  threw  them 
selves  into  Roma,  manned  its  embattled 
towers,  and  set  the  enemy  at  defiance. 
The  garrison  were  accustomed  to  these 
sudden  claims  upon  their  protection  ;  to 
have  parties  of  Moors  clattering  up  to 
their  gates,  so  hotly  pursued,  that  there 
was  barely  time  to  throw  open  the  portal, 
receive  them  within,  and  shut  out  their 
pursuers :  while  the  Christian  cavaliers 
had  many  a  time  reined  in  their  panting 
steeds  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  bar- 
bacan,  and  retired,  cursing  the  strong 
walls  of  Roma,  that  robbed  them  of 
their  prey. 

The  late  ravages  of  Ferdinand,  and 
the  continual  skirmishings  in  the  vega, 


rffl 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


359 


had  roused  the  vigilance  of  the  castle. 
One  morning  early,  as  the  sentinels  kept 
watch  upon  the  battlements,  they  beheld 
a  cloud  of  dust  advancing  rapidly  from 
a  distance.  Turbans  and  Moorish  wea 
pons  soon  caught  their  eyes ;  and  as  the 
whole  approached,  they  descried  a  drove 
of  cattle,  urged  on  in  great  haste,  and 
conveyed  by  one  hundred  and  forty 
Moors,  who  led  with  them  two  Christian 
captives  in  chains. 

When  the  cavalgada  had  arrived  near 
to  the  castle,  a  Moorish  cavalier  of  noble 
and  commanding  mien,  and  splendid  at 
tire,  rode  up  to  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
and  entreated  admittance.  He  stated, 
that  they  were  returning  with  rich  booty, 
from  a  foray  into  the  lands  of  the  Chris 
tians  ;  but  that  the  enemy  was  on  their 
traces,  and  they  feared  to  be  overtaken 
before  they  could  reach  Granada.  The 
sentinels  descended  in  all  haste,  and 
flung  open  the  gates.  The  long  caval 
gada  defiled  into  the  courts  of  the  castle, 
which  were  soon  filled  with  lowing  and 
bleating  flocks  and  herds,  with  neighing 
and  stamping  steeds,  and  with  fierce- 
looking  Moors  from  the  mountains.  The 
cavalier  who  had  asked  admission,  was 
the  chief  of  the  party  ;  he  was  some 
what  advanced  in  life,  of  a  lofty  and 
gallant  bearing,  and  had  with  him  a  son, 
a  young  man  of  great  fire  and  spirit. 
Close  by  them  followed  the  two  Chris 
tian  captives,  with  looks  cast  down  and 
disconsolate. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  had 
roused  themselves  from  their  sleep,  and 
were  busily  occupied  attending  to  the 
cattle,  which  crowded  the  courts ;  while 
the  foraging  party  distributed  them 
selves  about  the  castle,  to  seek  refresh 
ment  or  repose.  Suddenly  a  shout  arose, 
that  was  echoed  from  court-yard,  and 
hall,  and  battlements.  The  garrison, 
astonished  and  bewildered,  would  have 
rushed  to  their  arms,  but  found  them 
selves,  almost  before  they  could  make 
resistance,  completely  in  the  power  of 
an  enemy. 

The  pretended  foraging  party  consist 
ed  of  Mudixares,  Moors  tributary  to  the 
Christians ;  and  the  commanders  were 
the  Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  his  son, 
Alnayer.  They  had  hastened  from  the 
mountains,  with  this  small  force,  to  aid 


the  catholic  sovereigns  during  their  sum 
mer's  campaign  ;  and  they  had  concerted 
to  surprise  that  important  castle,  and  pre 
sent  it  to  King  Ferdinand,  as  a  gage  of 
their  faith,  and  the  first-fruits  of  their 
devotion. 

The  politic  monarch  overwhelmed  his 
new  converts  and  allies  with  favours  and 
distinctions,  in  return  for  this  important 
acquisition  ;  but  he  took  care  to  despatch 
a  strong  force  of  veterans,  and  genuine 
Christian  troops,  to  man  the  fortress. 

As  to  the  Moors  who  had  composed 
the  garrison,  Cidi  Yahye  remembered 
that  they  were  his  countrymen,  and 
could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  deliver 
them  into  Christian  bondage.  He  set 
them  at  liberty,  and  permitted  them  to 
repair  to  Granada ;  "  a  proof,"  says  the 
pious  Agapida,  "  that  his  conversion  was 
not  entirely  consummated,  but  that  there 
were  still  some  lingerings  of  the  infidel 
in  his  heart."  His  lenity  was  far  from 
procuring  him  indulgence  in  the  opinions 
of  his  countrymen :  on  the  contrary, 
the  inhabitants  of  Granada,  when  they 
learned  from  the  liberated  garrison  the 
stratagem  by  which  Roma  had  been  cap 
tured,  cursed  Cidi  Yahye  for  a  traitor, 
and  the  garrison  joined  in  the  maledic 
tion. 

But  the  indignation  of  the  people  of 
Granada  was  destined  to  be  aroused  to 
tenfold  violence.  The  old  warrior,  Muley 
Abdalla  el  Zagal,  had  retired  to  his  little 
mountain  territory,  and  for  a  short  time 
endeavoured  to  console  himself,  with  his 
petty  title  of  King  of  Andaraxa.  He 
soon  grew  impatient,  however,  of  the 
quiet  and  inaction  of  his  mimic  kingdom. 
His  fierce  spirit  was  exasperated  by  being 
shut  up  within  such  narrow  limits ;  and 
his  hatred  rose  to  downright  fury  against 
Boabdil,  whom  he  considered  as  the 
cause  of  his  downfall.  When  tidings 
were  brought  him,  that  King  Ferdinand 
was  laying  waste  the  vega,  he  took  a 
sudden  resolution  :  assembling  the  whole 
disposable  force  of  his  kingdom,  which 
amounted  but  to  two  hundred  men,  he 
descended  from  the  Alpuxarras,  and 
sought  the  Christian  camp ;  content  to 
serve  as  vassal  to  the  enemy  of  his  faith 
and  his  nation,  so  that  he  might  see 
Granada  wrested  from  the  sway  of  his 
nephew. 


360 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


In  his  blind  passion,  the  old  wrathful 
monarch  injured  his  own  cause,  and 
strengthened  that  of  his  adversary.  The 
Moors  of  Granada  had  been  clamorous 
in  his  praise,  extolling  him  as  a  victim 
to  his  patriotism,  and  had  refused  to  be 
lieve  all  reports  of  his  treaty  with  the 
Christians;  but  when  they  beheld  from 
the  walls  of  the  city  his  banner  min 
gling  with  the  banners  of  the  unbe 
lievers,  and  arrayed  against  his  late  peo 
ple,  and  the  capital  he  had  commanded, 
they  broke  forth  into  curses  and  revilings, 
and  heaped  all  kinds  of  stigmas  upon  his 
name. 

Their  next  emotion  was  in  favour  of 
Boabdil.  They  gathered  under  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra,  and  hailed  him  as  their 
only  hope,  as  the  sole  dependence  of  the 
country.  Boabdil  could  scarcely  believe 
his  senses,  when  he  heard  his  name  min 
gled  with  praises,  and  greeted  with  accla 
mations.  Encouraged  by  this  unexpect 
ed  gleam  of  popularity,  he  ventured  forth 
from  his  retreat,  and  was  received  with 
rapture.  All  his  past  errors  were  attri 
buted  to  the  hardships  of  his  fortune,  and 
the  usurpation  of  his  tyrant  uncle  ;  and 
whatever  breath  the  populace  could  spare 
from  uttering  curses  on  El  Zagal  was 
expended  in  shouts  in  honour  of  El  Chico. 

CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

How  Boabdil  el  Chico  took  the  field  ;  and  his 
expedition  against  Alhendin. 

FOR  thirty  days  had  the  vega  been 
overrun  by  the  Christian  forces,  and 
that  vast  plain,  lately  so  luxuriant  and 
beautiful,  was  become  a  wide  scene  of 
desolation.  The  destroying  army  hav 
ing  accomplished  its  task,  passed  over 
the  bridge  of  Pinos,  and  wound  up  into 
the  mountains,  on  the  way  to  Cordova  ; 
bearing  away  the  spoils  of  towns  and 
villages,  and  driving  off  flocks  and 
herds,  in  long  dusty  columns.  The 
sound  of  the  last  Christian  trumpet  died 
away  along  the  side  of  the  mountain  of 
Elvira,  and  not  a  hostile  squadron  was 
seen  glistening  in  the  mournful  fields  of 
the  vega. 

The  eyes  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  were  at 
length  opened  to  the  real  policy  of  King 
Ferdinand ;  and  he  saw  that  he  had  no 
longer  any  thing  to  depend  upon  but 


the  valour  of  his  arm.  No  time  was  to 
be  lost,  in  hastening  to  counteract  the 
effect  of  the  late  Christian  ravage,  and 
in  opening  the  channel  for  distant  sup 
plies  to  Granada. 

Scarcely  had  the  retiring  squadrons  of 
Ferdinand  disappeared  among  the  moun 
tains,  than  Boabdil  buckled  on  his  ar 
mour,  sallied  forth  from  the  Alhambra, 
and  prepared  to  take  the  field.  When 
the  populace  beheld  him  actually  in  arms 
against  his  late  ally,  both  parties  thronged 
with  zeal  to  his  standard.  The  hardy 
inhabitants  also  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or 
chain  of  snow-capped  mountains,  which 
rise  above  Granada,  descended  from  their 
heights,  and  hastened  into  the  city  gates, 
to  proffer  their  devotion  to  the  youthful 
king.  The  great  square  of  the  vivarram- 
bla  shone  with  the  proud  array  of  legions 
of  cavalry,  decked  with  the  colours  and 
devices  of  the  most  ancient  Moorish  fami 
lies,  and  marshalled  forth  by  the  patriot 
Muza  to  follow  the  king  to  battle. 

It  was  on  the  15th  of  June  that  Boabdil 
once  more  issued  out  from  the  gates  of 
Granada  on  a  martial  enterprise.  A  few 
leagues  from  the  city,  within  full  view  of 
it,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Alpuxarra 
mountains,  stood  the  powerful  castle  of 
Alhendin.  It  was  built  on  an  eminence, 
rising  from  the  midst  of  a  small  town, 
and  commanding  a  great  part  of  the 
vega,  and  the  main  road  to  the  rich 
valleys  of  the  Alpuxarras.  The  castle 
was  commanded  by  a  valiant  Christian 
cavalier,  named  Mendo  de  Quexada,  and 
garrisoned  by  two  hundred  and  fifty 
men,  all  seasoned  and  experienced  war 
riors.  It  was  a  continual  thorn  in  the 
side  of  Granada.  The  labourers  of  the 
vega  were  swept  from  their  fields  by  its 
hardy  soldiers,  convoys  were  cut  off  on 
the  passes  of  the  mountains  ;  and,  as  the 
garrison  commanded  a  full  view  of  the 
gates  of  the  city,  no  band  of  merchants 
could  venture  forth  on  their  needful  jour 
neys,  without  being  swooped  up  by  the 
war-hawks  of  Alhendin. 

It  was  against  this  important  fortress 
that  Boabdil  first  led  his  troops.  For  six 
days  and  nights  the  fortress  was  closely 
besieged.  The  alcayde  and  his  veteran 
garrison  defended  themselves  valiantly  ; 
but  they  were  exhausted  by  fatigue  and 
constant  watchfulness :  for  the  Moors, 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


361 


being  continually  relieved  by  fresh  troops 
from  Granada,  kept  up  an  un remitted 
and  vigorous  attack.  Twice  the  bar- 
bacan  was  forced,  and  twice  the  assail 
ants  were  driven  forth  headlong  with 
excessive  loss.  The  garrison,  however, 
was  diminished  in  number  by  the  killed 
and  wounded :  there  were  no  longer  sol 
diers  sufficient  to  man  the  walls  and 
gateway.  The  brave  alcayde  was  com 
pelled  to  retire,  with  his  surviving  force, 
to  the  keep  of  the  castle,  in  which  he 
continued  to  make  a  desperate  resistance. 

The  Moors  now  approached  the  foot 
of  the  tower,  under  shelter  of  wooden 
screens,  covered  with  wet  hides,  to  ward 
off  missiles  and  combustibles.  They  went 
to  work  vigorously  to  undermine  the 
tower,  placing  props  of  wood  under  the 
foundations,  to  be  afterwards  set  on  fire, 
so  as  to  give  the  besiegers  time  to  escape 
before  the  edifice  should  fall.  Some  of 
the  Moors  plied  their  crossbows  and 
arquebuses  to  defend  the  workmen,  and 
to  drive  the  Christians  from  the  wall, 
white  the  latter  showered  down  stones 
and  darts,  and  melted  pitch,  and  flaming 
combustibles,  on  the  miners. 

The  brave  Mendo  de  Quexada  had 
cast  many  an  anxious  eye  across  the 
vega,  in  hopes  of  seeing  some  Christian 
force  hastening  to  his  assistance.  Not  a 
gleam  of  spear  or  helm  was  to  be  des 
cried  ;  for  no  one  had  dreamed  of  this 
sudden  irruption  of  the  Moors.  The 
alcayde  saw  his  bravest  men  dead  or 
wounded  around  him,  while  the  remain 
der  were  sinking  with  watchfulness  and 
fatigue.  In  defiance  of  all  opposition, 
the  Moors  had  accomplished  their  mine  ; 
the  fire  was  brought  before  the  walls, 
that  was  to  be  applied  to  the  stanchions, 
in  case  the  garrison  persisted  in  defence; 
and  in  a  little  while  the  tower  would 
crumble  beneath  him,  and  be  rent  and 
hurled  in  ruins  to  the  plain.  At  the  very 
last  moment,  and  not  till  then,  the  brave 
alcayde  made  signal  of  surrender.  He 
marched  forth  with  the  remnant  of  this 
veteran  garrison,  who  were  all  made 
prisoners.  Immediately  Boabdil  ordered 
the  walls  of  the  fortress  to  be  razed,  and  ; 
fire  to  be  applied  to  the  stanchions,  that 
the  place  might  never  again  become  a 
stronghold  to  the  Christians,  and  a  scourge 
to  Granada.  The  alcayde  and  his  fellow- 

voL.  II.  31 


captives  were  passing  in  dejected  convoy 
across  the  vega,  when  they  heard  a  tre 
mendous  crash  behind  them.  Turning 
to  look  upon  their  late  fortress,  they  be 
held  nothing  but  a  heap  of  tumbling 
ruins,  and  a  vast  column  of  smoke  and 
dust,  where  once  had  stood  the  lofty 
tower  of  Alhendin. 

CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 
Exploit   of  the    Count   de    Tendilla. 

BOABDIL  EL  CHICO  followed  up  his 
success  by  capturing  the  two  fortresses 
of  Marchena  and  Bulduy  ;  he  sent  his 
alfaquis  in  every  direction  to  proclaim  a 
holy  war,  and  to  summon  all  true  Mos 
lems,  of  town  or  castle,  mountain  or 
valley,  to  saddle  steed,  and  buckle  on 
armour,  and  hasten  to  the  standard  of 
the  faith.  The  tidings  spread  far  and 
wide,  that  Boabdil  el  Chico  was  once 
more  in  the  field,  and  victorious.  The 
Moors  of  various  places,  dazzled  by  this 
gleam  of  success,  hastened  to  throw  off 
their  sworn  allegiance  to  the  Castilian 
crown,  and  to  elevate  the  standard  of 
Boabdil ;  and  the  youthful  monarch  flat 
tered  himself,  that  the  whole  kingdom 
was  on  the  point  of  returning  to  its  alle 
giance. 

The  fiery  cavaliers  of  Granada  were 
eager  to  renew  those  forays  into  the 
Christian  lands,  in  which  they  had  for 
merly  delighted.  A  number  of  them, 
therefore,  concerted  an  irruption  to  the 
north  into  the  territory  of  Jaen,  to  harass 
the  country  about  Quexada.  They  had 
heard  of  a  rich  convoy  of  merchants  and 
wealthy  travellers  on  the  way  to  the  city 
of  Baeza  ;  and  they  anticipated  a  glorious 
conclusion  to  their  foray  in  capturing  this 
convoy. 

Assembling  a  number  of  horsemen, 
Jightly  armed,  and  fleetly  mounted,  and 
one  hundred  foot-soldiers,  these  hardy 
cavaliers  issued  forth  by  night  from 
Granada,  made  their  way  in  silence 
through  the  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
crossed  the  frontier  without  opposition, 
and  suddenly  appeared,  as  if  fallen  from 
the  clouds,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
Christian  country. 

The  mountainous  frontier,  which  sepa 
rates  Granada  from  Jaen,  was  at  this 
time  under  the  Count  de  Tendilla,  the 


362 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


same  veteran  who  had  distinguished  him 
self  by  his  vigilance  and  sagacity,  when 
commanding  the  fortress  of  Alhama.  He 
held  his  head-quarters  at  the  city  of  Al- 
cala  la  Real,  in  its  impregnable  fortress, 
perched  high  among  the  mountains,  about 
six  leagues  from  Granada,  and  predomi 
nating  over  all  the  frontier.  From  this 
cloud-capt  hold  among  the  rocks,  he  kept 
an  eagle  eye  upon  Granada,  and  had  his 
scouts  and  spies  in  all  directions ;  so  that 
a  crow  could  not  fly  over  the  border 
without  his  knowledge. 

His  fortress  was  a  place  of  refuge  for 
the  Christian  captives,  who  escaped  by 
night  from  the  Moorish  dungeons  of  Gra 
nada.  Often,  however,  they  missed  their 
way  in  the  defiles  of  the  mountains ;  and, 
wandering  about  bewildered,  either  re 
paired  by  mistake  to  some  Moorish  town, 
or  were  discovered  and  retaken  at  day 
light  by  the  enemy.  To  prevent  these 
accidents,  the  count  had  a  tower  built  at 
his  own  expense,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the 
heights  near  Alcala,  which  commanded 
a  view  of  the  vega,  and  the  country 
around.  Here  he  kept  a  light  blazing 
throughout  the  night,  as  a  beacon  for  all 
Christian  fugitives,  to  guide  them  to  a 
place  of  safety. 

The  count  was  aroused  one  night  from 
his  repose  by  shouts  and  cries,  which 
came  up  from  the  town,  and  approached 
the  castle  walls.  "  To  arms  !  to  arms  ! 
the  Moor  is  over  the  border !"  was  the 
cry.  A  Christian  soldier,  pale  and  ema 
ciated,  and  who  still  bore  traces  of  the 
Moorish  chains,  was  brought  before  the 
count.  He  had  been  taken  as  guide  by 
the  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had  sallied 
from  Granada,  but  had  eacaped  from 
them  among  the  mountains  ;  and  after 
much  wandering,  had  found  his  way  to 
Alcala  by  the  signal-fire. 

Notwithstanding  the  bustle  and  agita 
tion  of  the  moment,  the  Count  de  Tendilla 
listened  calmly  and  attentively  to  the 
account  of  the  fugitive,  and  questioned 
him  minutely  as  to  the  time  of  departure 
of  the  Moors,  and  the  direction  and  rapi 
dity  of  their  march.  He  saw,  that  it  was 
too  late  to  prevent  their  incursion  and 
ravage;  but  he  determined  to  await  them, 
and  give  them  a  warm  reception  on  their 
return.  His  soldiers  were  always  on  the 
alert,  and  ready  to  take  the  field  at  a 


moment's  warning.  Choosing  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  lances,  hardy  and  valiant 
men,  well  disciplined,  and  well  seasoned, 
as  indeed  were  all  his  troops,  he  issued 
forth  quietly  before  break  of  day,  and, 
descending  through  the  defiles  of  the 
mountains,  stationed  his  little  force  in 
ambush  in  a  deep  barranca,  or  dry  chan 
nel  of  a  torrent,  near  Barzina,  three 
leagues  only  from  Granada,  on  the  road 
by  which  the  marauders  would  have  to 
return.  In  the  mean  time,  he  sent  scouts, 
to  post  themselves  upon  different  heights, 
and  look  out  for  the  approach  of  the 
enemy. 

All  day  they  remained  concealed  in 
the  ravine,  and  for  a  great  part  of  the 
following  night ;  not  a  turban,  however, 
was  to  be  seen,  excepting  now  and  then 
a  peasant  returning  from  his  labour,  or 
a  solitary  muleteer  hastening  towards 
Granada.  The  cavaliers  of  the  count 
began  to  grow  restless  and  impatient : 
they  feared,  that  the  enemy  might  have 
taken  some  other  route,  or  might  have 
received  intelligence  of  their  ambuscade  ; 
and  they  urged  him  to  abandon  the  en 
terprise,  and  return  to  Alcala.  "  We  are 
here,"  said  they,  "  almost  at  the  gates  of 
the  Moorish  capital ;  our  movements  may 
have  been  descried,  and,  before  we  are 
aware,  Granada  may  pour  forth  its  le 
gions  of  swift  cavalry,  and  crush  us  with 
an  overwhelming  force."  The  Count  de 
Tendilla,  however,  persisted  in  remaining 
until  the  scouts  should  come  in.  About 
two  hours  before  daybreak  there  were 
signal-fires  on  certain  Moorish  watch- 
towers  of  the  mountains.  While  they 
were  regarding  these  with  anxiety,  the 
scouts  came  hurrying  into  the  ravine. 
"  The  Moors  are  approaching,"  said 
they  ;  "  we  have  reconnoitred  them 
near  at  hand.  They  are  between  one 
and  two  hundred  strong,  but  encumbered 
with  many  prisoners  and  much  booty." 
The  Christian  cavaliers  laid  their  ears 
to  the  ground,  and  heard  the  distant 
tramp  of  horses,  and  the  tread  of  foot- 
soldiers.  They  mounted  their  horses, 
braced  their  shields,  couched  their  lances, 
and  drew  near  to  the  entrance  of  the 
ravine  where  it  opened  upon  the  road. 

The  Moors  had  succeeded  in  waylay 
ing  and  surprising  the  Christian  con 
voy  on  its  way  to  Baeza.  They  had 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


363 


captured  a  great  number  of  prisoners, 
male  and  female,  with  great  store  of 
gold  and  jewels,  and  sumpter-mules, 
laden  with  rich  merchandise.  With  these 
they  had  made  a  forced  march  over  tfie 
dangerous  parts  of  the  mountains  ;  but 
now,  being  so  near  to  Granada,  they 
fancied  themselves  in  perfect  security. 
They  loitered  along  the  road,  therefore, 
irregularly  and  slowly,  some  singing, 
others  laughing  and  exulting  at  having 
eluded  the  boasted  vigilance  of  the  Count 
de  Tendilla ;  while  ever  and  anon  was 
heard  the  plaint  of  some  female  captive, 
bewailing  the  jeopardy  of  her  honour ; 
and  the  heavy  sighing  of  the  merchant, 
at  beholding  his  property  in  the  grasp  of 
ruthless  spoilers. 

,  The  Count  de  Tendilla  waited  until 
some  of  the  escort  had  passed  the  ravine; 
then,  giving  the  signal  for  assault,  his 
cavaliers  set  up  loud  shouts  and  cries, 
and  charged  furiously  into  the  centre  of 
the  foe.  The  obscurity  of  the  place,  and 
the  hour,  added  to  the  terrors  of  the  sur 
prise.  The  Moors  were  thrown  into 
confusion.  Some  rallied,  fought  despe 
rately,  and  fell  covered  with  wounds. 
Thirty-six  were  killed,  and  fifty-five  were 
made  prisoners  ;  the  rest,  under  cover  of 
the  darkness,  made  their  escape  to  the 
rocks  and  defiles  of  the  mountains.  The 
good  count  unbound  the  prisoners,  glad 
dening  the  hearts  of  the  merchants,  by 
restoring  to  them  their  merchandise ; 
the  female  captives  also  regained  their 
jewels  of  which  they  had  been  despoiled, 
excepting  such  as  had  been  lost  beyond 
recovery.  Forty-five  saddle-horses,  of 
the  choice  Barbary  breed,  remained,  as 
captured  spoils  of  the  Moors,  together 
with  costly  armour,  and  booty  of  various 
kinds.  Having  collected  every  thing  in 
haste,  and  arranged  his  cavalgada,  the 
count  urged  his  way  with  all  speed  for 
Alcala  la  Real,  lest  he  should  be  pursued 
and  overtaken  by  the  Moors  of  Granada. 
As  he  wound  up  the  steep  ascent  to  his 
mountain  city,  the  inhabitants  poured 
forth  to  meet  him  with  shouts  of  joy. 
This  triumph  was  doubly  enhanced  by 
being  received  at  the  gates  of  the  city  by 
his  wife,  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  of 
Villena,  a  lady  of  distinguished  merit, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  two  years 
that  he  had  been  separated  from  his 


home  by  the  arduous  duties  of  these  iron  | 
wars. 

CHAPTER  LXXXVIII. 

Expedition  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  against  Salobreua.   i 
Exploit  of  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar. 

KING  BOABDIL  found  that  h  is  diminish 
ed  territory  was  too  closely  overlooked  by 
Christian  fortresses,  like  Alcala  la  Real, 
and  too  strictly  watched  by  vigilant  al- 
caydes,  like  the  Count  of  Tendilla,  to  be 
able  to  maintain  itself  by  internal  re 
sources.  His  foraging  expeditions  were 
liable  to  be  intercepted  and  defeated ; 
while  the  ravage  of  the  vega  had  swept 
off  every  thing  on  which  the  city  depend 
ed  for  future  sustenance.  He  felt  the 
want  of  a  sea-port,  through  which,  as 
formerly,  he  might  keep  open  a  commu 
nication  with  Africa,  and  obtain  reinforce 
ments  and  supplies  from  beyond  the  seas. 
All  the  ports  and  harbours  were  in  the 
hands  of  the  Christians  ;  and  Granada 
and  its  remnant  of  dependent  territory 
were  completely  landlocked. 

In  this  emergency,  the  attention  of 
Boabdil  was  called  by  circumstances  to 
the  seaport  of  Salobrena.  This  redoubt 
able  town  has  already  been  mentioned 
in  this  chronicle,  as  a  place  deemed  im 
pregnable  by  the  Moors ;  insomuch  that 
their  kings  were  accustomed,  in  time  of 
peril,  to  keep  their  treasures  in  its  cita 
del.  It  was  situate  on  a  high  rocky  hill ; 
dividing  one  of  those  rich  little  vegas,  or 
plains,  which  lie  open  to  the  Mediterra 
nean,  but  run,  like  deep  green  bays,  into 
the  stern  bosoms  of  the  mountains.  The 
vega  was  covered  with  beautiful  vegeta 
tion  ;  with  rice  and  cotton,  with  groves 
of  oranges,  citrons,  figs,  and  mulberries, 
and  with  gardens  enclosed  by  hedges  of 
reeds,  of  aloes,  and  the  Indian  fig.  Run 
ning  streams  of  cool  water,  from  the 
springs  and  snows  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
kept  this  delightful  valley  continually 
fresh  and  verdant ;  while  it  was  almost 
locked  up  by  mountain  barriers  and  lofty 
promontories,  that  stretched  far  into  the 
sea. 

Through  the  centre  of  this  rich  vega 
the  rock  of  Salobrena  reared  its  rugged 
back,  nearly  dividing  the  plain,  and  ad 
vancing  to  the  margin  of  the  sea  ;  with 
just  a  strip  of  sandy  beach  at  its  foot, 


364 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


laved  by  the  blue  waves  of  the  Mediter 
ranean. 

The  town  covered  the  ridge  and  sides 
of  the  rocky  hill,  and  was  fortified  by 
strong  walls  and  towers ;  while  on  the 
highest  and  most  precipitous  part  stood 
the  citadel,  a  huge  castle,  that  seemed  to 
form  a  part  of  the  living  rock  ;  the  mas 
sive  ruins  of  which,  at  the  present  day, 
attract  the  gaze  of  the  traveller,  as  he 
winds  his  way  far  below,  along  the  road 
which  passes  through  the  vega. 

This  important  fortress  had  been  in 
trusted  to  the  command  of  Don  Francisco 
Ramirez  de  Madrid,  captain-general  of 
the  artillery,  and  the  most  scientific  of 
all  the  Spanish  leaders.  That  experienced 
veteran,  however,  was  with  the  king  at 
Cordova,  having  left  a  valiant  cavalier 
as  alcayde  of  the  place. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  had  full  information 
of  the  state  of  the  garrison,  and  the  ab 
sence  of  its  commander.  Putting  him 
self  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  force,  there 
fore,  he  departed  from  Granada,  and  made 
a  rapid  march  through  the  mountains ; 
hoping  by  this  sudden  movement,  to  seize 
upon  Salobrena,  before  King  Ferdinand 
could  come  to  its  assistance. 

The  inhabitants  of  Salobrena  were 
Mudixares,  or  Moors,  who  had  sworn  al 
legiance  to  the  Christians.  Still,  when 
they  heard  the  sound  of  the  Moorish 
drums  and  trumpets,  and  beheld  the  squa 
drons  of  their  countrymen  advancing 
across  the  vega,  their  hearts  yearned  to 
wards  the  standard  of  their  nation  and 
their  faith.  A  tumult  arose  in  the  place. 
The  populace  shouted  the  name  of  Boab 
dil  el  Chico,  and,  throwing  open  the  gates, 
admitted  him  within  the  walls. 

The  Christian  garrison  was  too  few  in 
number  to  contend  for  the  possession  of 
the  town.  They  retreated  to  the  citadel, 
and  shut  themselves  up  within  its  mas 
sive  walls  which  they  considered  impreg 
nable.  Here  they  maintained  a  despe 
rate  defence,  hoping  to  hold  out  until 
succour  should  arrive  from  the  neighbour 
ing  fortresses. 

The  tidings  that  Salobrena  was  invest 
ed  by  the  Moorish  king,  spread  along  the 
coast,  and  filled  the  Christians  with  alarm. 
Don  Francisco  Enriquez,  uncle  of  the 
king,  commanded  the  city  of  Velez  Ma 
laga,  about  twelve  leagues  distant,  but 


separated  by  ranges  of  those  vast  rocky 
mountains,  which  are  piled  along  the 
Mediterranean,  and  tower  in  steep  pro 
montories  and  precipices  above  its  waves. 

Don  Francisco  summoned  the  alcaydes 
of  his  district,  to  hasten  with  him  to  the 
relief  of  this  important  fortress.  A  num 
ber  of  cavaliers  and  their  retainers  an 
swered  to  his  call ;  among  whom  was 
Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  surnamed  El 
de  las  Hazanas  (he  of  the  exploits) ;  the 
same  who  had  signalized  himself  in  a 
foray,  by  elevating  a  handkerchief  on  a 
lance  for  a  banner,  and  leading  on  his 
disheartened  comrades  to  victory.  As 
soon  as  Don  Francisco  beheld  a  little 
band  collected  around  him,  he  set  out 
with  all  speed  for  Salobrena.  The  march 
was  rugged  and  severe  ;  climbing  and  de 
scending  immense  mountains,  and  some 
times  winding  along  the  edge  of  giddy 
precipices,  with'  the  surges  of  the  sea 
raging  far  below.  When  Don  Francisco 
arrived  with  his  followers  at  the  lofty 
promontory,  that  stretches  along  one  side 
of  the  little  vega  of  Salobrena,  he  look 
ed  down  with  sorrow  and  anxiety  upon 
a  Moorish  army  of  great  force,  encamp 
ed  at  the  foot  of  the  fortress  ;  while  Moor 
ish  banners,  on  various  parts  of  the 
walls,  showed,  that  the  town  was  already 
in  possession  of  the  infidels.  A  solitary 
Christian  standard  alone  floated  on  the 
top  of  the  castle  keep,  indicating  that  the 
brave  garrison  were  hemmed  up  in  their 
rock-built  citadel. 

Don  Francisco  found  it  impossible, 
with  his  small  force,  to  make  any  im 
pression  on  the  camp  of  the  Moors,  or 
to  get  to  the  relief  of  the  castle.  He  sta 
tioned  his  little  band  upon  a  rocky  height 
near  the  sea,  where  they  were  safe  from 
the  assaults  of  the  enemy.  The  sight  of 
this  friendly  banner,  waving  in  their 
neighbourhood,  cheered  the  hearts  of  the 
garrison  ;  and  he  conveyed  to  them  as 
surance  of  speedy  succour  from  the  king. 
In  the  mean  time  Fernando  Perez  del 
Pulgar,  who  always  burned  to  distinguish 
himself  by  bold  and  striking  exploits,  in 
the  course  of  a  prowling  expedition  along 
the  borders  of  the  Moorish  camp,  re 
marked  a  postern -gate  of  the  castle  open 
ing  upon  the  steep  part  of  the  rocky  hill, 
which  looked  towards  the  mountains.  A 
sudden  thought  flashed  upon  the  daring 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


365 


mind  of  Pulgar.  "  Who  will  follow  my 
banner,"  said  he,  "  and  make  a  dash  for 
yonder  postern?"  A  bold  proposition, 
in  time  of  warfare,  never  wants  for  bold 
spirits  to  accept  it.  Seventy  resolute 
men  immediately  stepped  forward.  Pul 
gar  put  himself  at  their  head.  They  cut 
their  way  suddenly  through  a  weak  part 
of  the  camp,  fought  up  to  the  gate,  which 
was  eagerly  thrown  open  to  receive  them, 
and  succeeded  in  effecting  their  entrance 
into  the  fortress,  before  the  alarm  of  their 
attempt  had  spread  through  the  Moorish 
army. 

The  garrison  was  roused  to  new  spirit 
by  this  unlooked-for  reinforcement,  and 
were  enabled  to  make  a  more  vigorous 
resistance.  The  Moors  had  intelligence, 
however,  that  there  was  a  great  scarcity 
of  water  in  the  castle;  and  they  exulted 
in  the  idea,  that  this  additional  number 
of  warriors  would  soon  exhaust  the  cis 
terns,  and  compel  them  to  surrender. 
When  Pulgar  heard  of  this  hope  enter 
tained  by  the  enemy,  he  caused  a  bucket 
of  water  to  be  lowered  from  the  battle 
ments,  and  threw  a  silver  cup  in  bravado 
to  the  Moors. 

The  situation  of  the  garrison,  however, 
was  daily  growing  more  and  more  criti 
cal.  They  suffered  greatly  from  thirst ; 
while,  to  tantalize  them  in  their  suffer 
ings,  they  beheld  limpid  streams  winding 
in  abundance  through  the  green  plain  be 
low  them.  They  began  to  fear,  that  all 
succour  would  arrive  too  late ;  when  one 
day  they  beheld  a  little  squadron  of  ves 
sels  far  at  sea,  but  standing  towards  the 
shore.  There  was  some  doubt  at  first, 
whether  it  might  not  be  a  hostile  arma 
ment  from  Africa  ;  but  as  it  approached, 
they  descried,  to  their  great  joy,  the  ban 
ner  of  Castile. 

It  was  a  reinforcement,  brought  in  all 
haste  by  the  governor  of  the  fortress, 
Don  Francisco  Ramirez.  The  squadron 
anchored  at  a  steep  rocky  island,  which 
rises  from  the  very  margin  of  the  smooth 
sandy  beach,  directly  in  front  of  the  rock 
of  Salobrena,  and  stretches  out  into  the 
sea.  On  this  island  Ramirez  landed  his 
men,  and  was  as  strongly  posted  as  if  in 
a  fortress.  His  force  was  too  scanty  to 
attempt  a  battle ;  but  he  assisted  to  ha 
rass  and  distract  the  besiegers.  When 
ever  King  Boabdil  made  an  attack  upon 


the  fortress,  his  camp  was  assailed  on 
one  side  by  the  troops  of  Ramirez,  who 
landed  from  their  island,  and,  on  an 
other,  by  those  of  Don  Francisco  Enri- 
quez,  who  swept  down  from  their  rock ; 
while  Fernando  del  Pulgar  kept  up  a 
fierce  defence  from  every  tower  and  bat 
tlement  of  the  castle.  The  attention  of 
the  Moorish  king  was  diverted,  also,  for 
a  time,  by  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  relieve 
the  little  port  of  Adra,  that  had  recently 
declared  in  his  favour,  but  had  been  re 
captured  for  the  Christians  by  Cidi  Yahye 
and  his  son  Alnayer.  Thus  the  unlucky 
Boabdil,  bewildered  on  every  hand,  lost 
all  the  advantage  that  he  had  gained  by 
his  rapid  march  from  Granada.  While 
he  was  yet  besieging  the  obstinate  cita 
del,  tidings  were  brought  him,  that  King 
Ferdinand  was  in  full  march,  with  a  pow 
erful  host,  to  its  assistance.  There  was 
no  time  for  further  delay.  He  made  a 
furious  attack,  with  all  his  forces,  upon 
the  castle,  but  was  again  repulsed  by 
Pulgar  and  his  coadjutors ;  when,  aban 
doning  the  siege  in  despair,  he  retreated 
with  his  army,  lest  King  Ferdinand  should 
get  between  him  and  his  capital.  On  his 
way  back  to  Granada,  however,  he  in 
some  sort  consoled  himself  for  his  late 
disappointment,  by  overrunning  a  part  of 
the  territories  and  possessions  lately  as 
signed  to  his  uncle  El  Zagal,  and  to  Cidi 
Yahye.  He  defeated  their  alcaydes,  de 
stroyed  several  of  their  fortresses,  burnt 
their  villages ;  and,  leaving  the  country 
behind  him  reeking  and  smoking  with 
his  vengeance,  returned  with  considera 
ble  booty,  to  repose  himself  within  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra. 

CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 

Haw  King  Ferdinand  treated  the  people  of  Guadix, 
and  how  El  Zagal  finished  his  royal  career. 

SCARCELY  had  Boabdil  ensconced  him 
self  in  his  capital,  when  King  Ferdinand, 
at  the  head  of  seven  thousand  horse,  and 
twenty  thousand  foot,  again  appeared  in 
the  vega.  He  had  set  out  in  all  haste 
from  Cordova,  to  the  relief  of  Salobrena  ; 
but  hearing  on  his  march  that  the  siege 
was  raised,  he  turned  with  his  army,  to 
make  a  second  ravage  round  the  walls 
of  devoted  Granada.  His  present  forage 
lasted  fifteen  days,  in  the  course  of  which 
3i*_._ _  " 


366 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


every  thing  that  had  escaped  his  former 
desolating  visit  was  so  completely  de 
stroyed,  that  scarcely  a  green  thing,  or 
a  living  animal  was  left  on  the  face  of 
the  land.  The  Moors  sallied  frequently, 
and  fought  desperately  in  defence  of 
their  fields ;  but  the  work  of  destruction 
was  accomplished,  and  Granada,  once 
the  queen  of  gardens,  was  left  surrounded 
by  a  desert. 

From  hence  Ferdinand  marched  to  crush 
a  conspiracy,  which  had  lately  manifest 
ed  itself  in  the  cities  of  Guadix,  Baza, 
and  Almeria.  These  recently  conquered 
places  had  entered  into  secret  correspon 
dence  with  King  Boabdil,  inviting  him  to 
march  to  their  gates,  promising  to  rise 
upon  the  Christian  garrisons,  seize  upon 
the  citadels,  and  surrender  themselves 
into  his  power.  The  Marquis  of  Villena 
had  received  notice  of  the  conspiracy, 
and  suddenly  thrown  himself,  with  a 
large  force,  into  Guadix.  Under  pre 
tence  of  making  a  review  of  the  inhabi 
tants,  he  made  them  sally  forth  into  the 
fields  before  the  city.  When  the  whole 
Moorish  population,  capable  of  bearing 
arms,  was  thus  without  the  walls,  he 
ordered  the  gates  to  be  closed.  He  then 
permitted  them  to  enter  two  by  two,  and 
three  by  three,  and  to  take  forth  their 
wives  and  children,  and  effects.  The 
houseless  Moors  were  fain  to  make  them 
selves  temporary  hovels,  in  the  gardens 
and  orchards  about  the  city.  They  were 
clamorous  in  their  complaints  at  being 
thus  excluded  from  their  homes ;  but 
were  told,  they  must  wait  with  patience, 
until  the  charges  against  them  could  be 
investigated,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  king 
be  known.* 

When  Ferdinand  arrived  at  Guadix, 
he  found  the  unhappy  Moors  in  their 
cabins  among  the  orchards.  They 
complained  bitterly  of  the  deception  that 
had  been  practised  upon  them,  and  im 
plored  permission  to  return  into  the  city, 
and  live  peaceably  in  their  dwellings,  as 
had  been  promised  them  in  their  articles 
of  capitulation. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  graciously  to 
their  complaints.  "  My  friends,"  said  he 
in  reply,  "  I  am  informed,  that  there  has 
been  a  conspiracy  among  you,  to  kill  my 

*  Zurita,  1.  xx.  c.  85.    Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  97. 


alcayde  and  garrison,  and  to  take  part 
with  my  enemy,  the  King  of  Granada. 
I  shall  make  a  thorough  investigation  of 
this  conspiracy.  Those  among  you,  who 
shall  be  proved  innocent,  shall  be  restored 
to  their  dwellings  ;  but  the  guilty  shall 
incur  the  penalty  of  their  offences.  As  I 
wish,  however,  to  proceed  with  mercy  as 
well  as  justice,  I  now  give  you  your 
choice,  either  to  depart  at  once,  without 
further  question,  going  wherever  you 
please,  and  taking  with  you  your  families 
and  effects,  under  an  assurance  of  safety, 
or  to  deliver  up  those  who  are  guilty  ;  not 
one  of  whom,  I  give  you  my  word,  shall 
escape  punishment." 

When  the  people  of  Guadix  heard  this, 
they  communed  among  themselves,  "  and, 
as  most  of  them,"  says  the  worthy  Aga- 
pida,  "  were  either  culpable,  or  feared  to 
be  considered  so,  they  accepted  the  alter 
native,  and  departed  sorrowfully,  they, 
and  their  wives,  and  their  little  ones." 
"  Thus,"  in  the  words  of  that  excellent 
and  contemporary  historian,  Andres 
Bernaldes,  commonly  called  the  Curate 
of  Los  Palacios,  "  thus  did  the  king 
deliver  Guadix  from  the  hands  of  the 
enemies  of  our  holy  faith,  after  seven 
hundred  and  seventy  years,  that  it  had 
been  in  their  possession,  even  since  the 
time  of  Roderick  the  Goth  ;  and  this  was 
one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  Lord,  who 
would  not  consent  that  the  city  should 
remain  longer  in  the  power  of  the  Moors." 
A  pious  and  sage  remark,  which  is 
quoted  with  peculiar  approbation  by  the 
worthy  Agapida. 

King  Ferdinand  offered  similar  alter 
natives  to  the  Moors  of  Baza,  Almeria, 
and  other  cities,  accused  of  participation 
in  this  conspiracy  ;  who  generally  pre 
ferred  to  abandon  their  homes,  rather 
than  incur  the  risk  of  an  investigation. 
Most  of  them  relinquished  Spain,  as  a 
country  where  they  could  no  longer  live 
in  security  and  independence,  and  de 
parted  with  their  families  for  Africa ; 
such  as  remained  were  suffered  to  live  in 
villages  and  hamlets,  and  other  unwalled 
places.* 

While  Ferdinand  was  thus  occupied  at 
Guadix,  dispensing  justice  and  mercy, 
and  receiving  cities  in  exchange,  the  old 

*  Garibay,  lib.  xiii.  cap.  39.    Pulgar,  1.  iii.  c.  132. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


367 


monarch,  Muley  Abdalla,  surnamed  El 
Zagal,  appeared  before  him.  He  was 
haggard  with  care,  and  almost  crazed 
with  passion.  He  had  found  his  little 
territory  of  Andaraxa,  and  his  two  thou 
sand  subjects,  as  difficult  to  govern  as 
had  been  the  distracted  kingdom  of  Gra 
nada.  The  charm,  which  had  bound  the 
Moors  to  him,  was  broken,  when  he  ap 
peared  in  arms  under  the  banner  of  Fer 
dinand.  He  had  returned  from  his 
inglorious  campaign,  with  his  petty  army 
of  two  hundred  men,  followed  by  the 
execrations  of  the  people  of  Granada,  and 
the  secret  repining  of  those  he  had  led 
into  the  field.  No  sooner  had  his  sub 
jects  heard  of  the  successes  of  Boabdil  el 
Chico,  than  they  seized  their  arms,  as 
sembled  tumultuously,  declared  for  the 
young  monarch  threatening  the  life  of 
El  Zagal.*  The  unfortunate  old  king 
had  with  difficulty  evaded  their  fury ; 
and  this  last  lesson  seemed  entirely  to 
have  cured  him  of  his  passion  for  sove 
reignty.  He  now  entreated  Ferdinand  to 
purchase  the  towns  and  castles  and  other 
possessions,  which  had  been  granted  to 
him  ;  offering  them  at  a  low  rate,  and 
begging  safe  passage,  for  himself  and  his 
followers,  to  Africa.  King  Ferdinand 
graciously  complied  with  his  wishes.  He 
purchased  of  him  three-and-twenty  towns 
and  villages,  in  the  valleys  of  Andaraxa 
and  Alhauren,  for  which  he  gave  him 
five  millions  of  maravedis.  El  Zagal 
relinquished  his  right  to  one  half  of  the 
salinas,  or  salt-pits,  of  Maleha,  in  fa 
vour  of  his  brother-in-law,  Cidi  Yahye. 
Having  thus  disposed  of  his  petty  empire 
and  possessions,  he  packed  up  all  his 
treasure,  of  which  he  had  a  great  amount, 
and,  followed  by  many  Moorish  families, 
passed  over  to  Africa.f 

And  here  let  us  cast  an  eye  beyond 
the  present  period  of  our  chronicle,  and 
trace  the  remaining  career  of  El  Zagal. 
His  short  and  turbulent  reign,  and  disas 
trous  end,  would  afford  a  wholesome 
lesson  to  unprincipled  ambition,  were  not 
all  ambition  of  the  kind  fated  to  be  blind 
to  precept  arid  example.  When  he  ar 
rived  in  Africa,  instead  of  meeting  with 
kindness  and  sympathy,  he  was  seized 
and  thrown  in  prison  by  the  king  of  Fez, 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  97. 
t  Comic,  part  iv,  cap.  41. 


as  though  he  had  been  his  vassal.  He 
was  accused  of  being  the  cause  of  the 
dissensions  and  downfall  of  the  kingdom 
of  Granada ;  and  the  accusation  being 
proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  king 
of  Fez,  he  condemned  the  unhappy  El 
Zagal  to  perpetual  darkness.  A  basin  of 
glowing  copper  was  passed  before  his 
eyes,  which  effectually  destroyed  his 
sight.  His  wealth,  which  had  probably 
been  the  secret  cause  of  these  cruel 
measures,  was  confiscated  and  seized 
by  his  oppressor,  and  El  Zagal  was 
thrust  forth,  blind,  helpless,  and  desti 
tute,  upon  the  world.  In  this  wretched 
condition,  the  late  Moorish  monarch 
groped  his  way  through  the  regions  of 
Tingitania,  until  he  reached  the  city  of 
Velez  de  Gomera.  The  king  of  Velez 
had  formerly  been  his  ally,  and  felt 
some  movement  of  compassion  at  his 
present  altered  and  abject  state.  He 
gave  him  food  and  raiment,  and  suffered 
him  to  remain  unmolested  in  his  domi 
nions.  Death,  which  so  often  hurries  off 
the  prosperous  and  happy  from  the  midst 
of  untasted  pleasures,  spares,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  miserable,  to  drain  the 
last  drop  of  his  cup  of  bitterness.  El 
Zagal  dragged  out  a  wretched  existence 
of  many  years,  in  the  city  of  Velez. 
He  wandered  about,  blind  and  disconso 
late,  an  object  of  mingled  scorn  and  pity, 
and  bearing  above  his  raiment  a  parch 
ment,  on  which  was  written  in  Arabic, 
"  This  is  the  unfortunate  king  of  Anda 
lusia."* 

CHAPTER  XC. 

Preparations  of  Granada  for  a  desperate  defence. 

"How  is  thy  strength  departed,  O 
Granada  !  how  is  thy  beauty  withered 
and  despoiled,  O  city  of  groves  and  foun 
tains  !  The  commerce  that  once  thronged 
thy  streets,  is  at  an  end ;  the  merchant 
no  longer  hastens  to  thy  gates,  with  the 
luxuries  of  foreign  lands.  The  cities, 
which  once  paid  thee  tribute,  are  wrested 
from  thy  sway;  the  chivalry,  which  filled 
thy  vivarrambla  with  the  sumptuous 
pageantry  of  war,  have  fallen  in  many 
battles.  The  Alhambra  still  rears  its 

*  Mannol  de  Rebellione  Maur.,  lib.  i.  cap.  16. 
Pedraza,  Hist.  Granat.,  p.  iii.  c.  4.  Suarez,  Hist,  de 
Obispados  de  Guadiz  y  Baza,  c.  10. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ruddy  towers  from  the  midst  of  groves ; 
but  melancholy  reigns  in  its  marble  halls, 
and  the  monarch  looks  down  from  his 
lofty  balconies  upon  a  naked  waste, 
where  once  had  extended  the  blooming 
glories  of  the  vega !" 

Such  is  the  lament  of  the  Moorish 
writers,  over  the  lamentable  state  of 
Granada,  which  remained  a  mere  phan 
tom  of  its  former  greatness.  The  two 
ravages  of  the  vega,  following  so  closely 
upon  each  other,  had  swept  off  all  the 
produce  of  the  year,  and  the  husbandman 
had  no  longer  the  heart  to  till  the  field, 
seeing  that  the  ripening  harvest  only 
brought  the  spoiler  to  his  door. 

During  the  winter  season,  King  Ferdi 
nand  made  diligent  preparations  for  the 
last  campaign,  that  was  to  decide  the  fate 
of  Granada.  As  this  war  was  waged 
purely  for  the  promotion  of  the  Chris 
tian  faith,  he  thought  it  meet  its  enemies 
should  bear  the  expenses.  He  levied, 
therefore,  a  general  contribution  upon  all 
the  Jews  throughout  his  kingdom,  by 
synagogues  and  districts,  and  obliged 
them  to  render  in  the  proceeds  at  the  city 
of  Seville.* 

On  the  llth  of  April,  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  departed  for  the  Moorish  frontier, 
with  the  solemn  determination  to  lay 
close  siege  to  Granada,  and  never  to  quit 
its  walls  until  they  planted  the  standard 
of  the  faith  on  the  towers  of  the  Al ham- 
bra.  Many  of  the  nobles  of  the  kingdom, 
particularly  those  from  the  parts  remote 
from  the  scene  of  action,  wearied  by  the 
toils  of  war,  and  foreseeing  that  this  would 
be  a  tedious  siege,  requiring  patience 
and  vigilance,  rather  than  hardy  deeds 
of  arms,  were  contented  with  sending 
their  vassals,  while  they  stayed  at  home 
themselves,  to  attend  to  their  domains. 
Many  cities  furnished  soldiers  at  their 
cost,  and  the  king  took  the  field  with  an 
army  of  forty  thousand  infantry,  and  ten 
thousand  horse.  The  principal  captains, 
who  followed  him  in  this  campaign,  were 
Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  the  Master  of  Santiago,  the  Mar 
quis  of  Villena,  the  Counts  of  Tendilla, 
Cifuentes,  Cabra,  and  Urena,  and  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar. 

Queen  Isabella,  accompanied  by  her 

'Garibay,  lib.  viii,  cap.  39. 


son,  the  Prince  Juan,  and  by  the  princesses 
Juana,  Maria,  and  Catalina,  her  daugh 
ters,  proceeded  to  Alcala  la  Real,  the 
mountain  fortress  and  stronghold  of  the 
Count  de  Tendilla.  Here  she  remained, 
to  forward  supplies  to  the  army,  and  to 
be  ready  to  repair  to  the  camp  whenever 
her  presence  might  be  required. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  poured  into 
the  vega,  by  various  defiles  of  the  moun 
tains,  and  on  the  23d  of  April,  the  royal 
tent  was  pitched  at  a  village  called  Los 
Ojos  de  Huescar,  about  a  league  and  a 
half  from  Granada.  At  the  approach  of 
this  formidable  force,  the  harassed  inha 
bitants  turned  pale,  and  even  many  of 
the  warriors  trembled,  for  they  felt  that 
the  last  desperate  struggle  was  at  hand. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  assembled  his  council 
in  the  Alhambra,  from  the  windows  of 
which  they  could  behold  the  Christian 
squadrons  glistening  through  clouds  of 
dust,  as  they  poured  along  the  vega. 
The  utmost  confusion  and  consternation 
reigned  in  the  council.  Many  of  the 
members,  terrified  with  the  horrors  im 
pending  over  their  families,  advised  Boab 
dil  to  throw  himself  upon  the  generosity 
of  the  Christian  monarch  ;  even  several 
of  the  bravest  suggested  the  possibility 
of  obtaining  honourable  terms. 

The  wazir  of  the  city,  Abul  Casim 
Abdelmelic,  was  called  upon  to  report  the 
state  of  the  public  means,  for  sustenance 
and  defence.  There  were  sufficient  pro 
visions,  he  said,  for  a  few  months'  supply, 
independent  of  what  might  exist  in  the 
possession  of  merchants,  and  other  rich 
inhabitants.  "  But  of  what  avail,"  said 
he,  "  is  a  temporary  provision  against 
the  sieges  of  the  Castilian  monarch,  which 
are  interminable  '?" 

He  produced,  also,  the  lists  of  men, 
capable  of  bearing  arms.  "  The  number," 
said  he,  "  is  great ;  but  what  can  be 
expected  from  mere  citizen  soldiers? 
They  vaunt  and  menace  in  time  of  safety. 
None  are  so  arrogant  when  the  enemy  is 
at  a  distance ;  but  when  the  din  of  war 
thunders  at  their  gates,  they  hide  them 
selves  in  terror." 

When  Muza  heard  these  words,  he 
rose  with  generous  warmth.  "  What 
reason  have  we,"  said  he  "  to  despair  ? 
The  blood  of  those  illustrious  Moors,  the 
ancient  conquerors  of  Spain,  still  flows 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


369 


in  our  veins.  Let  us  be  true  to  ourselves, 
and  fortune  will  again  be  with  us.  We 
have  a  veteran  force,  both  horse  and  foot, 
the  flower  of  our  chivalry ;  seasoned  in 
war,  and  scarred  in  a  thousand  battles. 
As  to  the  multitude  of  our  citizens,  spoken 
of  so  slightly,  why  should  we  doubt  their 
valour?  There  are  twenty  thousand 
young  men,  in  the  fire  of  youth,  for  whom 
I  will  engage,  that,  in  the  defence  of  their 
homes,  they  will  rival  the  most  hardy 
veterans.  Do  we  want  provisions  1  Our 
horses  are  fleet,  and  our  horsemen  daring 
in  foray.  Let  them  scour  and  scourge 
the  country  of  those  apostate  Moslems 
who  have  surrendered  to  the  Christians. 
Let  them  make  inroads  into  the  lands  of 
our  enemies.  We  shall  soon  see  them 
returning  with  cavalgadas  to  our  gates  ; 
and  to  a  soldier,  there  is  no  morsel  so 
sweet  as  that  wrested  with  hard  fighting 
from  the  foe." 

Boabdil  el  Chico,  though  he  wanted 
firm  and  durable  courage,  was  readily 
excited  to  sudden  emotions  of  bravery. 
He  caught  a  glow  of  resolution  from  the 
noble  ardour  of  Muza.  "Do  what  is 
needful,"  said  he  to  his  commanders : 
"  into  your  hands  I  confide  the  common 
safety.  You  are  the  protectors  of  the 
kingdom ;  and,  with  the  aid  of  Allah, 
will  revenge  the  insults  of  our  religion, 
the  death  of  our  friends  and  relations, 
and  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  heaped 
upon  our  land."* 

To  every  one  was  now  assigned  his 
separate  duty.  The  wazir  had  charge  of 
the  arms  and  provisions,  and  the  enrolling 
of  the  people.  Muza  was  to  command 
the  cavalry,  to  defend  the  gates,  and  to 
take  the  lead  in  all  sallies  arid  skirmishes. 
Nairn  Reduan  and  Mohammed  Aben 
Zayda  were  his  adjutants ;  Abdel  Kerim 
Zegri,  and  the  other  captains,  were  to 
guard  the  walls;  and  the  alcaydes  of  the 
alcazaba,  and  of  the  red  towers,  had 
command  of  the  fortresses. 

Nothing  now  was  heard  but  the  din  of 
arms,  and  the  bustle  of  preparation.  The 
Moorish  spirit,  quick  to  catch  fire,  was 
immediately  in  a  flame;  and  the  populace, 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  set  at 
nought  the  power  of  the  Christians.  Muza 
was  in  all  parts  of  the  city,  infusing  his 


Conde. 


Bl 


generous  zeal  into  the  bosoms  of  the 
soldiery.  The  young  cavaliers  rallied 
round  him  as  their  model ;  the  veteran 
warriors  regarded  him  with  a  soldier's 
admiration ;  the  vulgar  throng  followed 
him  with  shouts  ;  and  the  helpless  part 
of  the  inhabitants,  the  old  men  and  the 
women,  hailed  him  with  blessings  as  their 
protector. 

On  the  first  appearance  of  the  Christian 
army,  the  principal  gates  of  the  city  had 
been  closed,  and  secured  with  bars,  and 
bolts,  and  heavy  chains.  Muza  now 
ordered  them  to  be  thrown  open.  "  To 
me  and  my  cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  is  in 
trusted  the  defence  of  the  gates :  our 
bodies  shall  be  their  barriers."  He  sta 
tioned  at  each  gate  a  strong  guard,  chosen 
from  his  bravest  men.  His  horsemen 
were  always  completely  armed,  and 
ready  to  mount  at  a  moment's  warning. 
Their  steeds  stood  saddled  and  capari 
soned  in  the  stables,  with  lance  and 
buckler  beside  them.  On  the  least  ap 
proach  of  the  enemy,  a  squadron  of 
horse  gathered  within  the  gate,  ready  to 
dart  forth  like  the  bolt  from  the  thunder 
cloud.  Muza  made  no  empty  bravado,  or 
haughty  threat :  he  was  more  terrible  in 
deeds  than  in  words ;  and  executed  daring 
exploits,  beyond  even  the  vaunt  of  the 
vain-glorious.  Such  was  the  present 
champion  of  the  Moors.  Had  they  pos 
sessed  many  such  warriors,  or  had  Muza 
risen  to  power  at  an  earlier  period  of  the 
war,  the  fate  of  Granada  might  have 
been  deferred,  and  the  Moor,  for  a  long 
time,  have  maintained  his  throne  within 
the  walls  of  the  Alhambra, 

CHAPTER  XCI. 

How  King  Ferdinand  conducted  the  siege  cautiously, 
and  how  Queen  Isabella  arrived  at  the  camp. 

THOUGH  Granada  was  shorn  of  its 
glories,  and  nearly  cut  off  from  all  ex 
ternal  aid,  still  its  mighty  castles  and 
massive  bulwarks  seemed  to  set  all  attack 
at  defiance.  Being  the  last  retreat  of 
Moorish  power,  it  had  assembled  within 
its  walls  the  remnants  of  the  armies  that 
had  contended,  step  by  step,  with  the 
invaders,  in  their  gradual  conquest  of  the 
land.  All  that  remained  of  highborn 
and  highbred  chivalry  was  here.  All 
that  was  loyal  and  patriotic  was  roused 


370 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


to  activity  by  the  common  danger;  and 
Granada,  that  had  so  long  been  lulled  j 
into  inaction  by  vain  hopes  of  security,  I 
now  assumed  a  formidable  aspect  in  the 
hour  of  its  despair. 

Ferdinand  saw,  that  any  attempt  to  | 
subdue  the  city  by  main  force  would  be  • 
perilous  and  bloody.  Cautious  in  his 
policy,  and  fond  of  conquests  gained  by 
art  rather  than  by  valour,  he  resorted  to 
the  plan  which  had  been  so  successful 
with  Baza,  and  determined  to  reduce  the 
place  by  famine.  For  this  purpose,  his 
armies  penetrated  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  Alpuxarras  ;  and  ravaged  the  valleys, 
and  sacked  and  burned  the  towns  upon 
which  the  city  depended  for  its  supplies. 
Scouring  parties,  also,  ranged  the  moun 
tains  behind  Granada,  and  captured  every 
casual  convoy  of  provisions.  The  Moors 
became  more  daring  as  their  situation 
became  more  hopeless.  Never  had  Fer 
dinand  experienced  such  vigorous  sallies 
and  assaults.  Muza,  at  the  head  of  his 
cavalry,  harassed  the  borders  of  the 
camp,  and  even  penetrated  into  the  inte 
rior,  making  sudden  spoil  and  ravage, 
and  leaving  his  course  to  be  traced  by 
the  wounded  and  slain.  To  protect  his 
camp  from  these  assaults,  Ferdinand 
fortified  it  with  deep  trenches  and  strong 
bulwarks.  It  was  of  a  quadrangular  form, 
divided  into  streets,  like  a  city,  the  troops 
being  quartered  in  tents,  and  in  booths, 
constructed  of  bushes  and  branches  of 
trees.  When  it  was  completed,  Queen 
Isabella  came  in  state,  with  all  her  court, 
and  the  prince  and  princesses,  to  be 
present  at  the  siege.  This  was  intended, 
as  on  former  occasions,  to  reduce  the 
besieged  to  despair,  by  showing  the  de 
termination  of  the  sovereigns  to  reside  in 
the  camp  until  the  city  should  surrender. 
Immediately  after  her  arrival,  the  queen 
rode  forth,  to  survey  the  camp  and  its 
environs.  Wherever  she  went,  she  was 
attended  by  a  splendid  retinue ;  and  all 
the  commanders  vied  with  each  other  in 
the  pomp  and  ceremony  with  which  they 
received  her.  Nothing  was  heard,  from 
morning  until  night,  but  shouts  and  ac 
clamations,  and  bursts  of  martial  music ; 
so  that  it  appeared  to  the  Moors  as  if  a 
continual  festival  and  triumph  reigned  in 
the  Christian  camp. 

The  arrival  of  the  queen,   however, 


and  the  menaced  obstinacy  of  the  siege, 
had  no  effect  in  damping  the  fire  of  the 
Moorish  chivalry.  Muza  inspired  the 
youthful  warriors  with  the  most  devoted 
heroism.  "  We  have  nothing  left  to  fight 
for,"  said  he,  "  but  the  ground  we  stand 
on  :  when  this  is  lost,  we  cease  to  have  a 
country  and  a  name." 

Finding  t'he  Christian  king  forbore  to 
make  an  attack,  Muza  incited  his  cava 
liers  to  challenge  the  youthful  chivalry  of 
the  Christian  army  to  single  combat,  or 
partial  skirmishes.  Scarcely  a  day  passed 
without  gallant  conflicts  of  the  kind,  in 
sight  of  the  city  and  the  camp.  The 
combatants  rivalled  each  other  in  the 
splendour  of  their  armour  and  array,  as 
well  as  in  the  prowess  of  their  deeds. 
Their  contests  were  more  like  the  stately 
ceremonials  of  tilts  and  tournaments, 
than  the  rude  combats  of  the  field.  Fer 
dinand  soon  perceived,  that  they  animated 
the  fiery  Moors  with  fresh  zeal  and 
courage,  while  they  cost  the  lives  of 
many  of  his  bravest  cavaliers :  he  again, 
therefore,  forbade  the  acceptance  of  any 
individual  challenges ;  and  ordered  that 
all  partial  encounters  should  be  avoided. 
The  cool  and  stern  policy  of  the  catholic 
sovereign  bore  hard  upon  the  generous 
spirits  of  either  army ;  but  roused  the 
indignation  of  the  Moors,  when  they 
found  they  were  to  be  subdued  in  this 
inglorious  manner.  "  Of  what  avail," 
said  they,  "  is  chivalry  and  heroic  valour? 
the  crafty  monarch  of  the  Christians  has 
no  magnanimity  in  warfare  :  he  seeks  to 
subdue  us  through  the  weakness  of  our 
bodies,  but  shuns  to  encounter  the  courage 
of  our  souls  !" 

CHAPTER  XCII. 

Of  the  insolent  defiance  of  Tarfe,  the  Moor,  and 
the  daring  exploit  of  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar. 

WHEN  the  Moorish  knights  beheld 
that  all  courteous  challenges  were  una 
vailing,  they  sought  various  means  to 
provoke  the  Christian  warriors  to  the 
field.  Sometimes  a  body  of  them,  fleetly 
mounted,  would  gallop  up  to  the  skirts  of 
the  camp,  and  try  who  should  hurl  his 
lance  farthest  within  the  barriers  ;  hav 
ing  his  name  inscribed  on  it,  or  a  label 
affixed  to  it,  containing  some  taunting 
defiance.  These  bravadoes  caused  great 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


371 


irritation  ;  but  still  the  Spanish  warriors 
were  restrained  by  the  prohibition  of  the 
king. 

Among  the  Moorish  cavaliers  was  one 
named  Tarfe,  renowned  for  his  great 
strength  and  daring  spirit ;  but  whose 
courage  partook  of  fierce  audacity  rather 
than  chivalric  heroism.  In  one  of  these 
sallies,  when  they  were  skirting  the 
Christian  camp,  this  arrogant  Moor  out 
stripped  his  companions,  overleaped  the 
barriers,  and,  galloping  close  to  the  royal 
quarters,  launched  his  lance  so  far  within, 
that  it  remained  quivering  in  the  earth, 
close  by  the  pavilions  of  the  sovereigns. 
The  royal  guards  rushed  forth  in  pursuit ; 
but  the  Moorish  horsemen  were  already 
beyond  the  camp,  and  scouring  in  a  cloud 
of  dust  for  the  city.  Upon  wresting  the 
lance  from  the  earth,  a  label  was  found 
upon  it,  importing  that  it  was  intended 
for  th«  queen. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  indignation  of 
the  Christian  warriors  at  the  insolence  of 
the  bravado,  when  they  heard  to  whom 
the  discourteous  insult  was  offered.  Fer 
nando  Perez  del  Pulgar  surnamed  "  he 
of  the  exploits,"  was  present,  and  resolved 
not  to  be  outbraved  by  this  daring  infidel. 
"  Who  will  stand  by  me,"  said  he,  "  in 
an  enterprise  of  desperate  peril?"  The 
Christian  cavaliers  well  knew  the  hair- 
brained  valour  of  del  Pulgar ;  yet  not  one 
hesitated  to  step  forward.  He  chose 
fifteen  companions,  all  men  of  powerful 
arm  and  dauntless  heart.  In  the  dead  of 
the  night  he  led  them  forth  from  the 
camp,  and  approached  the  city  cautiously, 
until  he  arrived  at  a  postern-gate,  which 
opened  upon  the  Darro,  and  was  guarded 
by  foot-soldiers.  The  guards,  little  think 
ing  of  such  an  unwonted  and  partial  at 
tack,  were  for  the  most  part  asleep. 
The  gate  was  forced,  and  a  confused  and 
chance-medley  skirmish  ensued.  Fer 
nando  del  Pulgar  stopped  not  to  take 
part  in  the  affray.  Putting  spurs  to  his 
horse,  he  galloped  furiously  through  the 
streets,  striking  fire'  out  of  the  stones  at 
every  bound.  Arrived  at  the  principal 
mosque,  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and, 
kneeling  at  the  portal,  took  possession  of 
the  edifice  as  a  Christian  chapel,  dedi 
cating  it  to  the  blessed  Virgin.  In  testi 
mony  of  the  ceremony,  he  took  a  tablet, 
which  he  had  brought  with  him,  on  which 


was  inscribed  in  large  letters,  "  AVE 
MARIA,"  and  nailed  it  to  the  door  of  the 
mosque  with  his  dagger.  This  done,  he 
remounted  his  steed  and  galloped  back 
to  the  gate.  The  alarm  had  been  given ; 
the  city  was  in  an  uproar ;  soldiers 
were  gathering  from  every  direction. 
They  were  astonished  at  seeing  a  Chris 
tian  warrior  speeding  from  the  inte 
rior  of  the  city.  Fernando  del  Pulgar, 
overturning  some,  and  cutting  down 
others,  rejoined  his  companions,  who 
still  maintained  possession  of  the  gate, 
by  dint  of  hard  fighting,  and  they  all 
made  good  their  retreat  to  the  camp. 
The  Moors  were  at  a  loss  to  conjecture 
the  meaning  of  this  wild  and  apparently 
fruitless  assault ;  but  great  was  their  ex 
asperation,  when,  on  the  following  day, 
they  discovered  the  trophy  of  hardihood 
and  prowess,  the  AVE  MARIA,  thus  ele 
vated  in  the  very  centre  of  the  city. 
The  mosque,  thus  boldly  sanctified  by 
Fernando  del  Pulgar,  was  eventually, 
after  the  capture  of  Granada,  converted 
into  a  cathedral.* 


CHAPTER  XCIII. 

How  Queen  Isabella  took  a  view  of  the  city  of 
Granada ;  and  how  her  curiosity  cost  the  lives  of 
many  Christians  and  Moors. 

THE  royal  encampment  lay  at  such  a 
distance  from  Granada,  that  the  general 
aspect  of  the  city  only  could  be  seen,  as 
it  rose  gracefully  from  the  vega,  cover 
ing  the  sides  of  the  hills  with  palaces  and 
towers.  Queen  Isabella  had  expressed 
an  earnest  desire  to  behold,  nearer  at 
hand,  a  place,  the  beauty  of  which  was 
so  renowned  throughout  the  world ;  and 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  with  his  accus 
tomed  courtesy,  prepared  a  great  military 
escort  and  guard,  to  protect  her  and  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  while  they  enjoyed 
this  perilous  gratification. 

*  In  commemoration  of  this  daring  feat,  the  Em 
peror  Charles  V.  in  after  years,  conferred  on  Pulgar 
and  his  descendants  the  right  of  sepulture  in  that 
church,  and  the  privilege  of  sitting  in  the  choir 
during  high  mass.  This  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar 
was  a  man  of  letters,  as  well  as  arms ;  and  inscribed 
to  Charles  V.  a  summary  of  the  achievements  of 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  surnamed  the  Great  Captain, 
who  had  been  one  of  his  comrades  in  arms.  He 
is  often  confounded  with  Fernando  del  Pulgar, 
historian  and  secretary  to  Queen  Isabella.  See 
note  to  Pulgar's  Chron.  of  the  Catholic  Sovereigns, 
part  Hi,  c.  3,  edit.  Valencia,  1780. 


372 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


It  was  on  the  morning  after  the  event 
recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter,  that 
a  magnificent  and  powerful  train  issued 
forth  from  the  Christian  camp.  The 
advance  guard  was  composed  of  legions 
of  cavalry,  heavily  armed,  that  looked 
like  moving  masses  of  polished  steel. 
Then  came  the  king  and  queen,  with  the 
prince  and  princesses,  and  the  ladies  of 
the  court,  surrounded  by  the  royal  body 
guard,  sumptuously  arrayed,  composed 
of  the  sons  of  the  most  illustrious  houses 
of  Spain.  After  these  was  the  rear-guard, 
composed  of  a  powerful  force  of  horse 
and  foot ;  for  the  flower  of  the  army 
sallied  forth  that  day.  The  Moors  gazed 
with  fearful  admiration  at  this  glorious 
pageant,  wherein  the  pomp  of  the  court 
was  mingled  with  the  terrors  of  the  camp. 
It  moved  along  in  a  radiant  line  across 
the  vega,  to  the  melodious  thunders  of 
martial  music ;  while  banner,  and  plume, 
and  silken  scarf,  and  rich  brocade,  gave 
a  gay  and  gorgeous  relief  to  the  grim 
visage  of  iron  war  that  lurked  beneath. 

The  army  moved  towards  the  hamlet 
of  Zubia,  built  on  the  skirts  of  the  moun 
tains,  to  the  left  of  Granada,  and  com 
manding  a  view  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
the  most  beautiful  quarter  of  the  city. 
As  they  approached  the  hamlet,  the 
Marquis  of  Villena,  the  Count  Urena, 
and  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  filed  off 
with  their  battalions,  and  were  soon  seen 
glittering  along  the  side  of  the  mountain 
above  the  village.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  Count  de  Tendilla, 
the  Count  de  Cabra,  and  Don  Alonso 
Fernandez,  senior  of  Alcandrete  and 
Montemayor,  drew  up  their  forces  in 
battle  array  on  the  plain  below  the  ham 
let,  presenting  a  living  barrier  of  loyal 
chivalry,  between  the  sovereigns  and  the 
city.  Thus  securely  guarded,  the  royal 
party  alighted,  and  entering  one  of  the 
houses  of  the  hamlet,  which  had  been 
prepared  for  their  reception,  enjoyed  a 
full  view  of  the  city  from  its  terraced 
roof.  The  ladies  of  the  court  gazed  with 
delight  at  the  red  towers  of  the  Alham 
bra,  rising  from  amidst  shady  groves, 
anticipating  the  time  when  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  should  be  enthroned  within  its 
walls,  and  its  courts  shine  with  the  splen 
dour  of  Spanish  chivalry.  "  The  reve 
rend  prelates  and  holy  friars,  who  always 


surrounded  the  queen,  looked  with  serene 
satisfaction,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida,  "at  this  modern  Babylon  ;  enjoying 
the  triumph  that  awaited  them,  when 
those  mosques  and  minarets  should  be 
converted  into  churches,  and  goodly 
priests  and  bishops  should  succeed  to  the 
infidel  alfaquis." 

When  the  Moors  beheld  the  Christians 
thus  drawn  forth  in  full  array  in  the 
plain,  they  supposed  it  was  to  offer  them 
battle,  and  they  hesitated  not  to  accept 
it.  In  a  little  while  the  queen  beheld  a 
body  of  Moorish  cavalry  pouring  into  the 
vega,  the  riders  managing  their  fleet  and 
fiery  steeds  with  admirable  address. 
They  were  richly  armed,  and  clothed  in 
the  most  brilliant  colours,  and  the  ca 
parisons  of  their  steeds  flamed  with  gold 
and  embroidery.  This  was  the  favourite 
squadron  of  Muza,  composed  of  the 
flower  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  of  Gra 
nada  :  others  succeeded ;  some  heavily 
armed,  some  d  la  gineta,  with  lance  and 
buckler,  and  lastly  came  the  legions  of 
foot-soldiers,  with  arquebuse  and  cross 
bow  and  spear  and  cimeter. 

When  the  queen  saw  the  army  issuing 
from  the  city,  she  sent  to  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  and  forbade  any  attack  upon  the 
enemy,  or  the  acceptance  of  any  chal 
lenge  to  a  skirmish  ;  for  she  was  loath 
that  her  curiosity  should  cost  the  life  of 
a  single  human  being. 

The  marquis  promised  to  obey,  though 
sorely  against  his  will ;  and  it  grieved 
the  spirit  of  the  Spanish  cavaliers  to  be 
obliged  to  remain  with  sheathed  swords, 
while  bearded  by  the  foe.  The  Moors 
could  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
this  inaction  of  the  Christians,  after  hav 
ing  apparently  invited  a  battle.  They 
sallied  several  times  from  their  ranks, 
and  approached  near  enough  to  discharge 
their  arrows,  but  the  Christians  were  im 
movable.  Many  of  the  Moorish  horse 
men  galloped  close  to  the  Christian  ranks, 
brandishing  their  lances  and  cimeters, 
and  defying  various  cavaliers  to  single 
combat :  but  King  Ferdinand  had  rigor 
ously  prohibited  all  duels  of  the  kind, 
and  they  dared  not  transgress  his  orders 
under  his  very  eye. 

While  this  grim  and  reluctant  tran 
quillity  prevailed  along  the  Christian 
line,  there  rose  a  mingled  shout  and 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


373 


sound  of  laughter,  near  the  gate  of  the 
city.  A  Moorish  horseman,  armed  at  all 
points,  issued  forth,  followed  by  a  rabble, 
who  drew  back  as  he  approached  the 
scene  of  danger  The  Moor  was  rriore 
robust  and  brawny  than  was  common 
with  his  countrymen.  His  visor  was 
closed ;  he  bore  a  large  buckler  and 
ponderous  lance  ;  his  cimeter  was  of  a 
Damascus  blade,  and  his  richly  orna 
mented  dagger  was  wrought  by  an  arti 
ficer  of  Fez.  He  was  known  by  his 
device  to  be  Tarfe,  the  most  insolent,  yet 
valiant  of  the  Moslem  warriors  ;  the  same 
who  had  hurled  into  the  royal  camp  his 
lance,  inscribed  to  the  queen.  As  he 
rode  slowly  along  in  front  of  the  army, 
his  very  steed,  prancing  with  fiery  eye 
and  distended  nostril,  seemed  to  breathe 
defiance  to  the  Christians.  But  what 
were  the  feelings  of  the  Spanish  cava 
liers,  when  they  beheld  tied  to  the  tail  of 
his  steed,  and  dragged  in  the  dust,  the 
very  inscription,  Ave  Maria,  which  Fer 
nando  Perez  del  Pulgar  had  affixed  to 
the  door  of  the  mosque !  A  burst  of 
horror  and  indignation  broke  forth  from 
the  army.  Fernando  del  Pulgar  was  not 
at  hand  to  maintain  his  previous  achieve 
ment,  but  one  of  his  young  companions 
in  arms,  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega  by  name, 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  galloped  to  the 
hamlet  of  Zubia,  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  before  the  king,  and  besought  per 
mission  to  accept  the  defiance  of  this  in 
solent  infidel,  and  to  revenge  the  insult 
offered  to  our  blessed  Lady.  The  re 
quest  was  too  pious  to  be  refused :  Gar 
cilasso  remounted  his  steed  ;  he  closed  his 
helmet,  graced  by  four  sable  plumes ; 
grasped  his  buckler,  of  Flemish  work 
manship,  and  his  lance,  of  matchless 
temper,  and  defied  the  haughty  Moor  in 
the  midst  of  his  career.  A  combat  took 
place,  in  view  of  the  two  armies,  and  of 
the  Castilian  court.  The  Moor  was 
powerful  in  wielding  his  weapons,  and 
dexterous  in  managing  his  steed.  He 
was  of  larger  frame  than  Garcilasso,  and 
more  completely  armed ;  and  the  Chris 
tians  trembled  for  their  champion.  The 
shock  of  their  encounter  was  dreadful ; 
their  lances  were  shivered,  and  sent  up 
splinters  in  the  air.  Garcilasso  was 
thrown  back  in  his  saddle,  and  his  horse 
made  a  wide  career  before  he  could  re- 
VOL.  ii.  32 


cover  his  position,  gather  up  the  reins, 
and  return  to  the  conflict.  They  now 
encountered  each  other  with  swords. 
The  Moor  circled  round  his  opponent  as 
a  hawk  circles  when  about  to  make  a 
swoop ;  his  Arabian  steed  obeyed  his 
rider  with  matchless  quickness ;  at  every 
attack  of  the  infidel,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
Christian  knight  must  sink  beneath  his 
flashing  cimeter.  But  if  Garcilasso  was 
inferior  to  him  in  power,  he  was  superior 
in  agility;  many  of  his  blows  he  parried, 
others  he  received  on  his  Flemish  buck 
ler,  which  was  proof  against  the  Damas 
cus  blade.  The  blood  streamed  from 
numerous  wounds,  received  by  either 
warrior.  The  Moor,  seeing  his  antago 
nist  exhausted,  availed  himself  of  his 
superior  force ;  and,  grappling,  endea 
voured  to  wrest  him  from  his  saddle. 
They  both  fell  to  the  earth ;  the  Moor 
placed  his  knee  on  the  breast  of  his  vic 
tim,  and,  brandishing  his  dagger,  aimed 
a  blow  at  his  throat.  A  cry  of  despair 
was  uttered  by  the  Christian  warriors, 
when  suddenly  they  beheld  the  Moor 
rolling  lifeless  in  the  dust !  Garcilasso 
had  shortened  his  sword,  and,  as  his  ad 
versary  raised  his  arm  to  strike,  had 
pierced  him  to  the  heart.  "  It  was  a 
singular  and  miraculous  victory,"  says 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida ;  "  but  the  Chris 
tian  knight  was  armed  by  the  sacred 
nature  of  his  cause,  and  the  holy  Virgin 
gave  him  strength,  like  another  David, 
to  slay  this  gigantic  champion  of  the 
Gentiles." 

The  laws  of  chivalry  were  observed 
throughout  the  combat ;  no  one  interfered 
on  either  side.  Garcilasso  now  despoiled 
his  adversary ;  then,  rescuing  the  holy 
inscription  of  "  AVE  MARIA"  from  its 
degrading  situation,  he  elevated  it  on  the 
point  of  his  sword,  and  bore  it  off  as  a 
signal  of  triumph,  amidst  the  rapturous 
shouts  of  the  Christian  army. 

The  sun  had  now  reached  the  meri 
dian,  and  the  hot  blood  of  the  Moors  was 
inflamed  by  its  rays,  and  by  the  sight  of 
the  defeat  of  their  champion.  Muza 
ordered  two  pieces  of  ordnance  to  open 
a  fire  upon  the  Christians.  A  confusion 
was  produced  in  one  part  of  their  ranks. 
Muza  called  the  chiefs  of  the  army:  "Let 
us  waste  no  more  time  in  empty  chal 
lenges,  let  us  charge  upon  the  enemy  : 


374 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


he  who  assaults  has  always  an  advan 
tage  in  the  combat."  So  saying,  he 
rushed  forward,  followed  by  a  large  body 
of  horse  and  foot,  and  charged  so  fu 
riously  upon  the  advance  guard  of  the 
Christians,  that  he  drove  it  in  upon  the 
battalion  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz.  The 
gallant  marquis  now  considered  himself 
absolved  from  all  further  obedience  to  the 
queen's  commands.  He  gave  the  signal 
to  attack.  "  Santiago !"  was  shouted 
along  the  line,  and  he  pressed  forward  to 
the  encounter,  with  his  battalion  of  twelve 
hundred  lances.  The  other  cavaliers 
followed  his  example,  and  the  battle  in 
stantly  became  general. 

When  the  king  and  queen  beheld  the 
armies  thus  rushing  to  the  combat,  they 
threw  themselves  on  their  knees,  and  im 
plored  the  Holy  Virgin  to  protect  her 
faithful  warriors.  The  prince  and  prin 
cesses,  the  ladies  of  the  court,  and  the 
prelates  and  friars  who  were  present,  did 
the  same ;  and  the  effect  of  the  prayers 
of  these  illustrious  and  saintly  persons 
was  immediately  apparent.  The  fierce 
ness  with  which  the  Moors  had  rushed  to 
the  attack  was  suddenly  cooled;  they 
were  bold  and  adroit  for  a  skirmish,  but 
unequal  to  the  veteran  Spaniards  in  the 
open  field.  A  panic  seized  upon  the 
foot-soldiers ;  they  turned,  and  took  to 
flight.  Muza  and  his  cavaliers  in  vain 
endeavoured  to  rally  them.  Some  sought 
refuge  in  the  mountains ;  but  the  greater 
part  fled  to  the  city,  in  such  confusion, 
that  they  overturned  and  trampled  upon 
each  other.  The  Christians  pursued 
them  to  the  very  gates.  Upwards  of  two 
thousand  were  killed,  wounded,  or  taken 
prisoners,  and  the  two  pieces  of  ordnance 
were  brought  off,  as  trophies  of  the 
victory.  Not  a  Christian  lance  but  was 
bathed  that  day  in  the  blood  of  an  infidel.* 

Such  was  the  brief  but  sanguinary 
action,  which  was  known  among  the 
Christian  warriors  by  the  name  of  the 
Queen's  Skirmish ;  for  when  the  Marquis 
of  Cadiz  waited  upon  her  majesty,  to 
apologize  for  breaking  her  commands,  he 
attributed  the  victory  entirely  to  her  pre 
sence.  The  queen,  however,  insisted, 
that  all  was  owing  to  her  troops  being 
led  on  by  so  valiant  a  commander.  Her 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios. 


majesty  had  not  yet  recovered  from  her 
agitation  at  beholding  so  terrible  a  scene 
of  bloodshed ;  though  certain  veterans 
present  pronounced  it  as  gay  and  gentle 
a  fight  as  they  had  ever  witnessed. 

To  commemorate  this  victory,  the 
queen  afterwards  erected  a  monastery  in 
the  village  of  Zubia,  dedicated  to  St. 
Francisco ;  which  still  exists,  and  in  its 
garden  is  a  laurel  planted  by  the  hands  of 
her  majesty.* 

CHAPTER  XCIV. 
Conflagration  of  the  Christian  camp. 

THE  ravages  of  war  had  as  yet  spared 
a  little  portion  of  the  vega  of  Granada. 
A  green  belt  of  gardens  and  orchards 
still  flourished  round  the  city,  extending 
along  the  banks  of  the  Xenil  and  the 
Darro.  They  had  been  the  solace  and 
delight  of  the  inhabitants  in  their  happier 
days,  and  contributed  to  their  sustenance 
in  this  time  of  scarcity.  Ferdinand  de 
termined  to  make  a  final  and  extermi 
nating  ravage  to  the  very  walls  of  the 
city,  so  that  there  should  not  remain  a 
single  green  thing  for  the  sustenance  of 
man  or  beast.  The  evening  of  a  hot 
July  day  shone  splendidly  upon  the 
Christian  camp,  which  was  in  a  bustle  of 
preparation  for  the  next  day's  service; 
for  desperate  resistance  was  expected 
from  the  Moors.  The  camp  made  a 
glorious  appearance  in  the  setting  sun. 
The  various  tents  of  the  royal  family 
and  the  attendant  nobles  were  adorned 
with  rich  hangings,  having  sumptuous 
devices,  and  with  costly  furniture  ;  form 
ing,  as  it  were,  a  little  city  of  silk  and 
brocade,  where  the  pinnacles  of  pavilions 
of  various  gay  colours,  surmounted  with 
waving  standards  and  fluttering  pennons, 
might  vie  with  the  domes  and  minarets  of 
the  capital  they  were  besieging. 

In  the  midst  of  this  gaudy  metropolis, 

*  The  house,  from  whence  the  king  and  queen 
contemplated  the  battle,  is  likewise  to  be  seen  at  the    ! 
present  day.     It  is  in  the  first  street,  to  the  right,    j 
on   entering  the  village  from   the   vega,  and   the 
royal  arms  are  painted  on  the  ceilings.  It  is  inhabit 
ed  by  a  worthy  farmer,  Francisco  Garcia,  who,  in 
showing  the  house,  refuses  all  compensation,  with    j 
true  Spanish  pride;  offering,  on  the  contrary,  the   j 
hospitalities  of  his  mansion  to  the  stranger.     His 
children  are  versed  in  the  old  Spanish  ballads  about 
the  exploits  of  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar  and  Gar- 
cilasso  de  la  Vega. 


K- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


375 


the  lofty  tent  of  the  queen  domineered 
over  the  rest  like  a  stately  palace.  The 
Marquis  of  Cadiz  had  courteously  sur 
rendered  his  own  tent  to  the  queen.  ^  It 
was  the  most  complete  and  splended  in 
Christendom,  and  had  been  carried  about 
with  him  throughout  the  war.  In  the 
centre  rose  a  stately  alfaneque,  or  pavi 
lion,  in  oriental  taste,  the  rich  hangings 
being  supported  by  columns  of  lances, 
ornamented  with  martial  devices.  This 
centre  pavilion,  or  silken  tower,  was  sur 
rounded  by  other  compartments,  some  of 
painted  linen,  lined  with  silk,  and  all 
separated  from  each  other  by  curtains. 
It  was  one  of  those  camp  palaces,  which 
are  raised  and  demolished  in  an  instant, 
like  the  city  of  canvass  that  surrounds 
them. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  bustle  in 
the  camp  subsided.  Every  one  sought 
repose,  preparatory  to  the  next  day's  toil. 
The  king  retired  early,  that  he  might  be 
up  with  the  crowing  of  the  cock,  to  head 
the  destroying  army  in  person.  All  stir 
of  military  preparation  was  hushed  in  the 
royal  quarters  ;  the  very  sound  of  min 
strelsy  was  mute  :  and  not  the  tinkling  of 
a  guitar  was  to  be  heard  from  the  tents  of 
the  fair  ladies  of  the  court. 

The  queen  had  retired  to  the  innermost 
part  of  her  pavilion,  where  she  was  per 
forming  her  orisons  before  a  private  altar. 
Perhaps  the  peril,  to  which  the  king  might 
be  exposed  in  the  next  day's  foray,  in 
spired  her  with  more  than  usual  devotion. 
While  thus  at  her  prayers,  she  was  sud 
denly  aroused  by  a  glare  of  light,  and 
wreaths  of  suffocating  smoke.  In  an 
instant,  the  whole  tent  was  in  a  blaze : 
there  was  a  high  gusty  wind,  which 
whirled  the  light  flames  from  tent  to  tent, 
and  speedily  wrapped  them  all  in  one 
conflagration. 

Isabella  had  barely  time  to  save  herself 
by  instant  flight.  Her  first  thought,  on 
being  extricated  from  her  tent,  was  for 
the  safety  of  the  king.  She  rushed  to  his 
tent ;  but  the  vigilant  Ferdinand  was  al 
ready  at  the  entrance  of  it.  Starting 
I  from  bed  on  the  first  alarm,  and  fancying 
it  an  assault  of  the  enemy,  he  had  seized 
his  sword  and  buckler,  and  sallied  forth 
undressed,  with  his  cuirass  upon  his  arm. 

The  late  gorgeous  camp  was  now  a 
scene  of  wild  confusion.  The  flames  kept 


spreading  from  one  pavilion  to  another, 
glaring  upon  the  rich  armour  and  golden 
and  silver  vessels,  which  seemed  melting 
in  the  fervent  heat.  Many  of  the  soldiery 
had  erected  booths  and  bowers  of  branch 
es,  which  being  dry,  crackled  and  blazed, 
and  added  to  the  rapid  conflagration. 
The  ladies  of  the  court  fled  shrieking  and 
half-dressed,  from  their  tents.  There 
was  an  alarm  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and 
a  distracted  hurry  about  the  camp,  of 
men  half  armed. 

The  Prince  Juan  had  been  snatched 
out  of  bed  by  an  attendant,  and  conveyed 
to  the  quarters  of  the  Count  de  Cabra, 
which  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  camp. 
The  loyal  count  immediately  summoned 
his  people,  and  those  of  his  cousin,  Don 
Alonso  de  Montemayor,  and  formed  a 
guard  round  the  tent  in  which  the  prince 
was  sheltered. 

The  idea,  that  this  was  a  stratagem  of 
the  Moors,  soon  subsided ;  but  it  was 
feared,  that  they  might  take  advantage  of 
it  to  commence  an  assault.  The  Marquis 
of  Cadiz,  therefore,  sallied  forth  with 
three  thousand  horse,  to  check  an  advance 
from  the  city.  As  they  passed  along  it 
was  one  entire  scene  of  hurry  and  con 
sternation  ;  some  hastening  to  their  posts 
at  the  call  of  drum  and  trumpet,  some  at 
tempting  to  save  rich  effects  and  glittering 
armour,  others  dragging  along  terrified 
and  restive  horses. 

When  they  emerged  from  the  camp, 
they  found  the  whole  firmament  illumined. 
The  flames  whirled  up  in  long  light 
spires ;  and  the  air  was  filled  with  sparks 
and  cinders.  A  bright  glare  was  thrown 
upon  the  city,  revealing  every  battlement 
and  tower.  Turbaned  heads  were  seen 
gazing  from  every  roof,  and  armour 
gleamed  along  the  walls  ;  yet  not  a  single 
warrior  sallied  from  the  gates.  The 
Moors  suspected  some  stratagem  on  the 
part  of  the  Christians,  and  kept  quietly 
within  their  walls.  By  degrees  the  flames 
expired,  the  city  faded  from  sight,  all 
again  became  dark  and  quiet,  and  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz  returned  with  his  ca 
valry  to  the  camp. 

CHAPTER  XCV. 

The  last  ravage  before  Granada. 
WHEN  the  day  dawned  on  the  Christian 
camp,  nothing  remained  of  that  beautiful 


376 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


assemblage  of  stately  pavilions,  but  heaps 
of  smouldering  rubbish,  with  helms,  and 
corslets,  and  other  furniture  of  war,  and 
masses  of  melted  gold  and  silver  glittering 
among  the  ashes.  The  wardrobe  of  the 
queen  was  entirely  destroyed ;  and  there 
was  an  immense  loss  in  plate,  jewels, 
costly  stuffs,  and  sumptuous  armour  of 
the  luxurious  nobles.  The  fire  at  first 
had  been  attributed  to  treachery,  but,  on 
investigation,  it  was  proved  to  be  entirely 
accidental.  The  queen,  on  retiring  to 
her  prayers,  had  ordered  her  lady  in  at 
tendance  to  remove  a  light,  burning  near 
her  couch,  lest  it  should  prevent  her 
sleeping.  Through  heedlessness,  the  taper 
was  placed  in  another  part  of  the  tent, 
near  the  hangings,  which,  being  blown 
against  it  by  a  gust  of  wind,  immediately 
took  fire. 

The  wary  Ferdinand  knew  the  san 
guine  temperament  of  the  Moors,  and 
hastened  to  prevent  their  deriving  confi 
dence  from  the  night's  disaster.  At  break 
of  day,  the  drums  and  trumpets  sounded 
to  arms ;  and  the  Christian  army  issued 
from  among  the  smoking  ruins  of  their 
camp  in  shining  squadrons,  with  flaunting 
banners,  and  bursts  of  martial  melodies, 
as  though  the  preceding  night  had  been 
a  time  of  high  festivity,  instead  of  terror. 

The  Moors  had  beheld  the  conflagra 
tion  with  wonder  and  perplexity.  When 
the  day  broke,  and  they  looked  towards 
the  Christian  camp,  they  saw  nothing  but 
a  dark  smoking  mass.  Their  scouts 
came  in  with  the  joyful  intelligence,  that 
the  whole  camp  was  a  scene  of  ruin. 
Scarce  had  the  tidings  spread  throughout 
the  city,  than  they  beheld  the  Christian 
army  advancing  towards  the  walls.  They 
considered  it  a  feint  to  cover  their  des 
perate  situation,  and  prepare  for  a  retreat. 
Boabdil  el  Chico  had  one  of  his  impulses 
of  valour;  he  determined  to  take  the  field 
in  person,  and  to  follow  up  this  signal 
blow,  which  Allah  had  inflicted  on  the 
enemy. 

The  Christian  army  approached  close 
to  the  city,  and  were  laying  waste  gardens 
and  orchards,  when  Boabdil  sallied  forth, 
surrounded  by  all  that  was  left  of  the 
flower  and  chivalry  of  Granada.  There 
is  one  place,  where  even  the  coward  be 
comes  brave;  that  sacred  spot  called 
home.  What,  then,  must  have  been  the 


valour  of  the  Moors,  a  people  always  of 
fiery  spirit,  when  the  war  was  thus 
brought  to  their  thresholds  ?  They  fought 
among  the  scenes  of  their  loves  and 
pleasures,  the  scenes  of  their  infancy,  and 
the  haunts  of  their  domestic  life.  They 
fought  under  the  eyes  of  their  wives  and 
children,  their  old  men  and  their  maidens, 
of  all  that  was  helpless  and  all  that  was 
dear  to  them ;  for  all  Granada  crowded 
on  tower  and  battlement,  watching  with 
trembling  heart  the  fate  of  this  eventful 
day. 

It  was  not  so  much  one  battle  as  a 
variety  of  battles.  Every  garden  and 
orchard  became  a  scene  of  deadly  con 
test  ;  every  inch  of  ground  was  disputed 
by  the  Moors  with  an  agony  of  grief  and 
valour.  Every  inch  of  ground  that  the 
Christians  advanced,  they  valiantly  main 
tained  ;  but  never  did  they  advance  with 
severer  fighting,  or  greater  loss  of  blood. 

The  cavalry  of  Muza  was  in  every 
part  of  the  field.  Wherever  it  came,  it 
gave  fresh  ardour  to  the  fight.  The 
Moorish  soldier,  fainting  with  heat,  fa 
tigue,  and  wounds,  was  roused  to  new 
life  at  the  approach  of  Muza  ;  and  even 
he,  who  lay  gasping  in  the  agonies  of 
death,  turned  his  face  towards  him,  and 
faintly  uttered  cheers  and  blessings  as 
he  passed. 

The  Christians  had  by  this  time  gained 
possession  of  various  towers  near  the 
city,  from  whence  they  had  been  an 
noyed  by  crossbows  and  arquebuses. 
The  Moors,  scattered  in  various  actions, 
were  severely  pressed.  Boabdil,  at  the 
head  of  the  cavaliers  of  his  guard,  dis 
played  the  utmost  valour;  mingling  in 
the  fight,  in  various  parts  of  the  field, 
and  endeavouring  to  inspirit  the  foot- 
soldiers  to  the  combat.  But  the  Moorish 
infantry  was  never  to  be  depended  upon. 
In  the  heat  of  the  action  a  panic  seized 
upon  them.  They  fled ;  leaving  their 
sovereign  exposed,  with  his  handful  of 
cavaliers,  to  an  overwhelming  force. 
Boabdil  was  on  the  point  of  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  Christians  ;  when,  wheel 
ing  round,  with  his  followers,  they  all 
threw  the  reins  on  the  necks  of  their 
fleet  steeds,  and  took  refuge,  by  dint  of 
hoof,  within  the  walls  of  the  city.* 

*  Zurita,  lib.  xx.  c.  88. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


377 


Muza  endeavoured  to  retrieve  the  for 
tune  of  the  field.  He  threw  himself 
before  the  retreating  infantry ;  calling 
upon  them  to  turn,  and  fight  for  their 
homes,  their  families,  for  every  thing 
that  was  sacred  and  dear  to  them.  It 
was  all  in  vain.  They  were  totally 
broken  and  dismayed,  and  fled  tumul- 
tuously  for  the  gates.  Muza  would  fain 
have  kept  the  field  with  his  cavalry  ;  but 
this  devoted  band,  having  stood  the  brunt 
of  war  throughout  this  desperate  cam 
paign,  was  fearfully  reduced  in  number, 
and  many  of  the  survivors  were  crippled 
and  enfeebled  by  their  wounds.  Slowly 
and  reluctantly  he  retreated  to  the  city, 
his  bosom  swelling  with  indignation  and 
despair.  When  he  entered  the  gates,  he 
ordered  them  to  be  closed,  and  secured 
with  bolts  and  bars ;  for  he  refused  to 
place  any  further  confidence  in  the  archers 
and  arquebusiers,  who  were  stationed  to 
defend  them  ;  and  he  vowed  never  more 
to  sally  forth  with  foot-soldiers  to  the 
field. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  artillery  thun 
dered  from  the  walls,  and  checked  all 
further  advances  of  the  Christians.  King 
Ferdinand,  therefore,  called  off  his  troops, 
and  returned  in  triumph  to  the  ruins  of 
his  camp;  leaving  the  beautiful  city  of 
Granada,  wrapped  in  the  smoke  of  her 
fields  and  gardens,  and  surrounded  by 
the  bodies  of  her  slaughtered  children. 

Such  was  the  last  sally  made  by  the 
Moors  in  defence  of  their  favourite  city. 
The  French  ambassador,  who  witnessed 
it,  was  filled  with  wonder  at  the  prowess, 
the  dexterity,  and  daring,  of  the  Moslems. 
In  truth,  this  whole  war  was  an  instance, 
memorable  in  history,  of  the  most  perse 
vering  resolution.  For  nearly,  ten  years 
had  the  war  endured,  exhibiting  an  al 
most  uninterrupted  series  of  disasters  to 
the  Moorish  arms.  Their  towns  had 
been  taken  one  after  another,  and  their 
brethren  slain,  or  led  into  captivity.  Yet 
they  disputed  every  city,  and  town,  and 
fortress,  and  castle;  nay,  every  rock 
itself,  as  if  they  had  been  inspired  by 
victories.  Wherever  they  could  plant 
foot  to  fight,  or  find  wall  or  cliff  from 
whence  to  launch  an  arrow,  they  dis 
puted  their  beloved  country ;  and  now, 
when  their  capital  was  cut  off  from  all 
relief,  and  had  a  whole  nation  thundering 


at  its  gates,  they  still  maintained  defence, 
as  if  they  hoped  some  miracle  to  inter 
pose  in  their  behalf.  "  Their  obstinate 
resistance,"  says  an  ancient  chronicler, 
"  shows  the  grief  with  which  the  Moors 
yielded  up  the  vega,  which  was  to  them 
a  paradise  and  heaven.  Exerting  all  the 
strength  of  their  arms,  they  embraced,  as 
it  were,  that  most  beloved  soil,  from 
which  neither  wounds,  nor  defeats,  nor 
death  itself,  could  part  them.  They  stood 
firm,  battling  for  it  with  the  united  force 
of  love  and  grief;  never  drawing  back 
the  foot  while  they  had  hands  to  fight, 
or  fortune  to  befriend  them."* 

CHAPTER  XCVI. 

Building  of  the  city  of  Santa  Fe.     Despair  of  the 
Moors. 

THE  Moors  now  shut  themselves  up 
gloomily  within  their  walls.  There  were 
no  longer  any  daring  sallies  from  their 
gates  ;  and  even  the  martial  clangour  of 
the  drum  and  trumpet,  which  had  con 
tinually  resounded  within  the  warrior 
city,  was  now  seldom  heard  from  its 
battlements.  For  a  time  they  flattered 
themselves  with  hopes,  that  the  late  con 
flagration  of  the  camp  would  discourage 
the  besiegers ;  that,  as  in  former  years, 
their  invasion  would  end  with  the  sum 
mer,  and  that  they  would  again  withdraw 
before  the  autumnal  rains.  The  measures 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  soon  crushed 
these  hopes.  They  gave  orders  to  build 
a  regular  city  upon  the  site  of  their  camp, 
to  convince  the  Moors,  that  the  siege  was 
to  endure  until  the  surrender  of  Granada. 
Nine  of  the  principal  cities  of  Spain  were 
charged  with  this  stupendous  undertak 
ing,  and  they  emulated  each  other  with  a 
zeal  worthy  of  the  cause.  "  It  verily 
seemed,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  as  though  some  miracle  operated  to  aid 
this  pious  work,  so  rapidly  did  arise 
a  formidable  city,  with  solid  edifices, 
and  powerful  walls,  and  mighty  towers, 
where  lately  had  been  seen  nothing  but 
tents  and  light  pavilions.  The  city  was 
traversed  by  two  principal  streets,  in  form 
of  a  cross ;  terminating  in  four  gates, 
facing  the  four  winds ;  and  in  the  centre 
was  a  vast  square,  where  the  whole  army 
might  be  assembled.  To  this  city  it  was 

*  Abarca,  Reyes  de  Aragon,  rey  xxx.  c.  3. 


378 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


proposed  to  give  the  name  of  Isabella,  so 
dear  to  the  army  and  the  nation ;  but  that 
pious  princess,"  adds  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  calling  to  mind  the  holy  cause  in  which 
it  was  erected,  gave  it  the  name  of  Santa 
Fe,  or  the  city  of  the  Holy  Faith ;  and  it  j 
remains  to  this  day,  a  monument  of  the 
piety  and  glory  of  the  catholic  sovereigns." 

Hither  the  merchants  soon  resorted 
from  all  points.  Long  trains  of  mules 
were  seen  every  day  entering  and  de 
parting  from  its  gates ;  the  streets  were 
crowded  with  magazines  filled  with  all 
kinds  of  costly  and  luxurious  merchan 
dise  ;  a  scene  of  bustling  commerce  and 
prosperity  took  place,  while  unhappy 
Granada  remained  shut  up  and  desolate. 

In  the  mean  time  the  besieged  city 
began  to  suffer  the  distress  of  famine. 
Its  supplies  were  all  cut  off.  A  caval- 
gada  of  flocks  and  herds,  and  mules  laden 
with  money,  coming  to  the  relief  of  the 
city  from  the  mountains  of  the  Alpu- 
xarras,  was  taken  by  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  and  led  in  triumph  to  the  camp, 
in  sight  of  the  suffering  Moors.  Autumn 
arrived  ;  but  the  harvests  had  been  swept 
from  the  face  of  the  country ;  a  rigorous 
winter  was  approaching,  and  the  city 
was  almost  destitute  of  provisions.  The 
people  sank  into  deep  despondency. 
They  called  to  mind  all  that  had  been 
predicted  by  astrologers  at  the  birth  of 
their  ill-starred  sovereign,  and  all  that 
had  been  foretold  of  the  fate  of  Granada, 
at  the  time  of  the  capture  of  Zahara. 

Boabdil  was  alarmed  by  the  gathering 
dangers  from  without,  and  by  the  cla 
mours  of  his  starving  people.  He  sum 
moned  a  council,  composed  of  the  prin 
cipal  officers  of  the  army,  the  alcaydes 
of  the  fortresses,  the  xeques,  or  sages  of 
the  city,  and  the  alfaquis,  or  doctors  of 
the  faith.  They  assembled  in  the  great 
hall  of  audience  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
despair  was  painted  in  their  countenances. 
Boabdil  demanded  of  them  what  was  to 
be  done  in  the  present  extremity ;  and 
their  answer  was,  "  Surrender."  The 
venerable  Abul  Cazim  Abdelmelic,  go 
vernor  of  the  city,  represented  its  un 
happy  state.  "  Our  granaries  are  nearly 
exhausted,  and  no  further  supplies  are  to 
be  expected.  The  provender  for  the  war- 
horses  is  required  as  sustenance  for  the 
I  soldiery ;  the  very  horses  themselves  are 


killed  for  food.  Of  seven  thousand  steeds, 
which  once  could  be  sent  into  the  field, 
three  hundred  only  remain.  Our  city 
contains  two  hundred  thousand  inhabi 
tants,  old  and  young,  with  each  a  mouth 
that  calls  piteously  for  bread." 

The  xeques  and  principal  citizens  de 
clared,  that  the  people  could  no  longer 
sustain  the  labours  and  sufferings  of  a 
defence :  "  And  of  what  avail  is  our  de 
fence,"  said  they,  "  when  the  enemy  is 
determined  to  persist  in  the  siege  ?  what 
alternative  remains,  but  to  surrender,  or 
to  die  ?" 

The  heart  of  Boabdil  was  touched  by 
this  appeal,  and  he  maintained  a  gloomy 
silence..  He  had  cherished  some  faint 
hope  of  relief  from  the  Soldan  of  Egypt, 
or  the  Barbary  powers  ;  but  it  was  now 
at  an  end.  Even  if  such  assistance  were 
to  be  sent,  he  had  no  longer  a  seaport 
where  it  might  debark.  The  counsellors 
saw,  that  the  resolution  of  the  king  was 
shaken,  and  they  united  their  voices  in 
urging  him  to  capitulate. 

The  valiant  Muza  alone  arose  in  op 
position.  "  It  is  yet  too  early,"  said  he, 
"  to  talk  of  a  surrender.  Our  means  are 
not  exhausted  ;  we  have  yet  one  source 
of  strength  remaining,  terrible  in  its 
effects,  and  which  often  has  achieved 
the  most  signal  victory.  It  is  our  de 
spair.  Let  us  rouse  the  mass  of  the  peo 
ple  ;  let  us  put  weapons  in  their  hands ; 
let  us  fight  the  enemy  to  the  very  utmost, 
until  we  rush  upon  the  points  of  their 
lances.  I  am  ready  to  lead  the  way  into 
the  thickest  of  their  squadrons ;  and 
much  rather  would  I  be  numbered  among 
those  who  fell  in  the  defence  of  Granada, 
than  of  those  who  survived  to  capitulate 
for  her  surrender !" 

The  words  of  Muza  were  without  ef 
fect,  for  they  were  addressed  to  broken- 
spirited  and  heartless  men,  or  men  per 
haps  to  whom  sad  experience  had  taught 
discretion.  They  were  arrived  at  that 
state  of  public  depression,  when  heroes 
and  heroism  are  no  longer  regarded,  and 
when  old  men  and  their  counsels  rise 
into  importance.  Boabdil  el  Chico  yield 
ed  to  the  general  voice.  It  was  deter 
mined  to  capitulate  with  the  Christian 
sovereigns,  and  the  venerable  Abul  Cazim 
Abdelmelic  was  sent  forth  to  the  camp, 
empowered  to  treat  for  terms. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


379 


CHAPTER  XCVII. 
Capitulation  of  Granada. 

THE  old  governor,  Abul  Cazim  Abdel- 
melic,  was  received  with  great  distinction 
i  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  who  appointed 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  and  Fernando  de 
Zafra,  secretary  to  the  king,  to  confer 
with  him.  All  Granada  awaited  in  trem 
bling  anxiety  the  result  of  his  negotia 
tions.  After  repeated  conferences,  he  at 
length  returned  with  the  ultimate  terms 
of  the  catholic  sovereigns.  They  agreed 
to  suspend  all  attack  for  seventy  days,  at 
the  end  of  which  time,  if  no  succour 
should  have  arrived  to  the  Moorish  king, 
the  city  of  Granada  was  to  be  surren 
dered. 

All  Christian  captives  were  to  be  libe 
rated  without  ransom. 

Boabdil  and  his  principal  cavaliers  were 
to  take  an  oath  of  fealty  to  the  Castilian 
crown ;  and  certain  valuable  territories 
in  the  Alpuxarras  mountains  were  to  be 
assigned  to  the  Moorish  monarch  for  his 
maintenance. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  were  to  be 
come  subjects  of  the  Spanish  sovereigns, 
retaining  their  possessions,  their  arms, 
and  horses,  and  yielding  up  nothing  but 
their  artillery.  They  were  to  be  pro 
tected  in  the  exercise  of  their  religion, 
and  governed  by  their  own  laws,  admi 
nistered  by  cadis  of  their  own  faith, 
under  governors  appointed  by  the  sove 
reigns.  They  were  to  be  exempted  from 
tribute  for  three  years,  after  which  term 
the  pay  was  to  be  the  same  as  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  render  to  their  native 
monarchs. 

Those  who  chose  to  depart  for  Africa, 
within  three  years,  were  to  be  provided 
with  a  passage  for  themselves  and  their 
effects,  free  of  charge,  from  whatever 
port  they  should  prefer. 

For  the  fulfilment  of  these  articles, 
four  hundred  hostages  from  the  principal 
families  were  required,  previous  to  the 
surrender,  to  be  subsequently  restored. 
The  son  of  the  King  of  Granada,  and  all 
other  hostages  in  the  possession  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns,  were  to  be  given  up 
at  the  same  time. 

Such  were  the  conditions  that  the  wa- 
zir,  Abul  Cazim,  laid  before  the  council 


of  Granada,  as  the  best  that  could   be 
obtained  from  the  besieging  foe. 

When  the  members  of  the  council 
found  that  the  awful  moment  had  ar 
rived,  in  which  they  were  to  sign  and 
seal  the  perdition  of  their  empire,  and 
blot  themselves  out  as  a  nation,  all  firm 
ness  deserted  them,  and  many  gave  way 
to  tears.  Muza  alone  retained  an  unal 
tered  mien.  "Leave,  seniors,"  cried  he, 
"  this  idle  lamentation  to  helpless  women 
and  children.  We  are  men ;  we  have 
hearts,  not  to  shed  tender  tears,  but  drops 
of  blood.  I  see  the  spirit  of  the  people 
so  cast  down,  that  it  is  impossible  to  save 
the  kingdom.  Yet  there  still  remains  an 
alternative  for  noble  minds — a  glorious 
death  !  Let  us  die  defending  our  liberty, 
and  avenging  the  woes  of  Granada  !  Our 
mother  Earth  will  receive  her  children 
into  her  bosom,  safe  from  the  chains  and 
oppressions  of  the  conqueror ;  or,  should 
any  fail  of  a  sepulchre  to  hide  his  re 
mains,  he  will  not  want  a  sky  to  cover 
him  :  Allah  forbid  it  should  be  said,  the 
nobles  of  Granada  feared  to  die  in  her 
defence!" 

Muza  ceased  to  speak,  and  a  dead  si 
lence  reigned  in  the  assembly.  Boabdil 
el  Chico  looked  anxiously  round,  and 
scanned  every  face  ;  but  he  read  in  them 
all  the  anxiety  of  care-worn  men,  in  whose 
hearts  enthusiasm  was  dead,  and  who 
had  grown  callous  to  every  chivalrous 
appeal.  "Allah  achbar  !  God  is  great!" 
exclaimed  he  :  "  there  is  no  God  but  God, 
and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet !  it  is  in  vain 
to  struggle  against  the  will  of  heaven. 
Too  surely  was  it  written  in  the  book  of 
fate,  that  I  should  be  unfortunate,  and 
the  kingdom  expire  under  my  rule !" 

"Allah  achbar!  God  is  great!"  echoed 
the  viziers  and  alfaquis :  "  the  will  of  God 

I  be  done !"  So  they  all  accorded  with 
the  king,  that  these  evils  were  pre 
ordained  ;  that  it  was  hopeless  to  con 
tend  with  them  ;  and  that  the  terms  of- 

i  fered  by  the  Castilian  monarchs  were  as 
favourable  as  could  be  expected.  When 
Muza  saw,  that  they  were  about  to  sign 
the  treaty  of  surrender,  he  rose,  in  vio- 

I  lent  indignation.  "  Do  not  deceive  your 
selves,"  cried  he,  "  nor  think  the  Chris- 

|  tians  will  be  faithful  to  their  promises,  or 
their  king  as  magnanimous  in  conquest, 
as  he  has  been  victorious  in  war.  Death 


380 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


is  the  least  we  have  to  fear :  it  is  the 
plundering  and  sacking  of  our  city,  the 
profanation  of  our  mosques,  the  ruin  of 
our  homes,  the  violation  of  our  wives  and 
daughters  ;  cruel  oppression,  bigoted  in 
tolerance,  whips  and  chains ;  the  dun 
geon,  the  fagot,  and  the  stake:  such  are 
the  miseries  and  indignities  we  shall  see 
and  suffer ;  at  least  those  grovelling  souls 
will  see  them,  who  now  shrink  from  an 
honourable  death.  For  my  part,  by  Al 
lah,  I  will  never  witness  them !"  With 
these  words  he  left  the  council-chamber, 
and  strode  gloomily  through  the  Court  of 
Lions,  and  the  outer  halls  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  without  deigning  to  speak  to  the  ob 
sequious  courtiers  who  attended  in  them. 
He  repaired  to  his  dwelling,  armed  him 
self  at  all  points,  mounted  his  favourite 
war-horse,  and  issuing  forth  from  the 
city  by  the  gate  of  Elvira,  he  was  never 
seen  or  heard  of  more.* 

Such  is  the  account  given  by  Arabian 
historians  of  the  exit  of  Muza  ben  Abel 
Gazan  :  but  the  venerable  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida  endeavours  to  clear  up  the  mys 
tery  of  his  fate.  That  very  evening,  a 
party  of  Andalusian  cavaliers,  somewhat 
more  than  half  a  score  of  lances,  were 
riding  along  the  banks  of  the  Xenil,  where 
it  winds  through  the  vega.  They  beheld 
in  the  twilight  a  Moorish  warrior  ap 
proaching,  closely  locked  up  from  head 
to  foot  in  proof.  His  visor  was  closed, 
his  lance  in  rest,  his  powerful  charger 
barbed,  like  himself,  in  steel.  The  Chris 
tians  were  lightly  armed,  with  corslet, 
helm,  and  target ;  for,  during  the  truce, 
they  apprehended  no  attack.  Seeing, 
however,  the  unknown  warrior  approach 
in  this  hostile  guise,  they  challenged  him 
to  stand  and  declare  himself. 

The  Moslem  answered  not ;  but,  charg 
ing  into  the  midst  of  them,  transfixed 
one  knight  with  his  lance,  and  bore  him 
out  of  his  saddle  to  the  earth.  Wheel 
ing  round,  he  attacked  the  others  with 
his  cimeter.  His  blows  were  furious  and 
deadly :  he  seemed  regardless  of  what 
wounds  he  received,  so  he  could  but  slay. 
He  was  evidently  fighting,  not  for  glory, 
but  revenge ;  eager  to  inflict  death,  but 
careless  of  surviving  to  enjoy  victory. 
Nearly  one  half  of  the  cavaliers  fell  be- 

*Conde,  part  iv. 


E- 


neath  his  sword,  before  he  received  a 
dangerous  wound,  so  completely  was  he 
cased  in  armour  of  proof.  At  length  he 
was  desperately  wounded  ;  and  his  steed, 
being  pierced  by  a  lance,  fell  to  the 
ground.  The  Christians,  admiring  the 
valour  of  the  Moor,  would  have  spared 
his  life ;  but  he  continued  to  fight  upon 
his  knees,  brandishing  a  keen  dagger  of 
Fez.  Finding  at  length  he  could  no  longer 
battle,  and  determined  not  to  be  taken 
prisoner,  he  threw  himself,  with  an  ex 
piring  exertion,  into  the  Xenil ;  and  his 
armour  sank  him  to  the  bottom  of  the 
stream. 

This  unknown  warrior  the  venerable 
Agapida  pronounces  to  have  been  Muza 
ben  Abel  Gazan ;  and  says,  his  horse  was 
recognised  by  certain  converted  Moors 
of  the  Christian  camp :  the  fact,  however, 
has  always  remained  in  doubt. 

CHAPTER  XCVIII. 
Commotions  in  Granada. 

THE  capitulation  for  the  surrender  of 
Granada  was  signed  on  the  25th  of  No 
vember,  1491,  and  produced  a  sudden 
cessation  of  those  hostilities,  which  had 
raged  for  so  many  years.  The  Chris 
tian  and  Moor  might  now  be  seen  min 
gling  courteously  on  the  banks  of  the 
Xenil  and  the  Darro,  where  to  have  met 
a  few  days  previous  would  have  produced 
a  scene  of  sanguinary  contest.  Still,  as 
the  Moors  might  be  suddenly  aroused 
to  defence,  if,  within  the  allotted  term  of 
seventy  days,  succours  should  arrive 
from  abroad ;  and  as  they  were  at  all 
times  a  rash,  inflammable  people,  the 
wary  Ferdinand  maintained  a  vigilant 
watch  upon  the  city  and  permitted  no 
supplies  of  any  kind  to  enter.  His  gar 
risons  in  the  seaports,  and  his  cruisers 
in  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  were  ordered 
likewise  to  guard  against  any  relief  from 
the  Grand  Soldan  of  Egypt,  or  the  princes 
of  Barbary. 

There  was  no  need  of  such  precautions. 
Those  powers  were  either  too  much  en 
grossed  by  their  own  wars,  or  too  much 
daunted  by  the  success  of  the  Spanish 
arms,  to  interfere  in  a  desperate  cause  ; 
and  the  unfortunate  Moors  of  Granada 
were  abandoned  to  their  fate. 

The  month  of  December  had  nearly 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


381 


passed  away;  the  famine  became  ex 
treme  ;  and  there  was  no  hope  of  any 
favourable  event  within  the  term  specified 
in  the  capitulation.  Boabdil  saw,  thatjo 
hold  out  to  the  end  of  the  allotted  time 
would  only  be  to  protract  the  miseries  of 
his  people.  With  the  consent  of  his 
council,  he  determined  to  surrender  the 
city  on  the  6th  of  January.  On  the  30th  | 
of  December  he  sent  his  grand  vizier, 
Jusef  Aben  Comixa,  with  the  four  hun 
dred  hostages,  to  King  Ferdinand  to  make 
known  his  intention  ;  bearing  him,  at  the 
same  time,  a  present  of  a  magnificent 
cimeter,  and  two  Arabian  steeds,  superbly 
caparisoned. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  was  doomed 
to  meet  with  trouble  to  the  end  of  his 
career.  The  very  next  day,  the  santon, 
or  dervise,  Hamet  Aben  Zarrax,  the  same 
who  had  uttered  prophecies  and  excited 
commotions  on  former  occasions,  sud 
denly  made  his  appearance.  Whence 
he  came  no  one  knew:  it  was  rumoured, 
that  he  had  been  in  the  mountains  of  the 
Alpuxarras,  and  on  the  coast  of  Barbary, 
endeavouring  to  rouse  the  Moslems  to 
the  relief  of  Granada.  He  was  reduced 
to  a  skeleton.  His  eyes  glowed  in  their 
sockets  like  coals,  and  his  speech  was 
little  better  than  frantic  raving.  He 
harangued  the  populace  in  the  streets  and 
squares ;  inveighed  against  the  capitula 
tion  ;  denounced  the  king  and  nobles  as 
Moslems  only  in  name ;  and  called  upon 
the  people  to  sally  forth  against  the  un 
believers,  for  that  Allah  had  decreed  them 
a  signal  victory. 

Upwards  of  twenty  thousand  of  the 
populace  seized  their  arms,  and  paraded 
the  streets  with  shouts  and  outcries.  The 
shops  and  houses  were  shut  up  ;  the  king 
himself  did  not  dare  to  venture  forth,  but 
remained  a  kind  of  prisoner  in  the  Al 
hambra. 

The  turbulent  multitude  continued  run 
ning,  and  shouting,  aad  howling  about 
the  city,  during  the  day  and  part  of  the 
night.  Hunger  and  a  wintry  tempest 
tamed  their  frenzy ;  and,  when  morning 
came,  the  enthusiast  who  had  led  them  on 
had  disappeared.  Whether  he  had  been 
disposed  of  by  the  emissaries  of  the  king, 
or  by  the  leading  men  of  the  city,  is  not 
known  ;  his  disappearance  remaining  a 
mystery. 


K-- 


The  Moorish  king  now  issued  from 
the  Alhambra,  attended  by  his  principal 
nobles,  and  harangued  the  populace.  He 
set  forth  the  necessity  of  complying  with 
the  capitulation,  from  the  famine  that 
reigned  in  the  city,  the  futility  of  defence, 
and  from  the  hostages  having  already 
been  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  be 
siegers. 

In  the  dejection  of  his  spirits,  the  un 
fortunate  Boabdil  attributed  to  himself  the 
miseries  of  the  country.  "  It  was  my 
crime  in  ascending  the  throne  in  rebellion 
against  my  father,"  said  he,  mournfully, 
"  which  has  brought  these  woes  upon  the 
kingdom;  but  Allah  has  grievously  visited 
my  sins  upon  my  head  !  For  your  sake, 
my  people,  I  have  now  made  this  treaty 
to  protect  you  from  the  sword,  your  little 
ones  from  famine,  your  wives  and  daugh 
ters  from  the  outrages  of  war,  and  to 
secure  you  in  the  enjoyment  of  your 
properties,  your  liberties,  your  laws,  and 
your  religion,  under  a  sovereign  of  happier 
destinies  than  the  ill-starred  Boabdil !" 
The  versatile  populace  were  touched  by 
the  humility  of  their  sovereign :  they 
agreed  to  adhere  to  the  capitulation ;  there 
was  even  a  faint  shout  of  "  Long  live 
Boabdil  the  unfortunate  !"  and  they  all 
returned  to  their  homes  in  perfect  tran 
quillity. 

Boabdil  immediately  sent  missives  to 
King  Ferdinand,  apprising  him  of  these 
events,  and  of  his  fears  lest  further  delay 
should  produce  new  tumults.  He  pro 
posed,  therefore,  to  surrender  the  city  on 
the  following  day.  The  Castilian  so 
vereigns  assented  with  great  satisfaction ; 
and  preparations  were  made,  both  in  city 
and  camp,  for  this  great  event,  that  was 
to  seal  the  fate  of  Granada. 

It  was  a  night  of  doleful  lamentings 
within  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra  ;  for 
the  household  of  Boabdil  were  preparing 
to  take  a  last  farewell  of  that  delightful 
abode.  All  the  royal  treasures,  and  the 
most  precious  effects  of  the  Alhambra, 
were  hastity  packed  upon  mules ;  the 
beautiful  apartments  were  despoiled,  with 
tears  and  waitings,  by  their  own  inha 
bitants.  Before  the  dawn  of  day,  a 
mournful  cavalcade  moved  obscurely  out 
of  a  postern-gate  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
departed  through  one  of  the  most  retired 
quarters  of  the  city.  It  was  composed 


382 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


of  the  family  of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil, 
whom  he  sent  off  thus  privately,  that 
they  might  not  be  exposed  to  the  eyes  of 
scoffers,  or  the  exultation  of  the  enemy. 
The  mother  of  Boabdil,  the  sultana  Ayxa 
la  Horra,  rode  on  in  silence,  with  dejected 
yet  dignified  demeanour ;  but  his  wife 
Zorayma,  and  all  the  females  of  his 
household,  gave  way  to  loud  lamentations, 
as  they  gave  a  last  look  to  their  favourite 
abode,  now  a  mass  of  gloomy  towers 
behind  them.  They  were  attended  by 
the  ancient  domestics  of  the  household, 
and  by  a  small  guard  of  veteran  Moors, 
loyally  attached  to  the  fallen  monarch, 
and  who  would  have  sold  their  lives 
dearly  in  defence  of  his  family.  The 
city  was  yet  buried  in  sleep,  as  they 
passed  through  its  silent  streets.  The 
guards  at  the  gate  shed  tears  as  they 
opened  it  for  their  departure.  They 
tarried  not,  but  proceeded  along  the  banks 
of  the  Xenil,  on  the  road  that  leads  to  the 
Alpuxarras,  until  they  arrived  at  a  hamlet, 
at  some  distance  from  the  city,  where 
they  halted,  and  waited  until  they  should 
be  joined  by  King  Boabdil. 

CHAPTER  XCIX. 
Surrender  of  Granada. 

THE  sun  had  scarcely  begun  to  shed 
his  beams  upon  the  summits  of  the  snowy 
mountains  which  rise  above  Granada, 
when  the  Christian  camp  was  in  motion. 
A  detachment  of  horse  and  foot,  led 
by  distinguished  cavaliers,  and  accompa 
nied  by  Hernando  de  Talavera,  bishop  of 
Avila,  proceeded  to  take  possession  of  the 
Alhambra  and  the  towers.  It  had  been 
stipulated  in  the  capitulation,  that  the 
detachment  sent  for  the  purpose  should 
not  enter  by  the  streets  of  the  city.  A 
road  had,  therefore,  been  opened  outside 
of  the  walls,  leading  by  the  Puerta  de 
los  Molinos  (or  the  Gate  of  the  Mills)  to 
the  summit  of  the  Hill  of  Martyrs,  and 
across  the  hill  to  a  postern-gate  of  the 
Alhambra. 

When  the  detachment  arrived  at  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  the  Moorish  king 
came  forth  from  the  gate,  attended  by  a 
handful  of  cavaliers,  leaving  his  vizier, 
Jusef  Aben  Cornixa,  to  deliver  up  the 
palace.  "  Go,  senior,"  said  he,  to  the 
commander  of  the  detachment ;  "  go,  and 


take  possession  of  those  fortresses,  which 
Allah  has  bestowed  upon  your  powerful 
lord,  in  punishment  of  the  sins  of  the 
!  Moors  !"     He  said  no  more,  but  passed 
j  mournfully  on,  along  the  same  road  by 
which  the  Spanish  cavaliers  had  come  ; 
\  descending    to    the   vega,    to   meet    the 
I  catholic  sovereigns.     The  troops  entered 
i  the  Alhambra,  the  gates  of  which  were 
|  wide  open,  and  all  its  splendid  courts  and 
I  halls  silent  and  deserted.     In  the  mean 
j  time,  the  Christian  court  and  army  poured 
j  out  of  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  and  advanced 
across  the  vega.     The  king  and  queen, 
with  the  prince  and  princesses,  and  the 
dignitaries  and  ladies  of  the  court,  took 
the  lead ;    accompanied  by  the  different 
orders  of  monks  and   friars,   and    sur 
rounded  by  the  royal  guards,  splendidly 
arrayed.     The  procession  moved  slowly 
forward,   and   paused  at   the  village  of 
Armilla,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league 
from  the  city. 

The  sovereigns  waited  here  with  impa 
tience,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  lofty  tower 
of  the  Alhambra,  watching  for  the  ap 
pointed  signal  of  possession.  The  time, 
that  had  elapsed  since  the  departure  of 
the  detachment,  seemed  to  them  more 
than  necessary  for  the  purpose;  and  the 
anxious  mind  of  Ferdinand  began  to 
entertain  doubts  of  some  commotion  in 
the  city.  At  length  they  saw  the  silver 
cross,  the  great  standard  of  this  crusade, 
elevated  on  the  Torre  de  la  Vela,  or  great 
watchtower,  and  sparkling  in  the  sun 
beams.  This  was  done  by  Hernando  de 
Talavera,  bishop  of  Avila.  Beside  it  was 
planted  the  pennon  of  the  glorious  apostle 
St.  James;  and  a  great  shout  of  "San 
tiago  !  Santiago !"  rose  throughout  the 
army.  Lastly  was  reared  the  royal  stan 
dard,  by  the  king  of  arms;  with  the  shout 
of  "Castile!  Castile!  For  King  Ferdinand 
and  Queen  Isabella  !"  The  words  were 
echoed  by  the  whole  army,  with  accla 
mations  that  resounded  across  the  vega. 
At  sight  of  these  signals  of  possession, 
the  sovereigns  fell  upon  their  knees,  giv 
ing  thanks  to  God  for  this  great  triumph. 
The  whole  assembled  host  followed  their 
example;  and  the  choristers  of  the  royal 
chapel  broke  forth  into  the  solemn  an 
them  of  Te  Deum  laudamus  ! 

The  procession  now  resumed  its  march, 
with  joyful  alacrity,  to  the  sound  of  tri- 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


383 


umphant  music,  until  they  came  to  a  small 
mosque,  near  the  banks  of  the  Xenil,  and 
not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  Hill  of  Mar 
tyrs,  which  edifice  remains  to  the  present 
day  consecrated  as  the  hermitage  of  St. 
Sebastian.  Here  the  sovereigns  were  met 
by  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  accompanied 
by  about  fifty  cavaliers  and  domestics. 
As  he  drew  near,  he  would  have  dis 
mounted,  in  token  of  homage;  but  Ferdi 
nand  prevented  him.  He  then  proffered 
to  kiss  the  king's  hand,  but  this  sign  of 
vassalage  was  likewise  declined  :  where 
upon,  not  to  be  outdone  in  magnanimity, 
he  leaned  forward,  and  saluted  the  right 
arm  of  Ferdinand.  Queen  Isabella,  also, 
refused  to  receive  this  ceremonial  of  ho 
mage;  and,  to  console  him  under  his  ad 
versity,  delivered  to  him  his  son,  who  had 
remained  as  hostage  ever  since  Boabdil's 
liberation  from  captivity.  The  Moorish 
monarch  pressed  his  child  to  his  bosom 
with  tender  emotion,  and  they  seemed 
mutually  endeared  to  each  other  by  their 
misfortunes.* 

He  then  delivered  the  keys  of  the  city 
to  King  Ferdinand,  with  an  air  of  mingled 
melancholy  and  resignation.  "  These 
keys,"  said  he,  "  are  the  last  relics  of  the 
Arabian  empire  in  Spain.  Thine,  O  king, 
are  our  trophies,  our  kingdom,  and  our 
person  !  Such  is  the  will  of  God  !  Re 
ceive  them  with  the  clemency  thou  hast 
promised,  and  which  we  look  for  at  thy 
hands !"f 

King  Ferdinand  restrained  his  exulta 
tion  into  an  air  of  serene  magnanimity. 
"Doubt  not  our  promises,"  replied  he; 
"or,  that  thou  shalt  regain  from  our 
friendship  the  prosperity  of  which  the 
fortune  of  war  has  deprived  thee." 

On  receiving  the  keys,  King  Ferdinand 
handed  them  to  the  queen.  She,  in  her 
turn,  presented  them  to  her  son,  Prince 
Juan,  who  delivered  them  to  the  Count 
de  Tendilla;  that  brave  and  loyal  cava 
lier  being  appointed  alcayde  of  the  city, 
and  captain-general  of  the  kingdom  of! 
Granada. 

Having  surrendered   the  last  symbol  ! 
of  power,  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  con 
tinued  on  towards  the  Alpuxarras,  that 
he  might  not  behold  the  entrance  of  the 
Christians  into  his  capital.     His  devoted  ; 

*  Zurita,  Armies  de  Aragon. 

t  Abarca,  Analcs  de  Aragon,  rey  xxx,  c.  3. 


band  of  cavaliers  followed  him  in  gloomy 
silence;  but  heavy  sighs  burst  from  their 
bosoms,  as  shouts  of  joy  and  strains  of 
triumphant  music  were  borne  on  the 
Ureeze  from  the  victorious  army. 

Having  rejoined  his  family,  Boabdil 
set  forward  with  a  heavy  heart  for  his 
allotted  residence,  in  the  valley  of  Por- 
chena.  At  two  leagues'  distance,  the 
cavalcade,  winding  into  the  skirts  of  the 
Alpuxarras,  ascended  an  eminence  com 
manding  the  last  view  of  Granada.  As 
they  arrived  at  this  spot,  the  Moors 
paused  involuntarily,  to  take  a  farewell 
gaze  at  their  beloved  city,  which  a  few 
steps  more  would  shut  from  their  sight  for 
ever.  Never  had  it  appeared  so  lovely  in 
their  eyes.  The  sunshine,  so  bright  in 
that  transparent  climate,  lighted  up  each 
tower  and  minaret,  and  rested  gloriously 
upon  the  crowning  battlements  of  the 
Alhambra;  while  the  vega  spread  its 
enamelled  bosom  of  verdure  below,  glis 
tening  with  the  silver  windings  of  the 
Xenil.  The  Moorish  cavaliers  gazed  with 
a  silent  agony  of  tenderness  and  grief, 
upon  that  delicious  abode,  the  scene  of 
their  loves  and  pleasures.  Whrle  they 
yet  looked,  a  light  cloud  of  smoke  burst 
forth  from  the  citadel;  and,  presently,  a 
peal  of  artillery,  faintly  heard,  told  that 
the  city  was  taken  possession  of,  and  the 
throne  of  the  Moslem  kings  was  lost  for 
ever.  The  heart  of  Boabdil,  softened  by 
misfortunes  and  overcharged  with  grief, 
could  no  longer  contain  itself.  "Allah 
achbar !  God  is  great !"  said  he;  but  the 
words  of  resignation  died  upon  his  lips, 
and  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

His  mother,  the  intrepid  sultana  Ayxa 
la  Horra,  was  indignant  at  his  weakness. 
"  You  do  well,"  said  she,  "  to  weep  like 
a  woman,  for  what  you  failed  to  defend 
like  a  man !" 

The  vizier  Aben  Comixa  endeavoured 
to  console  his  royal  master.  "  Consider, 
sire,"  said  he,  "  that  the  most  signal  mis 
fortunes  often  render  men  as  renowned  as 
the  most  prosperous  achievements,  pro 
vided  they  sustain  them  with  magnani 
mity."  The  unhappy  monarch,  however, 
was  not  to  be  consoled.  His  tears  con 
tinued  to  flow.  "  Allah  achbar  !"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  when  did  misfortunes  ever 
equal  mine!" 

From  this  circumstance,  the  hill,  which 


384 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


is  not  far  from  Padul,took  the  name  of 
Fez  Allah  Achbar;  but  the  point  of  view 
commanding  the  last  prospect  of  Grana 
da  is  known  among  the  Spaniards  by  the 
name  of  El  idtimo  suspiro  del  Moro,  or 
"the  last  sigh  of  the  Moor." 

CHAPTER  C. 

How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took  possession 
of  Granada. 

WHEN  the  Castilian  sovereigns  had 
received  the  keys  of  Granada,  from  the 
hands  of  Boabdil  el  Chico,  the  royal  army 
resumed  its  triumphal  march.  As  it  ap 
proached  the  gates  of  the  city,  in  all  the 
pomp  of  courtly  and  chivalrous  array,  a 
procession  of  a  different  kind  came  forth 
to  meet  it.  This  was  composed  of  more 
than  five  hundred  Christian  captives, 
many  of  whom  had  languished  for  years 
in  Moorish  dungeons.  Pale  and  emacia 
ted,  they  came  clanking  their  chains  in 
triumph,  and  shedding  tears  of  joy. 
They  were  received  with  tenderness  by 
the  sovereigns.  The  king  hailed  them 
as  good  Spaniards;  as  men  loyal  and 
brave;  as  martyrs  to  the  holy  cause. 
The  queen  distributed  liberal  relief  among 
them  with  her  own  hands,  and  they 
passed  on  before  the  squadrons  of  the 
army,  singing  hymns  of  jubilee.* 

The  sovereigns  did  not  enter  the  city 
on  the  day  of  its  surrender;  but  waited 
until  it  should  be  fully  occupied  by  their 
troops,  and  public  tranquillity  insured. 
The  Marquis  de  Villena,  and  the  Count 
de  Tendilla,  with  three  thousand  cavalry, 
and  as  many  infantry,  marched  in,  and 
took  possession,  accompanied  by  the 
proselyte  prince,  Cidi  Yahye,  now  known 
by  the  Christian  appellation  of  Don  Pedro 
de  Granada,  who  was  appointed  chief  al- 
guazil  of  the  city,  and  had  charge  of  the 
Moorish  inhabitants;  and  by  his  son,  the 
late  Prince  Alnayer,  now  Don  Alonso  de 
I  Granada,  who  was  appointed  admiral  of 
the  fleets.  In  a  little  while  every  battle 
ment  glistened  with  Christian  helms  and 
lances,  the  standard  of  the  faith  and  of 
the  realm  floated  from  every  tower,  and 
the  thundering  salvos  of  the  ordnance 
told,  that  the  subjugation  of  the  city  was 
complete. 

»  Abarca,  ubi  supra.    Zurita,  etc. 


The  grandees  and  cavaliers  now  knelt, 
and  kissed  the  hands  of  the  king  and 
queen,  and  the  Prince  Juan,  and  congra 
tulated  them  on  the  acquisition  of  so  great 
a  kingdom;  after  which  the  royal  pro 
cession  returned  in  state  to  Santa  Fe. 

It  was  on  the  6th  'of  January,  the  day 
of  Kings,  and  the  festival  of  the  Epipha 
ny,  that  the  sovereigns  made  their  tri 
umphal  entry.  "  The  king  and  queen," 
says  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  looked  on  this  occasion  as  more  than 
mortal.  The  venerable  ecclesiastics,  to 
whose  advice  and  zeal  this  glorious  con 
quest  ought  in  a  great  measure  to  be  at 
tributed,  moved  along,  with  hearts  swell 
ing  with  holy  exultation,  but  with  chas 
tened  and  downcast  looks  of  edifying 
humility;  while  the  hardy  warriors,  in 
tossing  plumes  and  shining  steel,  seemed 
elevated  with  a  stern  joy,  at  finding  them 
selves  in  possession  of  this  object  of  so 
many  toils  and  perils.  As  the  streets 
resounded  with  the  tramp  of  steed,  and 
swelling  peals  of  music,  the  Moors  buried 
themselves  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  their 
dwellings.  There  they  bewailed  in  secret 
the  fallen  glory  of  their  race ;  but  sup 
pressed  their  groans,  lest  they  should  be 
heard  by  their  enemies,  and  increase 
their  triumph." 

The  royal  procession  advanced  to  the 
principal  mosque,  which  had  been  conse 
crated  as  a  cathedral.  Here  the  sove 
reigns  offered  up  prayers  and  thanks 
givings,  and  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel 
chanted  a  triumphant  anthem,  in  which 
they  were  joined  by  all  the  courtiers  and 
cavaliers.  "Nothing,"  says  Fray  Anto 
nio  Agapida,  "  could  exceed  the  thank 
fulness  to  God  of  the  pious  King  Ferdi 
nand,  for  having  enabled  him  to  eradi 
cate  from  Spain  the  empire  and  name  of 
that  accursed  heathen  race,  and  for  the 
elevation  of  the  cross  in  that  city, 
wherein  the  impious  doctrines  of  Ma 
homet  had  so  long  been  cherished.  In 
the  fervour  of  his  spirit,  he  supplicated 
from  Heaven  a  continuance  of  its  grace, 
and  that  this  glorious  triumph  might  be 
perpetuated."*  The  prayer  of  the  pious 
monarch  was  responded  by  the  people, 

*  The  words  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  are  little 
more  than  an  echo  of  those  of  the  worthy  Jesuit, 
Father  Mariana,  (1.  xxv,  c.  18.) 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


385 


and  even  his  enemies  were  for  once  con 
vinced  of  his  sincerity. 

When  the  religious  ceremonies  were 
concluded,  the  court  ascended  to  the 
stately  palace  of  the  Alhambra,  and  en 
tered  by  the  great  gate  of  justice.  The 
halls,  lately  occupied  by  turbaned  infidels, 
now  rustled  with  stately  dames  and 
Christian  courtiers,  who  wandered  with 
eager  curiosity  over  this  far-famed  palace, 
admiring  its  verdant  courts  and  gushing 
fountains,  its  halls  decorated  with  elegant 
arabesques,  and  storied  with  inscriptions, 
and  the  splendour  of  its  gilded  and  bril 
liantly  painted  ceilings. 

It  had  been  a  last  request  of  the  unfor 
tunate  Boabdil,  and  one  which  showed 
how  deeply  he  felt  the  transition  of  his 
fate,  that  no  person  might  be  permitted 
to  enter  or  depart  by  the  gate  of  the  Al- 
|  hambra  through  which  he  had  sallied 
forth  to  surrender  his  capital.  His  request 
was  granted :  the  portal  was  closed  up, 
and  remains  so  to  the  present  day  ;  a 
mute  memorial  of  that  event.* 

The  Spanish  sovereigns  fixed  their 
throne  in  the  presence-chamber  of  the 
palace,  so  long  the  seat  of  Moorish  roy 
alty.  Hither  the  principal  inhabitants  of 
Granada  repaired,  to  pay  them  homage, 
and  kiss  their  hands,  in  token  of  vassal 
age;  and  their  example  was  followed  by 
deputies  from  all  the  towns  and  fortresses 
of  the  Alpuxarras,  which  had  not  hitherto 
submitted. 

Thus  terminated  the  war  of  Granada, 
after  ten  years  of  incessant  fighting; 

*  Garibay,  CompencL  Hist.,  1.  xl,  c.  42. 

The  existence  of  this  gateway,  and  the  story  con 
nected  with  it,  are  perhaps  known  to  few,  but  were 
j  identified  in  the  researches  made  to  verify  this  his 
tory.  The  gateway  is  at  the  bottom  of  a  great  tower, 
at  some  distance  from  the  main  body  of  the  Alham 
bra.  The  tower  has  been  rent  and  ruined  by  gun 
powder  at  the  time  when  the  fortress  was  evacuated 
by  the  French.  Great  masses  lie  around,  half- 
covered  by  vines  and  fig-trees.  A  poor  man,  by  the 
name  of  Mateo  Ximenes,  who  lives  in  one  of  the 
hovels  among  the  ruins  of  the  Alhambra,  where  his 
family  has  lived  for  many  generations,  pointed  out 
the  gateway,  still  closed  up  with  stones.  He  re 
membered  to  have  heard  his  father  and  grandfather 
say,  that  it  had  always  been  stopped  up,  and  that 
out  of  it  King  Boabdil  had  gone,  when  he  surren 
dered  Granada.  The  route  of  the  unfortunate  king 
may  be  traced  from  thence  across  the  garden  of  the 
convent  of  Los  Martyrcs,  and  down  a  ravine  be 
yond,  through  a  street  of  gipsy  caves  and  hovels, 
by  the  gate  of  Los  Mylinos,  and  so  on  to  the  Her 
mitage  of  St.  Sebastian.  None  but  an  antiquarian, 
however,  will  be  able  to  trace  it,  unless  aided  by 
the  humble  historian  of  the  place,  Mateo  Ximenes. 
VOL.  n.  33 


"  equalling,  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  the  far-famed  siege  of  Troy  in  duration, 
and  ending,  like  that,  in  the  capture  of 
the  city."  Thus  ended,  also,  the  do 
minion  of  the  Moors  in  Spain,  after  hav-  ! 
ing  endured  seven  hundred  and  seventy- 
eight  years  from  the  memorable  defeat 
of  Roderick,  the  last  of  the  Goths,  on  the  | 
banks  of  the  Guadalete.  The  authentic 
Agapida  is  uncommonly  particular  in 
fixing  the  epoch  of  this  event.  This 
great  triumph  of  our  holy  catholic  faith," 
according  to  his  computation,  "  took 
place  in  the  beginning  of  January,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1492  ;  being  3655 
years  from  the  population  of  Spain  by  the 
patriarch  Tubal ;  3797  from  the  general 
deluge ;  5453  from  the  creation  of  the 
world,  according  to  Hebrew  calculation  ; 
and  in  the  month  Rabic,  in  the  897th 
year  of  the  Hegira,  or  flight  of  Mahomet : 
whom  may  God  confound  !"  saith  the 
pious  Agapida. 


APPENDIX. 


FATE  OF  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

THE    Chronicle   of    the   Conquest   of  j 
Granada  is  finished  :  but  the  reader  may  I 
be  desirous  of  knowing   the  subsequent 
fortunes  of  some  of  the  principal  person 
ages.     The  unfortunate  Boabdil  retired 
to  the  valley  of  Porchena,  where  a  small 
but  fertile  territory  had  been  allotted  him ; 
comprising  several  towns,  with  all  their 
rights  and  revenues.     Great  estates  had 
likewise   been   bestowed   on   his   vizier, 
Jusef  Aben  Comixa,  and  his  valiant  re 
lation  and  friend  Jusef  Venegas,  both  of  j 
whom  resided  near  him.     Were  it  in  the 
heart  of  man,  in  the  enjoyment  of  present  I 
competence,    to    forget    past   splendour,  | 
Boabdil  might  at  length  have  been  happy.  | 
Dwelling  in  the  bosom  of  a  delightful  [ 
valley,  surrounded  by  obedient  vassals, 
devoted  friends,  and  a  loving  family,  he 
might  have  looked  back  upon  his    past  • 
career  as  upon  a  troubled   and  terrific 
dream;    and   might   have   thanked    his 


386 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


stars,  that  he  had  at  length  awaked  to 
sweet  and  tranquil  security.  But  the 
dethroned  prince  could  never  forget,  that 
he  had  once  been  a  monarch ;  and  the 
remembrance  of  the  regal  splendours  of 
Granada  made  all  present  comforts  con 
temptible  in  his  eyes.  No  exertions  were 
spared  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  to  in 
duce  him  to  embrace  the  catholic  religion: 
but  he  remained  true  to  the  faith  of  his 
fathers  ;  and  it  added  not  a  little  to  his 
humiliation,  to  live  a  vassal  under  Chris 
tian  sovereigns. 

It  is  probable,  that  his  residence  in 
the  kingdom  was  equally  irksome  to  the 
politic  Ferdinand,  who  could  not  feel  per 
fectly  secure  in  his  newly-conquered  ter 
ritories,  while  there  was  one  within  their 
bounds,  who  might  revive  pretensions 
to  the  throne.  A  private  bargain  was 
therefore  made,  in  the  year  1496,  between 
Ferdinand  and  Jusef  Aben  Comixa ;  in 
which  the  latter,  as  vizier  of  Boabdil,  un 
dertook  to  dispose  of  his  master's  scanty 
territory  for  eighty  thousand  ducats  of 
gold.  This,  it  is  affirmed,  was  done 
without  the  consent  or  knowledge  of 
Boabdil ;  but  the  vizier  probably  thought 
he  was  acting  for  the  best.  The  shrewd 
Ferdinand  does  not  appear  to  have  made 
any  question  about  the  right  of  the  vizier 
to  make  the  sale;  but  paid  the  money 
with  secret  exultation.  Jusef  Aben  Comixa 
loaded  the  treasure  upon  mules,  and  de 
parted  joyfully  for  the  Alpuxarras.  He 
spread  the  money  in  triumph  before 
Boabdil.  "  Senor,"  said  he,  "  I  have  ob 
served,  that,  as  long  as  you  live  here,  you 
are  exposed  to  constant  peril.  The  Moors 
are  rash  and  irritable.  They  may  make 
some  sudden  insurrection,  elevate  your 
standard  as  a  pretext,  and  thus  overwhelm 
you  and  your  friends  with  utter  ruin.  I 
have  observed,  also,  that  you  pine  away 
with  grief;  being  continually  reminded 
in  this  country,  that  you  were  once  its 
sovereign,  but  never  more  must  hope  to 
reign.  I  have  put  an  end  to  these  evils. 
Your  territory  is  sold.  Behold  the  price 
of  it.  With  this  gold,  you  may  buy  far 
greater  possessions  in  Africa,  where  you 
may  live  in  honour  and  security." 

When  Boabdil  heard  these  words,  he 
burst  into  a  sudden  transport  of  rage ; 
and,  drawing  his  cimeter,  would  have  sa 
crificed  the  officious  Jusef  on  the  spot,  had 


not  the  attendants  interfered,  and  hur 
ried  the  vizier  from  his  presence. 

Boabdil  was  not  of  a  vindictive  spirit, 
and  his  anger  soon  passed  away.  He 
saw,  that  the  evil  was  done ;  and  he 
knew  the  spirit  of  the  politic  Ferdinand 
too  well,  to  hope  that  he  would  retract 
the  bargain.  Gathering  together  the 
money,  therefore,  and  all  his  jewels  and 
precious  effects,  he  departed  with  his 
family  and  household  for  a  port,  where  a 
vessel  had  been  carefully  provided  by  the 
Castilian  king  to  transport  them  to  Africa. 

A  crowd  of  his  former  subjects  wit 
nessed  his  embarkation.  As  the  sails 
were  unfurled,  and  swelled  to  the  breeze, 
and  the  vessel  parted  from  the  land,  the 
spectators  would  fain  have  given  him  a 
parting  cheering ;  but  the  humble  state  of 
their  once  proud  sovereign  forced  itself 
upon  their  minds,  and  the  ominous  sur 
name  of  his  youth  rose  involuntarily  to 
their  tongues.  "  Farewell,  Boabdil  !  Al 
lah  preserve  thee,  El  Zogoybi!"  burst 
spontaneously  from  their  lips.  The  un 
lucky  appellation  sank  into  the  heart  of 
the  expatriated  monarch ;  and  tears 
dimmed  his  eyes,  as  the  snowy  summits 
of  the  mountains  of  Granada  gradually 
faded  from  his  view. 

He  was  received  with  welcome  at  the 
court  of  his  relation,  Muley  Ahmed,  King 
of  Fez ;  and  resided  for  many  years  in 
his  territories.  How  he  passed  his  life, 
whether  repining  or  resigned,  history 
does  not  mention.  The  last  we  find  re 
corded  of  him  is  in  the  year  1526,  thirty- 
four  years  after  the  surrender  of  Granada, 
when  he  followed  the  King  of  Fez  to  the 
field  to  quell  the  rebellion  of  two  brothers, 
named  Xerifes.  The  armies  came  in 
sight  of  each  other  on  the  banks  of  Gua- 
diswed,  at  the  ford  of  Bacuba.  The  river 
was  deep ;  the  banks  were  high  and 
broken.  For  three  days  the  armies  re 
mained  firing  at  each  other  across  the 
stream,  neither  party  venturing  to  attempt 
the  dangerous  ford. 

At  length  the  King  of  Fez  divided  his 
army  into  three  battalions ;  the  first  led 
on  by  his  son  and  by  Boabdil  el  Chico. 
They  boldly  dashed  across  the  ford, 
scrambled  up  the  opposite  bank,  and  at 
tempted  to  keep  the  enemy  employed, 
until  the  other  battalions  should  have 
time  to  cross.  The  rebel  army,  however, 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


387 


attacked  them  with  such  fury,  that  the 
son  of  the  King  of  Fez  and  several  of  the 
bravest  alcaydes  were  slain  upon  the  spot, 
and  multitudes  driven  back  into  the  river, 
which  was  already  crowded  with  passing 
troops.  A  dreadful  confusion  took  place  ; 
the  horse  trampled  upon  the  foot ;  the 
enemy  pressed  on  them  with  fearful 
slaughter ;  those  who  escaped  the  sword 
perished  by  the  stream.  The  river  was 
choked  by  the  dead  bodies  of  men  and 
horses,  and  by  the  scattered  baggage  of 
the  army.  In  this  scene  of  horrible  car 
nage  fell  Boabdil,  truly  called  El  Zogoybi, 
or  the  unlucky  :  "  an  instance,"  says  the 
ancient  chronicler,  "  of  the  scornful 
caprice  of  fortune ;  dying  in  defence  of 
the  kingdom  of  another,  after  wanting 
spirit  to  die  in  defence  of  his  own."* 

Note. — A  portrait  of  Boabdil  El  Chico 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  picture-gallery  of  the 
Generalife.  He  is  represented  with  a 
mild,  handsome  face,  a  fair  complexion, 
and  yellow  hair.  His  dress  is  of  yellow 
brocade,  relieved  with  black  velvet,  and 
he  has  a  black  velvet  cap,  surmounted 
with  a  crown.  In  the  armoury  of  Madrid 
are  two  suits  of  armour,  said  to  have  be 
longed  to  him,  one  of  solid  steel,  with 
very  little  ornament ;  the  morion  closed. 
From  the  proportions  of  these  suits  of 
armour,  he  must  have  been  of  full  stature 
and  vigorous  form. 


DEATH 

OF 

THE  MARQUIS  OF  CADIZ. 

THE  renowned  Roderigo  Ponce  de 
Leon,  Marquis  Duke  of  Cadiz,  was 
unquestionably  the  most  distinguished 
among  the  cavaliers  of  Spain,  for  his 
zeal,  enterprise,  and  heroism,  in  the 
great  crusade  of  Granada.  He  began 
the  war  by  the  capture  of  Albania ;  he 
was  engaged  in  almost  every  inroad  and 
siege  of  importance  during  its  con 
tinuance  ;  and  he  was  present  at  the  sur 
render  of  the  capital,  which  was  the 
closing  scene  of  the  conquest.  The  re 
nown  he  thus  acquired  was  sealed  by 

*  Marmol.,  Descrip.  de  Africa,  p.  i.  1.  ii.  c.  40. 
Idem.  Hist.  Reb.  de  los  Moros,  1.  i.  c.  21. 


his  death,  in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  his 
age,  which  happened  almost  immediately 
at  the  close  of  his  triumphs,  and  before  a 
leaf  of  his  laurels  had  time  to  wither. 
He  died  at  his  palace,  in  the  city  of 
Seville,  on  the  twenty-seventh  day  of 
August,  1492,  but  a  few  months  after 
the  surrender  of  Granada,  and  of  an 
illness  caused  by  the  exposure  and  fa 
tigues  he  had  undergone  in  this  memora 
ble  war.  That  honest  chronicler,  Andres 
Bernaldes,  the  curate  of  Los  Palacios, 
who  was  a  contemporary  of  the  marquis, 
draws  his  portrait  from  actual  know 
ledge  and  observation.  "  He  was  uni 
versally  cited,"  says  he,  "  as  the  most 
perfect  model  of  chivalrous  virtue  of  the 
age.  He  was  temperate,  chaste,  and 
rigidly  devout ;  a  benignant  commander, 
a  valiant  defender  of  his  vassals,  a  great 
lover  of  justice,  and  an  enemy  to  all  I 
flatterers,  liars,  robbers,  traitors,  and 
poltroons.  His  ambition  was  of  a  lofty 
kind ;  he  sought  to  distinguish  himself 
and  his  family  by  heroic  and  resound 
ing  deeds,  and  to  increase  the  patrimony 
of  his  ancestors  by  the  acquisition  of 
castles,  domains,  vassals,  and  other 
princely  possessions.  His  recreations 
were  all  of  a  warlike  nature :  he  de 
lighted  in  geometry,  as  applied  to  fortifi 
cations,  and  spent  much  time  and  trea 
sure  in  erecting  and  repairing  fortresses. 
He  relished  music,  but  of  a  military 
kind ;  the  sound  of  clarions  and  sack- 
buts,  of  drums  and  trumpets.  Like  a 
true  cavalier,  he  was  a  protector  of  the 
sex  on  all  occasions,  and  an  injured 
woman  never  applied  to  him  in  vain  for 
redress.  His  prowess  was  so  well 
known,  and  his  courtesy  to  the  fair, 
that  the  ladies  of  the  court,  when  they 
accompanied  the  queen  to  the  wars, 
rejoiced  to  find  themselves  under  his 
protection ;  for,  wherever  his  banner 
was  displayed,  the  Moors  dreaded  to  ad 
venture.  He  was  a  faithful  and  devoted 
friend,  but  a  formidable  enemy  ;  for  he 
was  slow  to  forgive,  and  his  vengeance 
was  persevering  and  terrible. 

The  death  of  this  good  cavalier  spread 
grief  and  lamentation  throughout  all 
ranks  ;  for  he  was  universally  honoured 
and  beloved.  His  relations,  dependents* 
and  companions  in  arms,  put  on  mourn 
ing  for  his  loss ;  and  so  numerous  were 


388 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


they,  that  half  of  Seville  was  clad  in 
black.  None,  however,  deplored  his 
death*more  deeply  and  sincerely  than 
his  friend  and  chosen  companion,  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar. 

The  funeral  ceremonies  were  of  the 
most  solemn  and  sumptuous  kind.  The 
body  of  the  marquis  was  arrayed  in  a 
costly  shirt,  a  doublet  of  brocade,  a  sayo, 
or  long  robe  of  black  velvet,  a  marlota,  or 
Moorish  tunic  of  brocade,  that  reached  to 
the  feet,  and  scarlet  stockings.  His  sword, 
superbly  gilt,  was  girded  to  his  side,  as  he 
used  to  wear  it  when  in  the  field.  Thus 
magnificently  attired,  the  body  was  en 
closed  in  a  coffin,  which  was  covered 
with  black  velvet,  and  decorated  with  a 
cross  of  white  damask.  It  was  then 
placed  on  a  sumptuous  bier,  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  hall  of  the  palace. 

Here  the  duchess  made  great  lamenta 
tion  over  the  body  of  her  lord,  in  which 
she  was  joined  by  her  train  of  damsels 
and  attendants,  as  well  as  by  the  pages 
and  esquires,  and  innumerable  vassals  of 
the  marquis. 

In  the  close  of  the  evening,  just  before 
the  "  Ave  Maria,"  the  funeral  train  issued 
from  the  palace.  Ten  banners  were 
borne  around  the  bier,  the  particular 
trophies  of  the  marquis,  won  from  the 
Moors  by  his  valour  in  individual  enter 
prises,  before  King  Ferdinand  had  com 
menced  the  war  of  Granada.  The  pro 
cession  was  swelled  by  an  immense  train 
of  bishops,  priests,  and  friars  of  different 
orders,  together  with  the  civil  and  mili 
tary  authorities,  and  all  the  chivalry  of 
Seville;  headed  by  the  Count  of  Cifuentes, 
at  that  time  intendente,  or  commander  of 
the  city.  It  moved  slowly  and  solemnly 
through  the  streets,  stopping  occasion 
ally,  and  chanting  litanies  and  responses. 
Two  hundred  and  forty  waxen  tapers 
shed  a  light  like  the  day  about  the  bier. 
The  balconies  and  windows  were  crowd 
ed  with  ladies,  who  shed  tears  as  the 
funeral  train  passed  by;  while  the  women 
of  the  lower  classes  were  loud  in  their 
lamentations,  as  if  bewailing  the  loss  of  a 
father  or  a  brother.  On  approaching 
the  convent  of  St.  Augustine,  the  monks 
came  forth  with  the  cross  and  tapers,  and 
eight  censers,  and  conducted  the  body 
into  the  church,  where  it  lay  in  state  until 
all  the  vigils  were  performed  by  the 


different  orders,  after  which  it  was  depo 
sited  in  the  family-tomb  of  the  Ponces  in 
the  same  church,  and  the  ten  banners 
were  suspended  over  the  sepulchre.* 

His  tomb,  with  the  banners  moulder 
ing  above  it,  remained  for  ages  an  object 
of  veneration  with  all  who  had  read  or 
heard  of  his  virtues  and  achievements. 
In  the  year  1810,  however,  the  chapel 
was  sacked  by  the  French,  its  altars 
overturned,  and  the  sepulchres  of  the 
family  of  the  Ponces  shattered  to  pieces. 
The  present  Duchess  of  Benavente,  the 
worthy  descendant  of  this  illustrious  and 
heroic  line,  has  since  piously  collected 
the  ashes  of  her  ancestors,  restored  the 
altar,  and  repaired  the  chapel.  The 
sepulchres,  however,  were  utterly  de 
stroyed,  and  an  inscription  of  gold  letters, 
on  the  wall  of  the  chapel,  to  the  right  of 
the  altar,  is  now  all  that  denotes  the  place 
of  sepulture  of  the  brave  Roderigo  Ponce 
de  Leon. 


THE  LEGEND 

OF   THE 

DEATH  OF  DON  ALONSO  DE 
AGUILAR. 

To  such  as  feel  an  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  the  valiant  Don  Alonso  de 
Aguilar,  the  chosen  friend  and  companion 
in  arms  of  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  and  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
heroes  of  the  war  of  Granada,  a  few 
particulars  of  his  remarkable  fate  will 
not  be  unacceptable.  They  are  found 
among  the  manuscripts  of  the  worthy 
Padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  and  appear 
to  have  been  appended  to  his  chronicle. 

For  several  years  after  the  conquest  of  j 
Granada,  the  country  remained  feverish  j 
and  unquiet.  The  zealous  efforts  of  the 
catholic  clergy  to  effect  the  conversion  of 
the  infidels,  and  the  pious  coercion  used 
for  that  purpose  by  government,  exas 
perated  the  stubborn  Moors  of  the  moun 
tains.  Several  zealous  missionaries  were 
maltreated,  and,  in  the  town  of  Dayrin, 
two  of  them  were  seized,  and  exhorted, 
with  many  menaces,  to  embrace  the 

*  Cura  de  Los  Palacios,  c.  104. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


389 


Moslem  faith.  On  their  resolutely  re 
fusing  they  were  killed  with  staffs  and 
stones,  by  the  Moorish  women  and  chil 
dren,  and  their  bodies  burnt  to  ashes.*. 

Upon  this  event,  a  body  of  Christian 
cavaliers  assembled  in  Andalusia,  to  the 
number  of  eight  hundred  ;  and,  without 
waiting  for  orders  from  the  king,  revenged 
the  death  of  these  martyrs,  by  plundering 
and  laying  waste  the  Moorish  towns  and 
villages.  The  Moors  fled  to  the  moun 
tains,  arid  their  cause  was  espoused  by 
many  of  their  nation,  who  inhabited  those 
rugged  regions.  The  storm  of  rebellion 
began  to  gather,  and  mutter  its  thunders 
in  the  Alpuxarras.  They  were  echoed 
from  the  Serrania  of  Ronda,  ever  ready 
for  rebellion ;  but  the  strongest  hold  of 
the  insurgents  was  in  the  Sierra  Vermeja, 
or  chain  of  red  mountains,  lying  near 
the  sea,  the  savage  rocks  and  precipices 
of  which  may  be  seen  from  Gibraltar. 

When  King  Ferdinand  heard  of  these 
tumults,  he  issued  a  proclamation,  or 
dering  all  the  Moors  of  the  insurgent 
regions  to  leave  them  within  ten  days, 
and  repair  to  Castile  ;  giving  secret  in 
structions,  however,  that  those,  who 
should  voluntarily  embrace  the  Christian 
faith,  might  be  permitted  to  remain.  At 
the  same  time  he  ordered  Don  Alonso 
de  Aguilar,  and  the  Counts  of  Urena  and 
Cifuentes,  to  march  against  the  rebels. 

Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar  was  at  Cordova 
when  he  received  the  commands  of  the 
king.  "  What  force  is  alotted  us  for  this 
expedition  ?"  said  he.  On  being  told,  he 
perceived  that  the  number  of  troops  was 
far  from  adequate.  "  When  a  man  is 
dead,"  said  he,  "  we  send  four  men  into 
his  house  to  bring  forth  the  body.  We 
are  now  sent  to  chastise  those  Moors, 
who  are  alive,  vigorous,  in  open  rebellion, 
and  ensconced  in  their  castles  ;  and  they 
do  not  give  us  man  to  man."  These 
words  of  the  brave  Alonso  de  Aguilar 
were  afterwards  frequently  repeated  ;  but, 
though  he  saw  the  desperate  nature  of  the 
enterprise,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  under 
take  it. 

Don  Alonso  was,  at  that  time,  in  the 

I  fifty-first  year  of  his   age.     He  was  a 

|  veteran   warrior,    in    whom    the   fire  of 

youth  was  yet  unquenched,  though  tern- 

*  Cura  dc  Los  Palacios,  c.  165. 


pered  by  experience.  The  greater  part 
of  his  life  had  been  passed  in  the  carnp 
and  in  the  field,  until  danger  was  as  his 
natural  element.  His  muscular  frame  had 
acquired  the  firmness  of  iron,  without  the 
rigidity  of  age.  His  armour  and  weapons 
seemed  to  have  become  a  part  of  his 
nature  ;  and  he  sat  like  a  man  of  steel  on 
his  powerful  war-horse. 

He  took  with  him,  on  this  expedition, 
his  son,  Don  Pedro  de  Cordova ;  a  youth 
of  bold  and  generous  spirit,  in  the  fresh 
ness  of  his  days,  and  armed  and  arrayed 
with  all  the  bravery  of  a  young  Spanish 
cavalier.  When  the  populace  of  Cordova 
beheld  the  veteran  father,  the  warrior  of 
a  thousand  battles,  leading  forth  his 
youthful  son  to  the  field,  they  bethought 
themselves  of  the  family  appellation. 
"  Behold,"  cried  they,  "  the  eagle  teach 
ing  his  young  to  fly  !  Long  live  the 
valiant  line  of  Aguilar  !"* 

The  prowess  of  Don  Alonso  and  of 
his  companions  in  arms  was  renowned 
throughout  the  Moorish  towns.  At  their 
approach,  therefore,  numbers  of  the 
Moors  submitted,  and  hastened  to  Ronda 
to  embrace  Christianity.  Among  the 
mountaineers,  however,  there  were  many 
of  the  Gandules,  a  fierce  tribe  from  Africa, 
too  proud  of  spirit  to  bend  their  necks  to 
the  yoke.  At  their  head  was  a  Moor, 
named  El  Feri  of  Ben  Estepar,  renowned 
for  strength  and  courage.  At  his  in 
stigations,  his  followers  gathered  together 
their  families  and  most  precious  effects  ; 
placed  them  on  mules,  and,  driving  before 
them  their  flocks  and  herds,  abandoned 
their  valleys,  and  retired  up  the  craggy 
passes  of  the  Sierra  Vermeja.  On  the 
summit  was  a  fertile  plain,  surrounded 
by  rocks  and  precipices,  which  formed  a 
natural  fortress.  Here  El  Feri  placed  all 
the  women  and  children,  and  all  the  pro 
perty.  By  his  orders,  his  followers  piled 
great  stones  on  the  rocks  and  cliffs, 
which  commanded  the  defiles  and  the 
steep  side  of  the  mountain,  and  prepared 
to  defend  every  pass  that  led  to  his  place 
of  refuge. 

The  Christian  commanders  arrived, 
and  pitched  their  camp  before  the  town 
of  Monardo ;  a  strong  place,  curiously 
fortified,  and  situated  at  the  foot  of  the 


33* 


Aguilar,  the  Spanish  for  eagle. 


390 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


highest  part  of  the  Sierra  Vermeja.  Here 
they  remained  for  several  days,  unable  to 
compel  a  surrender.  They  were  sepa 
rated  from  the  skirt  of  the  mountain  by 
a  deep  barranca  or  ravine,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  flowed  a  small  stream.  The 
Moors  commanded  by  El  Feri,  drew 
down  from  their  mountain  height,  and 
remained  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
brook,  to  defend  a  pass  which  led  up  to 
their  stronghold. 

One  afternoon,  a  number  of  Christian 
soldiers,  in  mere  bravado,  seized  a  banner, 
crossed  the  brook,  and  scrambling  up  the 
opposite  bank,  attacked  the  Moors.  They 
were  followed  by  numbers  of  their  com 
panions  ;  some  in  aid,  some  in  emulation, 
but  most  in  hope  of  booty.  A  sharp 
action  ensued  on  the  mountain  side. 
The  Moors  were  greatly  superior  in 
number,  and  had  the  vantage-ground. 
When  the  Counts  of  Urefia  and  Cifuentes 
beheld  this  skirmish,  they  asked  Don 
Alonso  de  Aguilar  his  opinion.  "  My 
opinion,"  said  he,  "  was  given  at  Cordova, 
and  remains  the  same.  This  is  a  des 
perate  enterprise.  However,  the  Moors 
are  at  hand  ;  and  if  they  suspect  weak 
ness  in  us,  it  will  increase  their  courage 
and  our  peril.  Forward  then  to  the 
attack,  and  I  trust  in  God  we  shall  gain 
a  victory !"  So  saying,  he  led  his  troops 
into  the  battle.* 

On  the  skirts  of  the  mountains  were 
several  level  places,  like  terraces.  Here 
the  Christians  pressed  valiantly  upon  the 
Moors,  and  had  the  advantage ;  but  the 
latter  retreated  to  the  steep  and  craggy 
heights,  from  whence  they  hurled  darts 
and  rocks  upon  their  assailants.  They 
defended  their  passes  and  defiles  with 
ferocious  valour ;  but  were  driven  from 
height  to  height,  until  they  reached  the 
plain  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
where  their  wives  and  children  were 
sheltered.  Here  they  would  have  made 
a  stand ;  but  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  with  his 
son  Don  Pedro,  charged  upon  them  at 
the  head  of  three  hundred  men,  and  put 
them  to  flight,  with  dreadful  carnage. 
While  they  were  pursuing  the  flying 
enemy,  the  rest  of  the  army,  thinking  the 
-victory  achieved,  dispersed  themselves 
over  the  plain  in  search  of  plunder. 

*  Bleda,  1.  v.  c.  26. 


They  pursued  the  shrieking  females, 
tearing  off  their  necklaces,  bracelets,  and 
anklets  of  gold  ;  and  they  found  so  much 
treasure  of  various  kinds  collected  in  this 
spot,  that  they  threw  by  their  armour 
and  weapons,  to  load  themselves  with 
booty. 

Evening  was  closing :  the  Christians, 
intent  upon  spoil,  had  ceased  to  pursue 
the  Moors,  and  the  latter  were  arrested  in 
their  flight  by  the  cries  of  their  wives  and 
children.  Their  fierce  leader,  El  Feri, 
threw  himself  before  them.  "  Frie/ids, 
soldiers,"  cried  he,  "whither  do  you  fly? 
whither  can  you  seek  refuge,  where  the 
enemy  cannot  follow  you  ?  Your  wives, 
your  children,  are  behind  you  ;  turn  and 
defend  them :  you  have  no  chance  for 
safety,  but  from  the  weapons  in  your 
hands!" 

The  Moors  turned  at  his  words.  They 
beheld  the  Christians  scattered  about  the 
plain  many  of  them  without  armour,  and 
all  encumbered  with  spoil.  "  Now  is 
the  time,"  shouted  El  Feri ;  "  charge 
upon  them  while  laden  with  your  plun 
der  !  I  will  open  a  path  for  you  !"  He 
rushed  to  the  attack,  followed  by  his 
Moors,  with  shouts  and  cries,  that  echoed 
through  the  mountains.  The  scattered 
Christians  were  seized  with  a  panic,  and, 
throwing  down  their  booty,  began  to  fly 
in  all  directions.  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar 
advanced  his  banner,  and  endeavoured 
to  rally  them.  Finding  his  horse  of  no 
avail  in  these  rocky  heights,  he  dis 
mounted,  and  caused  his  men  to  do  the 
same.  He  had  a  small  band  of  tried  fol 
lowers,  with  which  he  opposed  a  bold 
front  to  the  Moors,  calling  on  the  scat 
tered  troops  to  rally  in  the  rear. 

Night  had  completely  closed.  It  pre 
vented  the  Moors  from  seeing  the  small- 
ness  of  the  force  with  which  they  were 
contending ;  and  Don  Alonso  and  his  ca 
valiers  dealt  their  blows  so  vigorously, 
that,  aided  by  the  darkness,  they  seemed 
multiplied  to  ten  times  their  number. 
Unfortunately  a  small  cask  of  gunpowder 
blew  up  near  to  the  scene  of  action.  It 
shed  a  momentary  but  brilliant  light  over 
all  the  plain,  and  on  every  rock  and  cliff. 
The  Moors  beheld  with  surprise,  that 
they  were  opposed  by  a  mere  handful  of 
men,  and  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
Christians  were  flying  from  the  field. 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


391 


They   put   up  loud  shouts   of  triumph. 
While  some  continued  the  conflict  with 
redoubled    ardour,    others    pursued    the 
fugitives,  hurling  after  them  stones  and  I 
darts,  and  discharging  showers  of  arrows.  I 
Many  of  the  Christians,  in  their  terror 
and  their  ignorance  of  the   mountains, 
rushed  headlong  from  the  brinks  of  pre 
cipices,  and  were  dashed  in  pieces. 

Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar  still  maintained 
his  ground ;  but  while  a  party  of  Moors 
assailed  him  in  front,  others  galled  him 
with  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  the  im 
pending  cliffs.  Some  of  the  cavaliers, 
seeing  the  hopeless  nature  of  the  conflict, 
proposed,  that  they  should  abandon  the 
height,  and  retreat  down  the  mountain. 
"  No,"  said  Don  Alonso  proudly  ;  "  never 
did  the  banner  of  the  house  of  Aguilar 
retreat  one  foot  in  the  field  of  battle." 
He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words, 
when  his  son  Don  Pedro  was  stretched 
at  his  feet.  A  stone  hurled  from  a  cliff 
had  struck  out  two  of  his  teeth,  and  a 
lance  passed  quivering  through  his  thigh. 
The  youth  attempted  to  rise,  and  with 
one  knee  on  the  ground,  to  fight  by  the 
side  of  his  father.  Don  Alonso,  finding 
him  wounded,  urged  him  to  quit  the  field. 
"  Fly,  my  son,"  said  he.  "  Let  us  not 
put  every  thing  at  venture  upon  one 
hazard  :  conduct  thyself  as  a  good  Chris 
tian,  and  live  to  comfort  and  honour  thy 
mother." 

Don  Pedro  still  refused  to  quit  him; 
whereupon  Don  Alonso  ordered  several 
of  his  followers  to  bear  him  off  by  force. 
His  friend,  Don  Francisco  Alvarez  of 
Cordova,  taking  him  in  his  arms,  con 
veyed  him  to  the  quarters  of  the  Count 
of  Urena,  who  had  halted  on  the  heights, 
at  some  distance  from  the  scene  of  battle, 
for  the  purpose  of  rallying  and  succour 
ing  the  fugitives.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment,  the  count  beheld  his  own  son, 
Don  Pedro  Giron,  brought  in  grievously 
wounded. 

In  the  mean  time,  Don  Alonso,  with 
two   hundred   cavaliers,   maintained    the 
unequal    contest.     Surrounded    by  foes, 
they  fell,  one  after  another,  like  so  many 
noble   stags   encircled    by    the    hunters. 
Don  Alonso  was  the  last  survivor.     He  | 
was  without  horse,  and   almost  without  j 
armour;    his   corslet    unlaced,   and    his 
bosom   gashed   with   wounds.     Still   he 


kept  a  brave  front  towards  the  enemy, 
and,  retiring  between  two  rocks,  defended 
himself  with  such  valour,  that  the  slain 
lay  in  a  heap  before  him. 

He  was  assailed  in  this  retreat  by  a 
Moor  of  surpassing  strength  and  fierce 
ness.  The  contest  was  for  some  time 
doubtful ;  but  Don  Alonso  received  a 
wound  in  the  head,  and  another  in  the 
breast,  that  made  him  stagger.  Closing 
and  grappling  with  his  foe,  they  had  a 
desperate  struggle,  until  the  Christian 
cavalier,  exhausted  by  his  wounds,  fell 
upon  his  back.  He  still  retained  his 
grasp  upon  his  enemy.  "  Think  not," 
cried  he,  "  thou  hast  an  easy  prize : 
know,  that  I  am  Don  Alonso,  he  of 
Aguilar  !"  "  If  thou  art  Don  Alonso," 
replied  the  Moor,  "  know,  that  I  am  El 
Feri,  of  Ben  Estepar  !"  They  continued 
their  deadly  struggle,  and  both  drew 
their  daggers  :  but  Don  Alonso  was  ex 
hausted  by  seven  ghastly  wounds.  While 
he  was  yet  struggling,  his  heroic  soul 
departed  from  his  body,  and  he  expired 
in  the  grasp  of  the  Moor. 

Thus  fell  Alonso  de  Aguilar,  the  mir 
ror  of  Andalusian  chivalry ;  one  of  the 
most  powerful  grandees  of  Spain,  for 
person,  blood,  estate,  and  office.  For 
forty  years  he  had  waged  successful 
wars  upon  the  Moors  :  in  childhood,  by 
his  household  and  retainers;  in  manhood, 
by  the  prowess  of  his  arm,  and  the 
wisdom  and  valour  of  his  spirit.  His 
pennon  had  always  been  foremost  in 
danger ;  he  had  been  general  of  armies, 
viceroy  of  Andalusia,  and  the  author  of 
glorious  enterprises,  in  which  kings  were 
vanquished,  and  mighty  alcaydes  and 
warriors  laid  low.  He  had  slain  many 
Moslem  chiefs  with  his  own  arm,  and, 
among  others,  the  renowned  Ali  Atar,  of 
Loxa,  fighting  foot  to  foot,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Xenil.  His  judgment,  discretion, 
magnanimity,  arid  justice,  vied  with  his 
prowess.  He  was  the  fifth  lord  of  his 
warlike  house,  that  fell  in  battle  with  the 
Moors.  "  His  soul,"  observes  Padre 
Abarca,  "  it  is  believed  ascended  to 
heaven,  to  receive  the  reward  of  so 
Christian  a  captain  :  for  that  very  day 
he  had  armed  himself  with  the  sacra 
ments  of  confession  and  communion."* 

*  Abarca,  Analcs  de  Aragon,  rey  xxx,  cap.  2. 


392 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


The  Moors,  elated  with  their  success, 
pursued  the  fugitive  Christians  down  the 
defiles  and  sides  of  the  mountains.  It 
was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the 
Count  de  Urena  could  bring  off  a  rem 
nant  of  his  forces  from  that  disastrous 
height.  Fortunately,  on  the  lower  slope 
of  the  mountain  they  found  the  rear 
guard  of  the  army,  led  by  the  Count  de 
Cifuentes,  who  had  crossed  the  brook 
and  the  ravine  to-  come  to  their  assis 
tance.  As  the  fugitives  came  flying  in 
headlong  terror  down  the  mountain,  it 
was  with  difficulty  the  count  kept  his  own 
troops  from  giving  way  in  panic,  and 
retreating  in  confusion  across  the  brook. 
He  succeeded,  however,  in  maintaining 
order,  in  rallying  the  fugitives  and 
checking  the  fury  of  the  Moors.  Then, 
taking  his  station  on  a  rocky  eminence, 
he  maintained  his  post  until  morning, 
sometimes  sustaining  violent  attacks,  at 
other  times  rushing  forth,  and  making 
assaults  upon  the  enemy.  When  morn 
ing  dawned,  the  Moors  ceased  to  combat, 
and  drew  up  to  the  summit  of  the  moun 
tain. 

It  was  then  that  the  Christians  had 
time  to  breathe,  and  to  ascertain  the 
dreadful  loss  they  had  sustained.  Among 
the  many  valiant  cavaliers,  who  had 
fallen,  was  Don  Francisco  Ramirez  of 
Madrid,  who  had  been  captain-general  of 
artillery  throughout  the  war  of  Granada, 
and  contributed  greatly,  by  his  valour 
and  ingenuity,  to  that  renowned  con 
quest.  But  all  other  griefs  and  cares 
were  forgotten  in  anxiety  for  the  fate  of 
Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar.  His  son,  Don 
Pedro  de  Cordova,  had  been  brought  off 
with  great  difficulty  from  the  battle ;  and 
afterwards  lived  to  be  Marquis  of  Priego. 
But  of  Don  Alonso  nothing  was  known, 
except  that  he  was  left  with  a  handful  of 
cavaliers,  fighting  valiantly  against  an 
overwhelming  force.  As  the  rising  sun 
lighted  up  the  red  cliffs  of  the  mountains, 
the  soldiers  watched  with  anxious  eyes, 
if  perchance  his  pennon  might  be  des 
cried,  fluttering  from  any  precipice  or 
defile  :  but  nothing  of  the  kind  was  to  be 
seen.  The  trumpet  call  was  repeatedly 
sounded :  but  empty  echoes  alone  re 
plied.  A  silence  reigned  about  the  moun 
tain  summit,  which  showed  that  the 
deadly  strife  was  over.  Now  and  then 


a  wounded  warrior  came,  dragging  his 
feeble  steps  from  among  the  cliffs  and 
rocks  ;  but,  on  being  questioned,  he  shook 
his  head  mournfully,  and  could  tell  no 
thing  of  the  fate  of  his  commander. 

The  tidings  of  this  disastrous  defeat, 
and  of  the  perilous  situation  of  the  sur 
vivors,  reached  King  Ferdinand  at  Gra 
nada.  He  immediately  marched,  at  the 
head  of  all  the  chivalry  of  his  court,  to 
the  mountains  of  Ronda.  His  presence, 
with  a  powerful  force,  soon  put  an  end 
to  the  rebellion.  A  part  of  the  Moors 
were  suffered  toTansom  themselves,  and 
to  embark  for  Africa  ;  others  were  made 
to  embrace  Christianity  ;  and  those  of  the 
town  where  the  Christian  missionaries 
had  been  massacred  were  sold  as  slaves. 
From  the  conquered  Moors,  the  mournful 
but  heroic  end  of  Don  Alonso  de  Aguilar 
was  ascertained.  On  the  morning  after 
the  battle,  when  the  Moors  came  to  strip 
and  bury  the  dead,  the  body  of  Don 
Alonso  was  found  among  those  of  more 
than  two  hundred  of  his  followers,  many 
of  them  alcaydes  and  cavaliers  of  dis 
tinction.  Though  the  person  of  Don 
Alonso  was  well  known  to  the  Moors, 
being  so  distinguished  among  them,  both 
in  peace  and  war,  yet  it  was  so  covered 
and  disfigured  with  wounds,  that  it  could 
with  difficulty  be  recognised.  They  pre 
served  it  with  care,  and,  on  making  their 
submission,  delivered  it  up  to  King  Fer 
dinand.  It  was  conveyed  with  great 
state,  to  Cordova,  amidst  the  tears  and 
lamentations  of  all  Andalusia.  When 
the  funeral  train  entered  Cordova,  and 
the  inhabitants  saw  the  coffin,  containing 
the  remains  of  their  favourite  hero,  and 
the  war-horse,  led  in  mournful  trappings, 
on  which  they  had  so  lately  seen  him 
sally  forth  from  their  gates,  there  was  a 
general  burst  of  grief  throughout  the 
city.  The  body  was  interred  with  great 
pomp  and  solemnity  in  the  church  of  St. 
Ipolito.  Many  years  afterwards,  his 
grand-daughter,  Dona  Catalina  of  Agui 
lar  and  Cordova,  Marchioness  of  Priego, 
caused  his  tomb  to  be  altered.  On  ex 
amining  the  body,  the  head  of  a  lance 
was  found  among  the  bones,  received, 
without  doubt,  among  the  wounds  of  his 
last  mortal  combat.  The  name  of  this 
accomplished  and  Christian  cavalier  has 
ever  remained  a  popular  theme  of  the 


CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


393 


chronicler  and  poet ;  and  is  endeared  to 
the  public  memory  by  many  of  the  his 
torical  ballads  and  songs  of  his  country. 
For  a  long  time  the  people  of  Cordova 
were  indignant  at  the  brave  Count  'de 
Ureiia,  who,  they  thought,  had  aban 
doned  Don  Alonso  in  his  extremity ;  but 
the  Castilian  monarch  acquitted  him  of 
all  charge  of  the  kind,  and  continued  him 
in  honour  and  office.  It  was  proved, 
that  neither  he  nor  his  people  could  suc 
cour  Don  Alonso,  or  even  know  of  his 
peril,  from  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


There  is  a  mournful  little  Spanish  bal 
lad,  or  romance,  which  breathes  the 
public  grief  on  this  occasion  ;  and  the 
populace,  on  the  return  of  the  Count  de 
Urena  to  Cordova,  assailed  h-im  with  one 
of  its  plaintive  and  reproachful  verses: 

"  Decid,  Conde  de  Urena, 
Don  Alonso  donde  queda?"* 

Count  Urena!  Count  Urena! 
Tell  us,  where  is  Don  Alonso  ? 

*  Bleda,  1.  v.  c.  26. 


END  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


u: 


=s 


THE    ALHAMBRA: 


SERIES    OF   TALES    AND    SKETCHES 


OF  THE 


MOORS  AND  SPANIARDS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  «  SKETCH  BOOK." 


PHILADELPHIA : 

LEA     AND    BLANCHARD. 
1840. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836, 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


C.  SHERMAN  AND  CO.  PRINTERS. 


THE   ALHAMBRA, 


TO  DAVID  WILKIE,  ESQ.  R.  A. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, 

You  may  remember,  that  in  the  ram 
bles  we  once  took  together  about  some 
of  the  old  cities  of  Spain,  particularly 
Toledo  and  Seville,  we  remarked  a  strong 
mixture  of  the  Saracenic  with  the  Gothic, 
remaining  from  the  time  of  the  Moors ; 
and  were  more  than  once  struck  with 
scenes  and  incidents  in  the  streets,  which 
reminded  us  of  passages  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  You  then  urged  me  to  write 
something  that  should  illustrate  those 
peculiarities,  "  something  in  the  Haroun 
Alraschid  style,"  that  should  have  a  dash 
of  that  Arabian  spice  which  pervades 
every  thing  in  Spain.  I  call  this  to  your 
mind,  to  show  you  that  you  are,  in  some 
degree,  responsible  for  the  present  work, 
in  which  I  have  given  a  few  "  Arabesque" 
sketches  from  the  life,  and  tales  founded 
on  popular  traditions,  which  were  chiefly 
struck  off"  during  a  residence  in  one  of 
the  most  Moresco-Spanish  places  in  the 
Peninsula. 

I  inscribe  these  pages  to  you  as  a  me 
morial  of  the  pleasant  scenes  we  have 
witnessed  together  in  that  land  of  adven 
ture,  and  as  a  testimonial  of  an  esteem 
for  your  worth  which  is  only  exceeded 
by  admiration  of  your  talents. 

Your  friend  and  fellow-traveller, 

THE  AUTHOR. 

May,  1832. 


THE  JOURNEY. 

IN  the  spring  of  1829,  the  Author  of 
this  Work,  whom  curiosity  had  brought 
VOL.  ii.  34 


into  Spain,  made  a  rambling  expedition 
from  Seville  to  Granada,  in  company 
with  a  friend,  a  member  of  the  Russian 
Embassy  at  Madrid.  Accident  had 
thrown  us  together  from  distant  regions 
of  the  globe,  and  a  similarity  of  taste  led 
us  to  wander  together  among  the  roman 
tic  mountains  of  Andalusia.  Should  these 
pages  meet  his  eye,  wherever  thrown  by 
the  duties  of  his  station,  whether  mingling 
in  the  pageantry  of  courts,  or  meditating 
on  the  truer  glories  of  Nature,  may  they 
recall  the  scenes  of  our  adventurous  com 
panionship,  and  with  them  the  remem 
brance  of  one,  in  whom  neither  time  nor 
distance  will  obliterate  the  remembrance 
of  his  gentleness  and  worth. 

And  here,  before  setting  forth,  let  me 
indulge  in  a  few  previous  remarks  on 
Spanish  scenery  and  Spanish  travelling. 
Many  are  apt  to  picture  Spain  to  their 
imaginations  as  a  soft  southern  region, 
decked  out  with  all  the  luxuriant  charms 
of  voluptuous  Italy.     On  the  contrary, 
though  there  are  exceptions  in  some 'of 
the    maritime    provinces,    yet,    for    the 
greater  part,  it  is  a  stern,  melancholy 
country,    with    rugged    mountains,    and 
long  sweeping  plains,  destitute  of  trees, 
and   indescribably  silent  and  lonesome, 
partaking   of   the    savage   and   solitary 
character  of  Africa.     What  adds  to  this 
silence  and  loneliness,  is  the  absence  of 
singing-birds,  a  natural  consequence  of 
the  want  of  groves  and  hedges.     The 
vulture  and  the  eagle  are  seen  wheeling 
about   the   mountain-cliffs,   and   soaring 
over  the  plains,  and  groups  of  shy  bus 
tards  stalk   about  the   heaths;    but  the 
myriads  of  smaller  birds,  which  animate 
the  whole  face  of  other  countries,  are 
met  with  in  but  few  provinces  in  Spain, 


398 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


and  in  those  chiefly  among  the  orchards 
and  gardens  which  surround  the  habita 
tions  of  men. 

In  the  interior  provinces  the  traveller 
occasionally  traverses  great  tracts  culti 
vated  with  grain  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach,  waving  at  times  with  verdure,  at 
other  times  naked  and  sunburnt,  but  he 
looks  round  in  vain  for  the  hand  that  has 
tilled  the  soil.  At  length,  he  perceives 
some  village  on  a  steep  hill,  or  rugged 
crag,  with  mouldering  battlements  and 
ruined  watchtower;  a  stronghold,  in  old 
times,  against  civil  war,  or  Moorish  in 
road  ;  for  the  custom  among  the  peasan 
try  of  congregating  together  for  mutual 
protection,  is  still  kept  up  in  most  parts 
of  Spain,  in  consequence  of  the  maraud 
ings  of  roving  freebooters. 

But  though  a  great  part  of  Spain  is 
deficient  in  the  garniture  of  groves  and 
forests,  and  the  softer  charms  of  orna 
mental  cultivation,  yet  its  scenery  has 
something  of  a  high  and  lofty  character 
to  compensate  the  want.  It  partakes 
something  of  the  attributes  of  its  people  ; 
and  I  think  that  I  better  understand  the 
proud,  hardy,  frugal,  and  abstemious 
Spaniard,  his  manly  defiance  of  hard 
ships,  and  contempt  of  effeminate  indul 
gences,  since  I  have  seen  the  country  he 
inhabits. 

There  is  something,  too,  in  the  sternly 
simple  features  of  the  Spanish  landscape, 
that  impresses  on  the  soul  a  feeling  of 
sublimity.  The  immense  plains  of  the 
Castiles  and  of  La  Mancha,  extending  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  derive  an  inte 
rest  from  their  very  nakedness  and  im 
mensity,  and  have  something  of  the 
solemn  grandeur  of  the  ocean.  In  rang 
ing  over  these  boundless  wastes,  the  eye 
catches  sight  here  and  there  of  a  strag 
gling  herd  of  cattle  attended  by  a  lonely 
herdsman,  motionless  as  a  statue,  with 
his  long  slender  pike  tapering  up  like  a 
lance  into  the  air;  or,  beholds  a  long 
train  of  mules  slowly  moving  along  the 
waste  like  a  train  of  camels  in  the  desert; 
or,  a  single  herdsman,  armed  with  blun 
derbuss  and  stiletto,  and  prowling  over 
the  plain.  Thus  the  country,  the  habits, 
the  very  looks  of  the  people,  have  some 
thing  of  the  Arabian  character.  The 
|  general  insecurity  of  the  country  is 
evinced  in  the  universal  use  of  weapons. 


The  herdsman  in  the  field,  the  shepherd 
in  the  plain,  has  his  musket  and  his 
knife.  The  wealthy  villager  rarely  ven 
tures  to  the  market-town  without  his 
trabuco,  and,  perhaps,  a  servant  on  foot 
with  a  blunderbuss  on  his  shoulder ;  and 
the  most  petty  journey  is  undertaken 
with  the  preparation  of  a  warlike  enter 
prise. 

The  dangers  of  the  road  produce  also 
a  mode  of  travelling,  resembling,  on  a 
diminutive  scale,  the  caravans  of  the 
East.  The  arrieros,  or  carriers,  congre 
gate  in  convoys,  and  set  off  in  large  and 
well-armed  trains  on  appointed  days ; 
while  additional  travellers  swell  their 
number,  and  contribute  to  their  strength. 
In  this  primitive  way  is  the  commerce  of 
the  country  carried  on.  The  muleteer 
is  the  general  medium  of  traffic,  and  the 
legitimate  traverser  of  the  land,  crossing 
the  peninsula  from  the  Pyrenees  and  the 
Asturias  to  the  Alpuxarras,  the  Serrania 
de  Ronda,  and  even  to  the  gates  of 
Gibraltar.  He  lives  frugally  and  hardily : 
his  alforjas  of  coarse  cloth  hold  his  scanty 
stock  of  provisions  ;  a  leathern  bottle, 
hanging  at  his  saddle-bow,  contains  wine 
or  water,  for  a  supply  across  barren 
mountains  and  thirsty  plains.  A  mule- 
cloth,  sp.read  upon  the  ground,  is  his  bed 
at  night,  and  his  packsaddle  is  his  pillow. 
His  low,  but  clean-limbed  and  sinewy 
form  betokens  strength ;  his  complexion 
is  dark  and  sunburnt ;  his  eye  resolute, 
but  quiet  in  its  expression,  except  when 
kindled  by  sudden  emotion  ;  his  demea 
nour  is  frank,  manly,  and  courteous, 
and  he  never  passes  you  without  a  grave 
salutation  :  "  Dios  guarde  a  usted  !" 
"  Vaya  usted  con  Dios,  caballero  !" 
"  God  guard  you  !"  "  God  be  with  you, 
cavalier !" 

As  these  men  have  often  their  whole 
fortune  at  stake  upon  the  burden  of  their 
mules,  they  have  their  weapons  at  hand, 
slung  on  their  saddles,  and  ready  to  be 
snatched  out  for  desperate  defence.  But 
their  united  numbers  render  them  secure 
against  petty  bands  of  marauders,  and 
the  solitary  bandolero,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and  mounted  on  his  Andalusian  steed, 
hovers  about  them,  like  a  pirate  about 
a  merchant  convoy,  without  daring  to 
make  an  assault. 

The  Spanish   muleteer  has  an  inex- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


399 


haustible  stock  of  songs  and  ballads, 
with  which  to  beguile  his  incessant  way 
faring.  The  airs  are  rude  and  simple, 
consisting  of  but  few  inflexions.  These 
he  chants  forth  with  a  loud  voice,  and 
long,  drawling  cadence,  seated  sideways 
on  his  mule,  who  seems  to  listen  with 
infinite  gravity,  and  to  keep  time,  with 
his  paces,  to  the  tune.  The  couplets 
thus  chanted,  are  often  old  traditional 
romances  about  the  Moors,  or  some  le 
gend  of  a  saint,  or  some  love-ditty;  or 
what's  still  more  frequent,  some  ballad 
about  a  bold  contrabandista,  or  hardy 
bandolero,  for  the  smuggler  and  the  rob 
ber  are  poetical  heroes  among  the  com 
mon  people  of  Spain.  Often,  the  song 
of  the  muleteer  is  composed  at  the  instant, 
and  relates  to  some  local  scene,  or  some 
incident  of  the  journey.  This  talent  of 
singing  and  improvising  is  frequent  in 
Spain,  and  is  said  to  have  been  inherited 
from  the  Moors.  There  is  something 
wildly  pleasing  in  listening  to  these  dit 
ties  among  the  rude  and  lonely  scenes 
that  they  illustrate  ;  accompanied,  as 
they  are,  by  the  occasional  jingle  of  the 
mule-bell. 

It  has  a  most  picturesque  effect  also  to 
meet  a  train  of  muleteers  in  some  moun 
tain-pass.  First  you  hear  the  bells  of 
the  leading  mules,  breaking  with  their 
simple  melody  the  stillness  of  the  airy 
height ;  or,  perhaps,  the  voice  of  the 
muleteer  admonishing  some  tardy  or 
wandering  animal,  or  chanting,  at  the 
full  stretch  of  his  lungs,  some  tradi 
tionary  ballad.  At  length  you  see  the 
mules  slowly  winding  along  the  cra^ged 
defile,  sometimes  descending  precipitous 
cliffs,  so  as  to  present  themselves  in  full 
relief  against  the  sky,  sometimes  toiling 
up  the  deep  arid  chasms  below  you.  As 
they  approach,  you  descry  their  gay 
decorations  of  worsted  tufts,  tassels,  and 
saddle-cloths,  while,  as  they  pass  by,  the 
ever-ready  trabuco,  slung  behind  the 
packs  and  saddles,  gives  a  hint  of  the 
insecurity  of  the  road. 

The  ancient  kingdom  of  Granada,  into 
which  we  are  about  to  penetrate,  is  one 
of  the  most  mountainous  regions  of  Spain. 
Vast  sierras,  or  chains  of  mountains,  des 
titute  of  shrub  or  tree,  and  mottled  with 
variegated  marbles  and  granites,  elevate 
their  sunburnt  summits  against  a  deep 


blue  sky ;  yet  in  their  rugged  bosoms  lie 
engulfed  the  most  verdant  and  fertile 
valleys,  where  the  desert  and  the  garden 
strive  for  mastery,  and  the  very  rock  is, 
as  it  were,  compelled  to  yield  the  fig,  the 
orange,  and  the  citron,  and  to  blossom 
with  the  myrtle  and  the  rose. 

In  the  wild  passes  of  these  mountains 
the  sight  of  walled  towns  and  villages, 
built  like  eagles'  nests  among  the  cliffs, 
and  surrounded  by  Moorish  battlements, 
or  of  ruined  watchtowers  perched  on 
lofty  peaks,  carries  the  mind  back  to  the 
chivalric  days  of  Christian  and  Moslem 
warfare,  and  to  the  romantic  struggle  for 
the  conquest  of  Granada.  In  traversing 
these  lofty  sierras  the  traveller  is  often 
obliged  to  alight  and  lead  his  horse  up 
and  down  the  steep  and  jagged  ascents 
and  descents,  resembling  the  broken  steps 
of  a  staircase.  Sometimes  the  road  winds 
along  dizzy  precipices,  without  parapet  to 
guard  him  from  the  gulfs  below,  and  then 
will  plunge  down  steep,  and  dark,  and 
dangerous  declivities.  Sometimes  it  strag 
gles  through  rugged  barrancas,  or  ravines, 
worn  by  winter  torrents,  the  obscure  path 
of  the  contrabandista ;  while,  ever  and 
anon,  the  ominous  cross,  the  monument 
of  robbery  and  murder,  erected  on  a 
mound  of  stone  at  some  lonely  part  of 
the  road,  admonishes  the  traveller  that  he 
is  among  the  haunts  of  banditti,  perhaps 
at  that  very  moment  under  the  eye  of 
some  lurking  bandolero.  Sometimes,  in 
winding  through  the  narrow  valleys,  he 
is  startled  by  a  hoarse  bellowing,  and  be 
holds  above  him  on  some  green  fold  of 
the  mountain  side,  a  herd  of  fierce  Anda- 
lusian  bulls,  destined  for  the  combat  of  the 
arena.  There  is  something  awful  in  the 
contemplation  of  these  terrific  animals, 
clothed  with  tremendous  strength,  and 
ranging  their  native  pastures  in  untamed 
wildness,  strangers  almost  to  the  face  of 
man :  they  know  no  one  but  the  solitary 
herdsman  who  attends  upon  them,  and 
even  he  at  times  dares  not  venture  to  ap 
proach  them.  The  low  bellowing  of  these 
bulls,  and  their  menacing  aspect  as  they 
look  down  from  their  rocky  height,  give 
additional  wildness  to  the  savage  scenery 
around. 

I  have  been  betrayed  unconsciously 
into  a  longer  disquisition  than  I  had  in 
tended  on  the  general  features  of  Span- 


400 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


ish  travelling;  but  there  is  a  romance 
about  all  the  recollections  of  the  Penin 
sula  that  is  dear  to  the  imagination. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  May  that  my 
companion  and  myself  set  forth  from  Se 
ville  on  our  route  to  Granada.  We  had 
made  all  due  preparations  for  the  nature 
of  our  journey,  which  lay  through  moun 
tainous  regions,  where  the  roads  are  little 
better  than  mere  mulepaths,  and  too  fre 
quently  beset  by  robbers.  The  most 
valuable  part  of  our  luggage  had  been 
forwarded  by  the  arrieros ;  we  retained 
merely  clothing  and  necessaries  for  the 
journey,  and  money  for  the  expenses  of 
the  road,  with  a  sufficient  surplus  of 
the  latter  to  satisfy  the  expectations  of 
robbers  should  we  be  assailed,  and  to 
save  ourselves  from  the  rough  treatment 
that  awaits  the  too  wary  and  empty- 
handed  traveller.  A  couple  of  stout 
hired  steeds  were  provided  for  ourselves, 
and  a  third  for  our  scanty  luggage,  and 
for  the  conveyance  of  a  sturdy  Biscayan 
lad  of  about  twenty  years  of  age,  who 
was  to  guide  us  through  the  perplexed 
mazes  of  the  mountain  roads,  to  take 
care  of  the  horses,  to  act  occasionally  as 
our  valet,  and  at  all  times  as  our  guard ; 
for  he  had  a  formidable  trabuco  or  car 
bine,  to  defend  us  from  rateros,  or  soli 
tary  footpads,  about  which  weapon  he 
made  much  vainglorious  boasts,  though, 
to  the  discredit  of  his  generalship,  I  must 
say  that  it  generally  hung  unloaded  be 
hind  his  saddle.  He  was,  however,  a 
faithful,  cheery,  kind-hearted  creature, 
full  of  saws  and  proverbs  as  that  miracle 
of  squires  the  renowned  Sancho  himself, 
whose  name  we  bestowed  upon  him  ;  and, 
like  a  true  Spaniard,  though  treated  by 
us  with  companionable  familiarity,  he 
never  for  a  moment,  in  his  utmost  hila 
rity,  overstepped  the  bounds  of  respect 
ful  decorum. 

Thus  equipped  and  attended,  we  set 
out  on  our  journey,  with  a  genuine  dis 
position  to  be  pleased.  With  such  a  dis 
position,  what  a  country  is  Spain  for  a 
traveller,  where  the  most  miserable  inn 
is  as  full  of  adventure  as  an  enchanted 
castle,  and  every  meal  is  in  itself  an 
achievement !  Let  others  repine  at  the 
lack  of  turnpike  roads  and  sumptuous 
hotels,  and  all  the  elaborate  comforts  of  a 
country  cultivated  into  tameness  and  com 


monplace  ;  but  give  me  the  rude  moun 
tain  scramble,  the  roving,  hap-hazard 
wayfaring,  the  frank,  hospitable,  though 
half-wild  manners,  that  give  such  a  true 
game  flavour  to  romantic  Spain  ! 

Our  first  evening's  entertainment  had 
a  relish  of  the  kind.  We  arrived  after 
sunset  at  a  little  town,  among  the  hills, 
after  a  fatiguing  journey  over  a  wide 
houseless  plain,  where  we  had  been  re 
peatedly  drenched  with  showers.  In  the 
inn  were  a  party  of  Miqueletes,  who 
were  patrolling  the  country  in  pursuit  of 
robbers.  The  appearance  of  foreigners 
like  ourselves,  was  unusual  in  this  remote 
town ;  mine  host,  with  two  or  three  old 
gossiping  comrades  in  brown  cloaks, 
studied  our  passports  in  a  corner  of  the 
posada,  while  an  alguazil  took  notes  by 
the  dim  light  of  a  lamp.  The  passports 
were  in  foreign  languages  and  perplexed 
them,  but  our  Squire  Sancho  assisted 
them  in  their  studies,  and  magnified  our 
importance  with  the  grandiloquence  of  a 
Spaniard.  In  the  mean  time  the  magni 
ficent  distribution  of  a  few  cigars  had  won 
the  hearts  of  all  around  us  ;  in  a  little 
while  the  whole  community  seemed  put 
in  agitation  to  make  us  welcome.  The 
corregidor  himself  waited  upon  us,  and 
a  great  rush-bottomed  arm-chair  was  os 
tentatiously  bolstered  into  our  room  by 
our  landlady,  for  the  accommodation  of 
that  important  personage.  The  com 
mander  of  the  patrol  took  supper  with 
us  ;  a  lively,  talking,  laughing  Andaluz, 
who  had  made  a  campaign  in  South 
America,  and  recounted  his  exploits  in 
love  and  war  with  much  pomp  of  phrase, 
vehemence  of  gesticulation,  and  mysteri 
ous  rolling  of  the  eye.  He  told  us  that 
he  had  a  list  of  all  the  robbers  in  the 
country,  and  meant  to  ferret  out  every 
mother's  son  of  them  ;  he  offered  us  at 
the  same  time  some  of  his  soldiers  as  an 
escort.  "One  is  enough  to  protect  you, 
Senores  ;  the  robbers  know  me  and  know 
my  men ;  the  sight  of  one  is  enough  to 
spread  terror  through  a  whole  sierra." 
We  thanked  him  for  his  offer,  but  assured 
him  in  his  own  strain,  that  with  the  pro 
tection  of  our  redoubtable  squire,  Sancho, 
we  were  not  afraid  of  all  the  ladrones  of 
Andalusia. 

While  we  were  supping  with  our  Draw- 
cansir  friend,  we  heard  the  notes  of  a 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


401 


guitar,  and  the  click  of  castanets,  and 
presently  a  chorus  of  voices  singing  a 
popular  air.  In  fact  mine  host  had  ga 
thered  together  the  amateur  singers  and 
musicians,  and  the  rustic  belles  of  the 
neighbourhood,  and  on  going  forth,  the 
court-yard  of  the  inn  presented  a  scene 
of  true  Spanish  festivity.  We  took  our 
seats  with  mine  host  and  hostess  and  the 
commander  of  the  patrol,  under  the  arch 
way  of  the  court ;  the  guitar  passed  from 
hand  to  hand,  but  a  jovial  shoemaker  was 
the  Orpheus  of  the  place.  He  was  a 
pleasant-looking  fellow,  with  huge  black 
whiskers ;  his  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to 
his  elbows,  he  touched  the  guitar  with 
masterly  skill,  and  sang  little  amorous 
ditties  with  an  expressive  leer  at  the  wo 
men,  with  whom  he  was  evidently  a  fa 
vourite.  He  afterwards  danced  a  fan 
dango  with  a  buxom  Andalusian  damsel, 
to  the  great  delight  of  the  spectators. 
But  none  of  the  females  present  could 
compare  with  mine  host's  pretty  daughter, 
Pepita,  who  had  slipped  away  and  made 
her  toilette  for  the  occasion,  and  had 
covered  her  head  with  roses ;  and  who 
distinguished  herself  in  a  bolero  with  a 
handsome  young  dragoon.  We  had  or 
dered  our  host  to  let  wine  and  refresh 
ment  circulate  freely  among  the  com 
pany,  yet  though  there  was  a  motley 
assembly  of  soldiers,  muleteers,  and  vil 
lagers,  no  one  exceeded  the  bounds  of 
sober  enjoyment.  The  scene  was  a  study 
for  a  painter:  the  picturesque  group  of 
dancers,  the  troopers  in  their  half  mili 
tary  dresses,  the  peasantry  wrapped  in 
their  brown  cloaks ;  nor  must  I  omit  to 
mention  the  old  meagre  alguazil,  in  a 
short  black  cloak,  who  took  no  notice  of 
any  thing  going  on,  but  sat  in  a  corner 
diligently  writing  by  the  dim  light  of  a 
huge  copper  lamp,  that  might  have  figured 
in  the  days  of  Don  Quixote. 

I  am  not  writing  a  regular  narrative, 
and  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  varied 
events  of  several  days'  rambling,  over 
hill  and  dale,  and  moor  and  mountain. 
We  travelled  in  true  contrabandista  style, 
taking  every  thing  rough  and  smooth,  as 
we  found  it,  and  mingling  with  all  classes 
and  conditions  in  a  kind  of  vagabond 
companionship.  It  is  the  true  way  to 
travel  in  Spain.  Knowing  the  scanty 
larders  of  the  inns,  and  the  naked  tracts 


of  country  which  the  traveller  has  often 
to  traverse,  we  had  taken  care,  on  start 
ing,  to  have  the  alforjas,  or  saddle-bags, 
of  our  squire  well  stocked  with  cold  pro 
visions,  and  his  bota,  or  leathern  bottle, 
which  was  of  portly  dimensions,  filled  to 
the  neck  with  choice  Valdepenas  wine. 
As  this  was  a  munition  for  our  campaign 
more  important  than  even  his  trabuco, 
we  exhorted  him  to  have  an  eye  to  it ; 
and  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that 
his  namesake,  the  trencher-loving  Sancho 
himself,  could  not  excel  him  as  a  provi 
dent  purveyor.  Though  the  alforjas  and 
bota  were  repeatedly  and  vigorously  as 
sailed  throughout  the  journey,  they  ap 
peared  to  have  a  miraculous  property  of 
being  never  empty ;  for  our  vigilant 
squire  took  care  to  sack  every  thing  that 
remained  from  our  evening  repasts  at  the 
inns,  to  supply  our  next  day's  luncheon. 

What  luxurious  noontide  repasts  have 
we  made,  on  the  green  sward  by  the  side 
of  a  brook  or  fountain,  under  a  shady 
tree !  and  then  what  delicious  siestas  on 
our  cloaks  spread  out  on  the  herbage ! 

We  paused  one  day  at  noon,  for  a  re 
past  of  the  kind.  It  was  in  a  pleasant 
little  green  meadow,  surrounded  by  hills 
covered  with  olive  trees.  Our  cloaks 
were  spread  on  the  grass  under  an  elm- 
tree,  by  the  side  of  a  bubbling  rivulet ; 
our  horses  were  tethered  where  they 
might  crop  the  herbage ;  and  Sancho 
produced  his  alforjas  with  an  air  of  tri 
umph.  They  contained  the  contributions 
of  four  days'  journeying,  but  had  been 
signally  enriched  by  the  foraging  of  the 
previous  evening  in  a  plenteous  inn  at 
Antequera.  Our  squire  drew  forth  the 
heterogeneous  contents,  one  by  one,  and 
these  seemed  to  have  no  end.  First 
came  forth  a  shoulder  of  roasted  kid, 
very  little  the  worse  for  wear ;  then  an 
entire  partridge ;  then  a  great  morsel  of 
salted  codfish  wrapped  in  paper;  then 
the  residue  of  a  ham  ;  then  the  half  of 
a  pullet,  together  with  several  rolls  of 
bread,  and  a  rabble  rout  of  oranges, 
figs,  raisins,  and  walnuts.  His  bota 
also  had  been  recruited  with  some  ex 
cellent  wine  of  Malaga.  At  every  fresh 
apparition  from  his  larder,  he  would 
enjoy  our  ludicrous  surprise,  throwing 
himself  back  on  the  grass,  and  shout- 
'ng  with  laughter.  Nothing  pleased 

34* 


402 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


the  simple-hearted  varlet  more  than  to 
be  compared,  for  his  devotion  to  the 
trencher,  to  the  renowned  squire  of  Don 
Quixote.  He  was  well  versed  in  the 
history  of  the  Don,  and,  like  most  of 
the  common  people  of  Spain,  he  firmly 
believed  it  to  be  a  true  history. 

"  All  that,  however,  happened  a  long 
time  ago,  senor'?"  said  he  to  me  one 
day,  with  an  inquiring  look. 

"  A  very  long  time,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  dare  say  more  than  a  thousand 
years  ?"  still  looking  dubiously. 

"  I  dare  say,  not  less." 

The  squire  was  satisfied. 

As  we  were  making  the  repast  above 
described,  and  diverting  ourselves  with 
the  simple  drollery  of  our  squire,  a  soli 
tary  beggar  approached  us,  who  had 
almost  the  look  of  a  pilgrim.  He  was 
evidently  very  old,  with  a  gray  beard, 
and  supported  himself  on  a  staff,  yet  age 
had  not  bowed  him  down ;  he  was  tall 
and  erect,  and  had  the  wreck  of  a  fine 
form.  He  wore  a  round  Andalusian  hat, 
a  sheepskin  jacket,  and  leathern  breeches, 
gaiters  and  sandals.  His  dress,  though 
old  and  patched,  was  decent,  his  demean 
our  manly,  and  he  addressed  us  with 
that  grave  courtesy  that  is  to  be  re 
marked  in  the  lowest  Spaniard.  We 
were  in  a  favourable  mood  for  such  a 
visiter;  and  in  a  freak  of  capricious 
charity,  gave  him  some  silver,  a  loaf  of 
fine  wheaten  bread,  and  a  goblet  of  our 
choice  wine  of  Malaga.  He  received 
them  thankfully,  but  without  any  grovel 
ling  tribute  of  gratitude.  Tasting  the 
wine,  he  held  it  up  to  the  light,  with  a 
slight  beam  of  surprise  in  his  eye,  then 
quaffing  it  off  at  a  draught,  "  It  is  many 
years,"  said  he,  "  since  I  have  tasted 
such  wine.  It  is  a  cordial  to  an  old 
man's  heart."  Then,  looking  at  the 
beautiful  wheaten  loaf,  "  bendito  sea  tal 
pan  /"  "  blessed  be  such  bread  !"  So 
saying,  he  put  it  in  his  wallet.  We 
urged  him  to  eat  it  on  the  spot.  "  No, 
senores,"  replied  he,  "  the  wine  I  had 
to  drink  or  leave  ;  but  the  bread  I  must 
take  home  to  share  with  my  family." 

Our  man  Sancho  sought  our  eye,  and 
reading  permission  there,  gave  the  old 
man  some  of  the  ample  fragments  of  our 
repast,  on  condition,  however,  that  he 
should  sit  down  and  make  a  meal. 


He  accordingly  took  his  seat  at  some 
little  distance  from  us,  and  began  to  eat 
slowly  and  with  a  sobriety  and  decorum 
that  would  have  become  an  hidalgo. 
There  was  altogether  a  measured  man 
ner  and  a  quiet  self-possession  about  the 
old  man,  that  made  me  think  he  had  seen 
better  days:  his  language,  too,  though 
simple,  had  occasionally  something  pic 
turesque  and  almost  poetical  in  the 
phraseology.  I  set  him  down  for  some 
broken-down  cavalier.  I  was  mistaken; 
it  was  nothing  but  the  innate  courtesy  of 
a  Spaniard,  and  the  poetical  turn  of 
thought  and  language  often  to  be  found 
in  the  lowest  classes  of  this  clear-witted 
people.  For  fifty  years,  he  told  us,  he 
had  been  a  shepherd,  but  now  he  was  out 
of  employ,  and  destitute.  "When  I  was 
a  young  man,"  said  he,  "  nothing  could 
harm  or  trouble  me ;  I  was  always  well, 
always  gay;  but  now  I  am  seventy-nine 
years  of  age,  and  a  beggar,  and  my 
heart  begins  to  fail  me." 

Still  he  was  not  a  regular  mendicant : 
it  was  not  until  recently  that  want  had 
driven  him  to  this  degradation ;  and  he 
gave  a  touching  picture  of  the  struggle 
between  hunger  and  pride,  when  abject 
destitution  first  came  upon  him.  He  was 
returning  from  Malaga  without  money; 
he  had  not  tasted  food  for  some  time,  and 
was  crossing  one  of  the  great  plains  of 
Spain,  where  there  were  but  few  habita 
tions.  When  almost  dead  with  hunger, 
he  applied  at  the  door  of  a  venta  or  coun 
try  inn.  "  Perdone  usted  por  Dios,  her- 
manof"  (Excuse  us,  brother,  for  God's 
sake!)  was  the  reply — the  usual  mode  in 
Spain  of  refusing  a  beggar.  "I  turned 
away,"  said  he,  "  with  shame  greater 
than  my  hunger,  for  my  heart  was  yet 
too  proud.  I  came  to  a  river  with  high 
banks  and  deep  rapid  current,  and  felt 
tempted  to  throw  myself  in :  *  What 
should  such  an  old,  worthless,  wretched 
man  as  I  live  for?'  But  when  I  was  on 
the  brink  of  the  current,  I  thought  on  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  turned  away.  I  tra 
velled  on  until  I  saw  a  country  seat  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  road,  and  entered 
the  outer  gate  of  the  court-yard.  The 
door  was  shut,  but  there  were  two  young 
senoras  at  a  window.  I  approached  and 
begged  : — *  Perdone  usted  por  Dios,  her- 
manoT  (Excuse  us,  brother,  for  God's 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


403 


sake !)  and  the  window  closed.  I  crept 
out  of  the  court-yard,  but  hunger  over 
came  me,  and  my  heart  gave  way:  I 
thought  my  hour  at  hand,  so  I  laid  my 
self  down  at  the  gate,  commended  myself 
to  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  covered  my  head 
to  die.  In  a  little  while  afterwards  the 
master  of  the  house  came  home  :  seeing 
me  lying  at  his  gate,  he  uncovered  my 
head,  had  pity  on  my  gray  hairs,  took 
me  into  his  house,  and  gave  me  food.  So, 
senores,  you  see  that  one  should  always 
put  confidence  in  the  protection  of  the 
Virgin." 

The  old  man  was  on  his  way  to  his 
native  place,  Archidona,  which  was  close 
by,  on  the  summit  of  a  steep  and  rugged 
mountain.  He  pointed  to  the  ruins  of  its 
old  Moorish  castle:  "That  castle,"  he 
said,  "  was  inhabited  by  a  Moorish  king 
at  the  time  of  the  wars  of  Granada. 
Queen  Isabella  invaded  it  with  a  great 
army ;  but  the  king  looked  down  from 
his  castle  among  the  clouds,  and  laughed 
her  to  scorn  !  Upon  this  the  Virgin  ap 
peared  to  the  queen,  and  guided  her  and 
her  army  up  a  mysterious  path  in  the 
mountains,  which  had  never  before  been 
known.  When  the  Moor  saw  her  coming, 
he  was  astonished,  and  springing  with 
his  horse  from  a  precipice,  was  dashed  to 
pieces  !  The  marks  of  his  horse's  hoofs," 
said  the  old  man,  "  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
margin  of  the  rock  to  this  day.  And 
see,  senores,  yonder  is  the  road  by  which 
the  queen  and  her  army  mounted :  you 
see  it  like  a  riband  up  the  mountain  side; 
but  the  miracle  is,  that,  though  it  can  be 
seen  at  a  distance,  when  you  come  near, 
it  disappears  !" 

The  ideal  road  to  which  he  pointed 
was  undoubtedly  a  sandy  ravine  of  the 
mountain,  which  looked  narrow  and  de 
fined  at  a  distance,  but  became  broad 
and  indistinct  on  an  approach. 

As  the  old  man's  heart  warmed  with 
wine  and  wassail,  he  went  on  to  tell  us  a 
story  of  the  buried  treasure  left  under  the 
castle  by  the  Moorish  king.  His  own 
house  was  next  to  the  foundations  of  the 
castle.  The  curate  and  notary  dreamed 
three  times  of  the  treasure,  and  went  to 
work  at  the  place  pointed  out  in  their 
dreams.  His  own  son-in-law  heard  the 
sound  of  their  pickaxes  and  spades  at 
night.  What  they  found  nobody  knows ; 


they  became  suddenly  rich,  but  kept 
their  own  secret.  Thus  the  old  man  had 
once  been  next  door  to  fortune,  but  was 
doomed  never  to  get  under  the  same 
roof. 

I  have  remarked,  that  the  stories  of 
treasure  buried  by  the  Moors,  which  pre 
vail  throughout  Spain,  are  most  current 
among  the  poorest  people.  It  is  thus 
kind  Nature  consoles  with  shadows  for 
the  lack  of  substantials.  The  thirsty 
man  dreams  of  fountains  and  running 
streams ;  the  hungry  man  of  ideal  ban 
quets;  and  the  poor  man  of  heaps  of 
hidden  gold :  nothing  certainly  is  more 
magnificent  than  the  imagination  of  a 
beggar. 

The  last  travelling  sketch  I  shall  give, 
is  an  evening  at  the  little  city  of  Loxa. 
This  was  a  famous  belligerent  frontier 
post  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  and  re 
pulsed  Ferdinand  from  its  walls.  It  was 
the  stronghold  of  old  Ali  Atar,  the  father- 
in-law  of  Boabdil,  when  that  fiery  veteran 
sallied  forth  with  his  son-in-law  on  their 
disastrous  inroad,  that  ended  in  the  death 
of  the  chieftain  and  the  capture  of  the 
monarch.  Loxa  is  wildly  situated  in  a 
broken  mountain  pass,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Xenil,  among  rocks  and  groves,  and 
meadows  and  gardens.  The  people  seem 
still  to  retain  the  bold  fiery  spirit  of  the 
olden  time.  Our  inn  was  suited  to  the 
place.  It  was  kept  by  a  young  and 
handsome  Andalusian  widow,  whose  trim 
basquina  of  black  silk,  fringed  with  bu 
gles,  set  off  the  play  of  a  graceful  form 
and  round  pliant  limbs.  Her  step  was 
firm  and  elastic ;  her  dark  eye  was  full 
of  fire :  and  the  coquetry  of  her  air,  and 
varied  ornaments  of  her  person,  showed 
that  she  was  accustomed  to  be  admired. 

She  was  well  matched  by  a  brother, 
nearly  about  her  own  age;  they  were 
perfect  models  of  the  Andalusian  Majo 
and  Maja.  He  was  tall,  vigorous,  and 
well-formed,  with  a  clear  olive  com 
plexion,  a  dark  beaming  eye,  and  curling 
chestnut  whiskers  that  met  under  his 
chin.  He  was  gallantly  dressed  in  a 
short  green  velvet  jacket,  fitted  to  his 
shape,  profusely  decorated  with  silver 
buttons,  with  a  white  handkerchief  in 
each  po,cket.  He  had  breeches  of  the 
same,  with  rows  of  buttons  from  the  hips 
to  the  knees ;  a  pink  silk  handkerchief 


= 


404 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


round  his  neck,  gathered  through  a  ring, 
on  the  bosom  of  a  neatly  plaited  shirt ; 
a  sash  round  the  waist  to  match ;  botti- 
nas,  or  spatterdashes,  of  the  finest  russet 
leather,  elegantly  worked,  and  open  at 
the  calf  to  show  his  stocking ;  and  russet 
shoes,  setting  off  a  well-shaped  foot. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  door,  a 
horseman  rode  up  and  entered  into  low 
and  earnest  conversation  with  him.  He 
was  dressed  in  similar  style,  and  almost 
with  equal  finery;  a  man  about  thirty, 
square  built,  with  strong  Roman  features, 
handsome,  though  slightly  pitted  with  the 
small-pox;  with  a  free,  bold,  and  some 
what  daring  air ;  his  powerful  black  horse 
was  decorated  with  tassels  and  fanciful 
trappings,  and  a  couple  of  broad-mouthed 
blunderbusses  hung  behind  the  saddle. 
He  had  the  air  of  one  of  those  contraban- 
distas  that  I  have  seen  in  the  mountains 
of  La  Ronda,  and  evidently  had  a  good 
understanding  with  the  brother  of  mine 
hostess;  nay,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  was  a 
favoured  admirer  of  the  widow.  In  fact, 
the  whole  inn  and  its  inmates  had  some 
thing  of  a  contrabandista  aspect,  and  the 
blunderbuss  stood  in  a  corner  beside  the 
guitar.  The  horseman  I  have  mentioned 
passed  his  evening  in  the  posada,  and 
sang  several  bold  mountain  romances 
with  great  spirit.  As  wre  were  at  supper, 
two  poor  Asturians  put  in  in  distress, 
begging  food  and  a  night's  lodging. 
They  had  been  waylaid  by  robbers  as 
they  came  from  a  fair  among  the  moun 
tains,  robbed  of  a  horse,  which  carried 
all  their  stock  in  trade,  stripped  of  their 
money  and  most  of  their  apparel,  beaten 
for  having  offered  resistance,  and  left 
almost  naked  in  the  road.  My  com 
panion,  with  a  prompt  generosity,  natural 
to  him,  ordered  them  a  supper  and  a  bed, 
and  gave  them  a  sum  of  money  to  help 
them  forward  towards  their  home. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  dramatis 
persons  thickened.  A  large  man,  about 
sixty  years  of  age,  of  powerful  frame, 
came  strolling  in,  to  gossip  with  mine 
hostess.  He  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary 
Andalusian  costume,  but  had  a  huge 
sabre  tucked  under  his  arm,  wore  large 
mustaches,  and  had  something  of  a  lofty 
swaggering  air.  Every  one  seemed  to 
regard  him  with  great  deference. 

Our  man  Sancho  whispered  to  us  that 


H= 


he  was  Don  Ventura  Rodriguez,  the  hero 
and  champion  of  Loxa,  famous  for  his 
pro\vess  and  the  strength  of  his  arm.  In 
the  time  of  the  French  invasion  he  sur 
prised  six  troopers  who  were  asleep  :  he 
first  secured  their  horses,  then  attacked 
them  with  his  sabre,  killed  some,  and 
took  the  rest  prisoners.  For  this  exploit 
the  king  allows  him  a  peseta  (the  fifth  of 
a  duro,  or  dollar,  per  day,  and  has  digni 
fied  him  with  the  title  of  Don. 

I  was  amused  to  notice  his  swelling 
language  and  demeanour.  He  was  evi 
dently  a  thorough  Andalusian,  boastful 
as  he  was  brave.  His  sabre  was  always 
in  his  hand  or  under  his  arm.  He  car 
ries  it  always  about  with  him  as  a  child 
does  her  doll,  calls  it  his  Santa  Teresa, 
and  says  that  when  he  draws  it,  "  Tiem- 
bla  la  tierra  !" — the  earth  trembles  ! 

I  sat  until  a  late  hour  listening  to  the 
varied  themes  of  this  motley  group,  who 
mingled  together  with  the  unreserve  of  a 
Spanish  posada.  We  had  contrabandista 
songs,  stories  of  robbers,  guerilla  exploits, 
and  Moorish  legends.  The  last  were 
from  our  handsome  landlady,  who  gave 
a  poetical  account  of  the  Infiernos,  or  in 
fernal  regions  of  Loxa — dark  caverns,  in 
which  subterranean  streams  and  water 
falls  make  a  mysterious  sound.  The 
common  people  say  that  there  are  money- 
coiners  shut  up  there  from  the  time  of  the 
Moors ;  and  that  the  Moorish  kings  kept 
their  treasures  in  those  caverns. 

Were  it  the  purport  of  this  work,  I 
could  fill  its  pages  with  the  incidents  and 
scenes  of  our  rambling  expedition ;  but 
other  themes  invite  me.  Journeying  in 
this  manner,  we  at  length  emerged  from 
the  mountains,  and  entered  upon  the 
beautiful  Vega  of  Granada.  Here  we 
took  our  last  mid-day's  repast,  under  a 
grove  of  olive  trees,  on  the  borders  of  a 
rivulet,  with  the  old  Moorish  capital  in 
the  distance,  and  animated  by  the  ruddy 
towers  of  the  Alhambra,  while,  far  above 
it,  the  snowy  summits  of  the  Sierra  Ne 
vada  shone  like  silver.  The  day  was 
without  a  cloud,  and  the  heat  of  the  sun 
tempered  by  cool  breezes  from  the  moun 
tains  ;  after  our  repast,  we  spread  our 
cloaks  and  took  our  last  siesta,  lulled  by 
the  humming  of  bees  among  the  flowers, 
and  the  notes  of  ringdoves  from  the 
neighbouring  olive  trees.  When  the  sul- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


405 


try  hours  were  past,  we  resumed  our  jour 
ney  ;  and  after  passing  between  hedges 
of  aloes  and  Indian  figs,  and  through  a 
wilderness  of  gardens,  arrived,  about 
sunset,  at  the  gates  of  Granada. 

To  the  traveller  imbued  with  a  feeling 
for  the  historical  and  poetical,  the  Al ham- 
bra  of  Granada  is  as  much  an  object  of 
veneration,  as  is  the  Kaaba,  or  sacred 
house  of  Mecca,  to  all  true  Moslem  pil 
grims.  How  many  legends  and  tradi 
tions,  true  and  fabulous ;  how  many 
songs  and  romances,  Spanish  and  Ara 
bian,  of  love,  war,  and  chivalry,  are  asso 
ciated  with  this  romantic  pile !  The 
reader  may  judge,  therefore,  of  our  de 
light,  when,  shortly  after  our  arrival  in 
Granada,  the  Governor  of  the  Alhambra 
gave  us  his  permission  to  occupy  his  va 
cant  apartments  in  the  Moorish  palace. 
My  companion  was  soon  summoned 
away  by  the  duties  of  his  station ;  but  I 
remained  for  several  months  spellbound, 
in  the  old  enchanted  pile.  The  following 
papers  are  the  result  of  my  reveries  and 
researches  during  that  delicious  thral 
dom.  If  they  have  the  power  of  impart 
ing  any  of  the  witching  charms  of  the 
place  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader,  he 
will  not  repine  at  lingering  with  me  for  a 
season  in  the  legendary  halls  of  the  Al 
hambra. 


GOVERNMENT  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

THE  Alhambra  is  an  ancient  fortress 
or  castellated  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings 
of  Granada,  where  they  held  dominion 
over  this  their  boasted  terrestrial  para 
dise,  and  made  their  last  stand  for  em 
pire  in  Spain.  The  palace  occupies  but 
a  portion  of  the  fortress,  the  walls  of 
which,  studded  with  towers,  stretch  irre 
gularly  round  the  whole  crest  of  a  lofty 
hill  that  overlooks  the  city,  and  forms  a 
spur  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  snowy 
mountain. 

In  the  time  of  the  Moors,  the  fortress 
was  capable  of  containing  an  army  of 
forty  thousand  men  within  its  precincts, 
and  served  occasionally  as  a  stronghold 
of  the  sovereigns  against  their  rebellious 
subjects.  After  the  kingdom  had  passed 


into  the  hands  of  the  Christians,  the 
Alhambra  continued  a  royal  demesne, 
and  was  occasionally  inhabited  by  the 
Castilian  monarchs.  The  emperor  Charles 
V.  began  a  sumptuous  palace  within  its 
walls,  but  was  deterred  from  completing 
it  by  repeated  shocks  of  earthquakes. 
The  last  royal  residents  were  Philip  V., 
and  his  beautiful  queen,  Elizabetta  of 
Parma,  early  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
Great  preparations  were  made  for  their 
reception.  The  palace  and  gardens  were 
placed  in  a  state  of  repair,  and  a  new 
suite  of  apartments  erected,  and  decorated 
by  artists  brought  from  Italy.  The  so 
journ  of  the  sovereigns  was  transient, 
and  after  their  departure  the  palace  once 
more  became  desolate.  Still  the  place 
was  maintained  with  some  military  state. 
The  governor  held  it  immediately  from 
the  crown,  its  jurisdiction  extended  down 
into  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  was 
independent  of  the  Captain-General  of  j 
Granada.  A  considerable  garrison  was  j 
kept  up,  the  governor  had  his  apartments 
in  the  front  of  the  old  Moorish  palace, 
and  never  descended  into  Granada  with 
out  some  military  parade.  The  fortress 
in  fact  was  a  little  town  of  itself,  having 
several  streets  of  houses  within  its  walls, 
together  with  a  Franciscan  convent  and 
a  parochial  church. 

The  desertion  of  the  court,  however, 
was  a  fatal  blow  to  the  Alhambra.  Its 
beautiful  halls  became  desolate,  and  some 
of  them  fell  to  ruin ;  the  gardens  were 
destroyed,  and  the  fountains  ceased  to 
play.  By  degrees  the  dwellings  became 
filled  up  with  a  loose  and  lawless  po 
pulation  ;  contrabandistas,  who  availed 
themselves  of  its  independent  jurisdiction 
to  carry  on  a  wide  and  daring  course  of 
smuggling,  and  thieves  and  rogues  of  all 
sorts,  who  made  this  their  place  of  refuge 
from  whence  they  might  depredate  upon 
Granada  and  its  vicinity.  The  strong 
arm  of  government  at  length  interfered  : 
the  whole  community  was  thoroughly 
sifted  ;  none  were  suffered  to  remain  but 
such  as  were  of  honest  character,  and 
had  legitimate  right  to  a  residence ;  the 
greater  part  of  the  houses  were  demo 
lished,  and  a  mere  hamlet  left,  with  the 
parochial  church  and  the  Franciscan 
convent.  During  the  recent  troubles  in 
Spain,  when  Granada  was  in  the  hands 


406 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


of  the  French,  the  Alhambra  was  garri 
soned  by  their  troops,  and  the  palace  was 
occasionally  inhabited  by  the  French 
commander.  With  that  enlightened  taste 
which  has  ever  distinguished  the  French 
nation  in  their  conquests,  this  monument 
of  Moorish  elegance  and  grandeur  was 
rescued  from  the  absolute  ruin  and  deso 
lation  that  were  overwhelming  it.  The 
roofs  were  repaired,  the  saloons  and  gal 
leries  protected  from  the  weather,  the 
gardens  cultivated,  the  water-courses  re 
stored,  the  fountains  once  more  made  to 
throw  up  their  sparkling  showers ;  and 
Spain  may  thank  her  invaders  for  having 
preserved  to  her  the  most  beautiful  and 
interesting  of  her  historical  monuments. 
On  the  departure  of  the  French  they 
blew  up  several  towers  of  the  outer  wall, 
and  left  the  fortifications  scarcely  tenable. 
Since  that  time  the  military  importance 
of  the  post  is  at  an  end.  The  garrison 
is  a  handful  of  invalid  soldiers,  whose 
principal  duty  is  to  guard  some  of  the 
outer  towers,  which  serve  occasionally 
as  a  prison  of  state ;  and  the  governor, 
abandoning  the  lofty  hill  of  the  Alham- 
I  bra,  resides  in  the  centre  of  Granada, 
for  the  more  convenient  despatch  of  his 
official  duties.  I  cannot  conclude  this 
brief  notice  of  the  state  of  the  fortress 
without  bearing  testimony  to  the  ho 
nourable  exertions  of  its  present  com 
mander,  Don  Francisco  de  Serna,  who 
is  tasking  all  the  limited  resources  at  his 
command  to  put  the  palace  in  a  state  of 
repair,  and,  by  his  judicious  precautions, 
has  for  some  time  arrested  its  too  certain 
decay.  Had  his  predecessors  discharged 
the  duties  of  their  station  with  equal 
fidelity,  the  Alhambra  might  yet  have 
remained  in  almost  its  pristine  beauty: 
were  government  to  second  him  with 
means  equal  to  his  zeal,  this  edifice 
might  still  be  preserved  to  adorn  the 
land,  and  to  attract  the  curious  and 
enlightened  of  every  clime  for  many 
generations. 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

THE  Alhambra  has  been  so  often  and 
so  minutely  described  by  travellers,  that 


13- 


a  mere  sketch  will,  probably,  be  suffi 
cient  for  the  reader  to  refresh  his  recol 
lection  ;  I  will  give,  therefore,  a  brief 
account  of  our  visit  to  it  the  morning 
after  our  arrival  in  Granada. 

Leaving  our  posada  of  La  Espada,  we 
traversed  the  renowned  square  of  the 
Vivarrambla,  once  the  scene  of  Moorish 
jousts  and  tournaments,  now  a  crowded 
market-place.  From  thence  we  proceed 
ed  along  the  Zacatin,  the  main  street  of 
what,  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  was  the 
Great  Bazaar,  where  the  small  shops 
and  narrow  alleys  still  retain  the  orien 
tal  character.  Crossing  an  open  place 
in  front  of  the  palace  of  the  captain- 
general,  we  ascended  a  confined  and 
winding  street,  the  name  of  which  re 
minded  us  of  the  chivalric  days  of  Gra 
nada.  It  is  called  the  Calle,  or  street 
of  the  Gomeres,  from  a  Moorish  family 
famous  in  chronicle  and  song.  This 
street  led  up  to  a  massive  gateway  of 
Grecian  architecture,  built  by  Charles 
V.,  forming  the  entrance  to  the  domains 
of  the  Alhambra. 

At  the  gate  were  two  or  three  ragged 
and  superannuated  soldiers,  dozing  on  a 
stone  bench,  the  successors  of  the  Zegris 
and  the  Abencerrages ;  while  a  tall  mea 
gre  varlet,  whose  rusty  brown  cloak  was 
evidently  intended  to  conceal  the  ragged 
state  of  his  nether  garments,  was  loung 
ing  in  the  sunshine  and  gossiping  with 
an  ancient  sentinel  on  duty.  He  joined 
us  as  we  entered  the  gate,  and  offered 
his  services  to  show  us  the  fortress. 

I  have  a  traveller's  dislike  to  officious 
ciceroni,  and  did  not  altogether  like  the 
garb  of  the  applicant. 

"  You  are  well  acquainted  with  the 
place,  I  presume  ?" 

<(  Ninguno  mas  ;  pues,  seiior,  soy  hijo 
de  la  Alhambra." — (Nobody  better ;  in 
fact,  sir,  I  am  a  son  of  the  Alhambra  !) 

The  common  Spaniards  have  certainly 
a  most  poetical  way  of  expressing  them 
selves.  "  A  son  of  the  Alhambra  !"  the 
appellation  caught  me  at  once ;  the  very 
tattered  garb  of  my  new  acquaintance 
assumed  a  dignity  in  my  eyes.  It  was 
emblematic  of  the  fortunes  of  the  place 
and  befitted  the  progeny  of  a  ruin. 

I  put  some  further  questions  to  him, 
and  found  that  his  title  was  legitimate. 
His  family  had  lived  in  the  fortress  from 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


407 


generation  to  generation  ever  since  the 
time  of  the  conquest.  His  name  was 
Mateo  Ximenes.  "  Then,  perhaps,"  said 
I,  "  you  may  be  a  descendant  from  Jhe 
great  Cardinal  Ximenes?" — "  Dios  sabe! 
God  knows,  Senor  !  It  may  be  so.  We 
are  the  oldest  family  in  the  Alhambra, — 
Cristianos  Viejos,  old  Christians,  without 
any  taint  of  Moor  or  Jew.  I  know  we 
belong  to  some  great  family  or  other,  but 
I  forget  whom.  My  father  knows  all 
about  it :  he  has  the  coat-of-arms  hanging 
up  in  his  cottage,  up  in  the  fortress." 
There  is  not  any  Spaniard,  however 
poor,  but  has  some  claim  to  high  pedi 
gree.  The  first  title  of  this  ragged 
worthy,  however,  had  completely  capti 
vated  me,  so  I  gladly  accepted  the  ser 
vices  of  the  "  son  of  the  Alhambra." 

We  now  found  ourselves  in  a  deep  nar 
row  ravine,  filled  with  beautiful  groves, 
with  a  steep  avenue,  and  various  foot 
paths  winding  through  it,  bordered  with 
stone  seats,  and  ornamented  with  foun 
tains.  To  our  left,  we  beheld  the  towers 
of  the  Alhambra  beetling  above  us ;  to 
our  right,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
ravine,  we  were  equally  dominated  by 
rival  towers  on  a  rocky  eminence. 
These,  we  were  told,  were  the  Torres 
Vermejos,  or  vermilion  towers,  so  called 
from  their  ruddy  hue.  No  one  knows 
their  origin.  They  are  of  a  date  much 
anterior  to  the  Alhambra  :  some  suppose 
them  to  have  been  built  by  the  Romans ; 
others,  by  some  wandering  colony  of 
Phoenicians.  Ascending  the  steep  and 
shady  avenue,  we  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
a  huge  square  Moorish  tower,  forming  a 
kind  of  barbacan,  through  which  passed 
the  main  entrance  to  the  fortress.  Within 
the  barbacan  was  another  group  of  ve 
teran  invalids,  one  mounting  guard  at  [ 
the  portal,  while  the  rest,  wrapped  in 
their  tattered  cloaks,  slept  on  the  stone 
benches.  This  portal  is  called  the  Gate 
of  Justice,  from  the  tribunal  held  within 
its  porch  during  the  Moslem  domination, 
for  the  immediate  trial  of  petty  causes  : 
a  custom  common  in  the  Oriental  na 
tions,  and  occasionally  alluded  to  in  the 
sacred  Scriptures. 

The  great  vestibule,  or  porch  of  the 
gate,  is  formed  by  an  immense  Arabian  I 
arch,   of   the    horse-shoe    form,    which  j 
springs  to  half  the  height  of  the  tower. 


On  the  keystone  of  this  arch  is  engraven 
a  gigantic  hand.  Within  the  vestibule, 
on  the  keystone  of  the  portal,  is  sculp 
tured,  in  like  manner,  a  gigantic  key. 
Those  who  pretend  to  some  knowledge 
of  Mahometan  symbols,  affirm  that  the 
hand  is  the  emblem  of  doctrine,  and  the 
key  of  faith ;  the  latter,  they  add,  was 
emblazoned  on  the  standard  of  the  Mos 
lems  when  they  subdued  Andalusia,  in 
opposition  to  the  Christian  emblem  of 
the  Cross.  A  different  explanation,  how 
ever,  was  given  by  the  legitimate  son  of 
the  Alhambra,  and  one  more  in  unison 
with  the  notions  of  the  common  people, 
who  attach  something  of  mystery  and 
magic  to  every  thing  Moorish,  and  have 
all  kind  of  superstitions  connected  with 
this  old  Moslem  fortress. 

According  to  Mateo,  it  was  a  tradition 
handed  down  from  the  oldest  inhabitants, 
and  which  he  had  from  his  father  and 
grandfather,  that  the  hand  and  key  were 
magical  devices  on  which  the  fate  of  the 
Alhambra  depended.  The  Moorish  king 
who  built  it  was  a  great  magician,  or,  as 
some  believed,  had  sold  himself  to  the 
devil,  and  had  laid  the  whole  fortress 
under  a  magic  spell.  By  this  means  it 
had  remained  standing  for  several  hun 
dred  years,  in  defiance  of  storms  and 
earthquakes,  while  almost  all  other  build 
ings  of  the  Moors  had  fallen  to  ruin,  and 
disappeared.  This  spell,  the  tradition 
went  on  to  say,  would  last  until  the 
hand  on  the  outer  arch  should  reach 
down  and  grasp  the  key,  when  the  whole 
pile  would  tumble  to  pieces,  and  all  the 
treasures  buried  beneath  it  by  the  Moors 
would  be  revealed. 

Notwithstanding  this  ominous  pre 
diction,  we  ventured  to  pass  through  the 
spellbound  gateway,  feeling  some  little 
assurance  against  magic  art  in  the  pro 
tection  of  the  Virgin,  a  statue  of  whom 
we  observed  above  the  portal. 

After  passing  through  the  barbacan, 
we  ascended  a  narrow  lane,  winding 
between  walls,  and  came  on  an  open 
esplanade  within  the  fortress,  called  the 
Plaza  de  los  Algibes,  or  Place  of  the 
Cisterns,  from  great  reservoirs  which  un 
dermine  it,  cut  in  the  living  rock  by  the 
Moors  for  the  supply  of  the  fortress. 
Here,  also,  is  a  well  of  immense  depth, 
furnishing  the  purest  and  coldest  of 


408 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


water;  another  monument  of  the  de 
licate  taste  of  the  Moors,  who  were 
indefatigable  in  their  exertions  to  obtain 
that  element  in  its  crystal  purity. 

In  front  of  this  esplanade  is  the  splendid 
pile  commenced  by  Charles  V.,  intended, 
it  is  said,  to  eclipse  the  residence  of  the 
Moslem  kings.  With  all  its  grandeur 
and  architectural  merit,  it  appeared  to  us 
like  an  arrogant  intrusion,  and,  passing 
by  it,  we  entered  a  simple,  unostentatious 
portal,  opening  into  the  interior  of  the 
Moorish  palace. 

The  transition  was  almost  magical :  it 
seemed  as  if  we  were  at  once  transported 
into  other  times  and  another  realm,  and 
were  treading  the  scenes  of  Arabian 
story.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  great 
court,  paved  with  white  marble,  and  de 
corated  at  each  end  with  light  Moorish 
peristyles  :  it  is  called  the  Court  of  the 
Alberca.  In  the  centre  was  an  immense 
basin  or  fish-pond,  a  hundred  and  thirty 
feet  in  length  by  thirty  in  breadth,  stocked 
with  gold-fish,  and  bordered  by  hedges 
of  roses.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  court 
rose  the  great  Tower  of  Comares. 

From  the  lower  end  we  passed  through 
a  Moorish  archway  into  the  renowned 
Court  of  Lions.  There  is  no  part  of  the 
edifice  that  gives  us  a  more  complete  idea 
of  its  original  beauty  and  magnificence 
than  this,  for  none  has  suffered  so  little 
from  the  ravages  of  time.  In  the  centre 
stands  the  fountain  famous  in  song  and 
story.  The  alabaster  basins  still  shed 
their  diamond  drops ;  and  the  twelve 
lions  which  support  them,  cast  forth  their 
crystal  streams  as  in  the  days  of  Boabdil. 
The  court  is  laid  out  in  flower-beds,  and 
surrounded  by  light  Arabian  arcades  of 
open  filagree-work,  supported  by  slender 
pillars  of  white  marble.  The  architec 
ture,  like  that  of  all  the  other  parts  of 
the  palace,  is  characterized  by  elegance 
rather  than  grandeur ;  bespeaking  a  de 
licate  and  graceful  taste,  and  a  disposition 
to  indolent  enjoyment.  When  one  looks 
upon  the  fairy  tracery  of  the  peristyles, 
and  the  apparently  fragile  fretwork  of  the 
walls,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  so  much 
has  survived  the  wear  and  tear  of  cen 
turies,  the  shocks  of  earthquakes,  the 
violence  of  war,  and  the  quiet,  though 
no  less  baneful,  pilferings  of  the  tasteful 
traveller :  it  is  almost  sufficient  to  excuse 


the  popular  tradition,  that  the  whole  is 
protected  by  a  magic  charm. 

On  one  side  of  the  court,  a  portal, 
richly  adorned,  opens  into  a  lofty  hall, 
paved  with  white  marble,  and  called  the 
Hall  of  the  Two  Sisters.  A  cupola,  or 
lantern,  admits  a  tempered  light  from 
above,  and  a  free  circulation  of  air. 
The  lower  part  of  the  walls  is  encrusted 
with  beautiful  Moorish  tiles,  on  some  of 
which  are  emblazoned  the  escutcheons 
of  the  Moorish  monarchs  :  the  upper  part 
is  faced  with  the  fine  stucco-work  in 
vented  at  Damascus,  consisting  of  large 
plates,  cast  in  moulds,  and  artfully  joined, 
so  as  to  have,  the  appearance  of  having 
been  laboriously  sculptured  by  the  hand 
into  light  relievos  and  fanciful  ara 
besques,  intermingled  with  texts  of  the 
Koran,  and  poetical  inscriptions  in  Ara 
bian  and  Cufic  characters.  These  de 
corations  of  the  walls  and  cupolas  are 
richly  gilded,  and  the  interstices  pencilled 
with  lapis-lazuli,  and  other  brilliant  and 
enduring  colours.  On  each  side  of  the 
hall  are  recesses  for  ottomans  and 
couches.  Above  an  inner  porch  is  a 
balcony,  which  communicated  with  the 
women's  apartment.  The  latticed  'ja 
lousies'  still  remain,  from  whence  the 
dark-eyed  beauties  of  the  harem  might 
gaze  unseen  upon  the  entertainments  of 
the  hall  below. 

It  is  impossible  to  contemplate  this 
once  favourite  abode  of  oriental  manners, 
without  feeling  the  early  associations  of 
Arabian  romance,  and  almost  expecting 
to  see  the  white  arm  of  some  mysterious 
princess  beckoning  from  the  balcony,  or 
some  dark  eye  sparkling  through  the 
lattice.  The  abode  of  beauty  is  here,  as 
if  it  had  been  inhabited  but  yesterday  ; 
but  where  are  the  Zoraydas  and  Lin- 
daraxas  ! 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Court  of 
Lions,  is  the  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages  ; 
so  called  from  the  gallant  cavaliers  of 
that  illustrious  line  who  were  here  per 
fidiously  massacred.  There  are  some 
who  doubt  the  whole  truth  of  this  story  ; 
but  our  humble  attendant  Mateo  pointed 
out  the  very  wicket  of  the  portal  through 
which  they  are  said  to  have  been  intro 
duced,  one  by  one,  and  the  white  marble 
fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  where 
they  were  beheaded.  He  showed  us  also 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


409 


certain  broad  ruddy  stains  in  the  pave 
ment,  traces  of  their  blood,  which,  ac 
cording  to  popular  belief,  can  never  be 
effaced.  Finding  we  listened  to  him  wjth 
easy  faith,  he  added,  that  there  was  often 
heard  at  night,  in  the  Court  of  Lions, 
a  low,  confused  sound,  resembling  the 
murmuring  of  a  multitude;  with  now 
and  then  a  faint  tinkling,  like  the  distant 
clank  of  chains.  These  noises  are  pro 
bably  produced  by  the  bubbling  currents 
and  tinkling  falls  of  water,  conducted 
under  the  pavement,  through  pipes  and 
channels,  to  supply  the  fountains  ;  but, 
according  to  the  legend  of  the  son  of  the 
Alhambra,  they  are  made  by  the  spirits 
of  the  murdered  Abencerrages,  who 
nightly  haunt  the  scene  of  their  suffering, 
and  invoke  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on 
their  destroyer. 

From  the  Court  of  Lions  we  retraced 
our  steps  through  the  Court  of  the  Al- 
berca,  or  Great  Fish-pool  ;  crossing 
which,  we  proceeded  to  the  Tower  of 
Comares,  so  called  from  the  name  of  the 
Arabian  architect.  It  is  of  massive 
strength  and  lofty  height,  domineering 
over  the  rest  of  the  edifice,  and  over 
hanging  the  steep  hill-side,  which  de 
scends  abruptly  to  the  banks  of  the 
Darro.  A  Moorish  archway  admitted  us 
into  a  vast  and  lofty  hall,  which  occupies 
the  interior  of  the  tower,  and  was  the 
grand  audience-chamber  of  the  Moslem 
monarchs,  thence  called  the  Hall  of 
Ambassadors.  It  still  bears  the  traces 
of  past  magnificence.  The  walls  are 
richly  stuccoed  and  decorated  with  ara 
besques  ;  the  vaulted  ceiling  of  cedar- 
wood,  almost  lost  in  obscurity,  from  its 
height,  still  gleams  with  rich  gilding,  and 
the  brilliant  tints  of  the  Arabian  pencil. 
On  three  sides  of  the  saloon  are  deep 
windows  cut  through  the  immense  thick 
ness  of  the  walls,  the  balconies  of  which 
look  down  upon  the  verdant  valley  of  the 
Darro,  the  streets  and  convents  of  the 
Albaycin,  and  command  a  prospect  of 
|  the  distant  Vega. 

I  might  go  on  to  describe  minutely  the 
other  delightful  apartments  of  this  side  of 
the  palace ;  the  Tocador,  or  toilet  of  the 
queen,  an  open  belvidere,  on  the  summit 
of  a  tower,  where  the  Moorish  sultanas 
enjoyed  the  pure  breezes  from  the  moun 
tain,  and  the  prospect  of  the  surrounding 
VOL.  ii.  35 


paradise ;  the  secluded  little  patio,  or 
garden  of  Lindaraxa,  with  its  alabaster 
fountain,  its  thickets  of  roses  and  myrtles, 
of  citrons  and  oranges  ;  the  cool  halls 
and  grottoes  of  the  baths,  where  the 
glare  and  heat  of  day  are  tempered  into 
a  soft  mysterious  light,  and  a  pervading 
freshness.  But  I  forbear  to  dwell  mi 
nutely  on  those  scenes ;  my  object  is 
merely  to  give  the  reader  a  general  in 
troduction  into  an  abode,  where,  if  so 
disposed,  he  may  linger  arid  loiter  with 
me  through  the  remainder  of  this  work, 
gradually  becoming  familiar  with  all  its 
localities. 

An  abundant  supply  of  water,  brought 
from  the  mountains  by  old  Moorish  aque 
ducts,  circulates  throughout  the  palace, 
supplying  its  baths  and  fishpools,  spark 
ling  in  jets  within  its  halls,  or  murmuring 
in  channels  along  the  marble  pavements. 
When  it  has  paid  its  tribute  to  the  royal 
pile,  and  visited  its  gardens  and  pastures, 
it  flows  down  the  long  avenue  leading  to 
the  city,  tinkling  in  rills,  gushing  in 
fountains,  and  maintaining  a  perpetual 
verdure  in  those  groves  that  embower 
and  beautify  the  whole  hill  of  the  Al 
hambra. 

Those  only  who  have  sojourned  in  the 
ardent  climates  of  the  South,  can  appre 
ciate  the  delights  of  an  abode,  combining 
the  breezy  coolness  of  the  mountain, 
with  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  the 
valley. 

While  the  city  below  pants  with  the 
noontide  heat,  and  the  parched  Vega 
trembles  to  the  eye,  the  delicate  airs 
from  the  Sierra  Nevada  play  through 
these  lofty  halls,  bringing  with  them  the 
sweetness  of  the  surrounding  gardens. 
Every  thing  invites  to  that  indolent 
repose,  the  bliss  of  southern  climes  ;  and 
while  the  half-shut  eye  looks  out  from 
shaded  balconies  upon  the  glittering  land 
scape,  the  ear  is  lulled  by  the  rustling  of 
groves,  and  the  murmur  of  running 
streams. 


THE  TOWER  OF  COMARES. 

THE  reader  has  had  a  sketch  of  the 
interior  of  the  Alhambra,  and  may  be 
desirous  of  a  general  idea  of  its  vicinity. 


410 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  morning  is  serene  and  lovely ;  the 
sun  has  not  gained  sufficient  power  to 
destroy  the  freshness  of  the  night ;  we 
will  mount  to  the  summit  of  the  Tower 
of  Comares,  and  take  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  Granada  and  its  environs. 

Come,  then,  worthy  reader  and  com 
rade,  follow  my  steps  into  this  vestibule, 
ornamented  with  rich  tracery,  which 
opens  to  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors.  We 
will  not  enter  the  hall,  however,  but  turn 
to  the  left,  to  this  small  door,  opening  in 
the  wall.  Have  a  care  !  here  are  steep 
winding  steps  and  but  scanty  light ;  yet 
up  this  narrow,  obscure,  and  winding 
staircase,  the  proud  monarchs  of  Gra 
nada  and  their  queens  have  often  as 
cended  to  the  battlements  of  the  tower, 
to  watch  the  approach  of  Christian 
armies ;  or  to  gaze  on  the  battles  in  the 
Vega.  At  length  we  are  on  the  terraced 
roof,  and  may  take  breath  for  a  moment, 
while  we  cast  a  general  eye  over  the 
splendid  panorama  of  city  and  country ; 
of  rocky  mountain,  verdant  valley,  and 
fertile  plain  ;  of  castle,  cathedral,  Moorish 
towers,  and  Gothic  domes,  crumbling 
ruins,  and  blooming  groves. 

Let  us  approach  the  battlements,  and 
cast  our  eyes  immediately  below.  See, 
on  this  side  we  have  the  whole  plan  of 
the  Alhambra  laid  open  to  us,  and  can 
look  down  into  its  courts  and  gardens. 
At  the  foot  of  the  tower  is  the  Court  of 
the  Alberca,  with  its  great  tank  or  fish- 
pool,  bordered  with  flowers  ;  and  yonder 
is  the  Court  of  Lions,  with  its  famous 
fountains,  and  its  light  Moorish  arcades ; 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  pile  is  the  little 
garden  of  Lindaraxa,  buried  in  the  heart 
of  the  building,  with  its  roses  and  citrons, 
and  shrubbery  of  emerald  green. 

That  belt  of  battlements,  studded  with 
square  towers,  straggling  round  the  whole 
brow  of  the  hill,  is  the  outer  boundary  of 
the  fortress.  Some  of  the  towers,  you 
may  perceive,  are  in  ruins,  and  their 
massive  fragments  are  buried  among 
vines,  fig-trees,  and  aloes. 

Let  us  look  on  this  northern  side  of 
the  tower.  It  is  a  giddy  height ;  the 
very  foundations  of  the  tower  rise  above 
the  groves  of  the  steep  hill-side.  And 
see  !  a  lon^  fissure  in  the  massive  walls, 
shows  that  the  tower  has  been  rent  by 
some  of  the  earthquakes,  which  from 


time  to  time  have  thrown  Granada  into 
consternation ;  and  which,  sooner  or 
later  must  reduce  this  crumbling  pile  to 
a  mere  mass  of  ruin.  The  deep  narrow 
glen  below  us,  which  gradually  widens  as 
it  opens  from  the  mountains,  is  the  valley 
of  the  Darro ;  you  see  the  little  river 
winding  its  way  under  embowered  ter 
races,  and  among  orchards  and  flower- 
gardens.  It  is  a  stream  famous  in  old 
times  for  yielding  gold,  and  its  sands  are 
still  sifted  occasionally,  in  search  of  the 
precious  ore.  Some  of  those  white  pa 
vilions,  which  here  and  there  gleam  from 
among  groves  and  vineyards,  were  rustic 
retreats  of  the  Moors,  to  enjoy  the  re 
freshment  of  their  gardens. 

The  airy  palace,  with  its  tall  white 
towers  and  long  arcades,  which  breasts 
yon  mountain,  among  pompous  groves 
and  hanging  gardens,  is  the  Generalife, 
a  summer  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings, 
to  which  they  resorted  during  the  sultry 
months,  to  enjoy  a  still  more  breezy 
region  than  that  of  the  Alhambra.  The 
naked  summit  of  the  height  above  it, 
where  you  behold  some  shapeless  ruins, 
is  the  Silla  del  Moro,  or  Seat  of  the 
Moor ;  so  called,  from  having  been  a 
retreat  of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  during 
the  time  of  an  insurrection,  where  he 
seated  himself,  and  looked  down  mourn 
fully  upon  his  rebellious  city. 

A  murmuring  sound  of  water  now  and 
then  rises  from  the  valley.  It  is  from 
the  aqueduct  of  yon  Moorish  mill,  nearly 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  avenue  of 
trees  beyond  is  the  Alameda,  along  the 
bank  of  the  Darro,  a  favourite  resort  in 
evenings,  and  a  rendezvous  of  lovers  in 
the  summer  nights,  when  the  guitar  may 
be  heard  at  a  late  hour  from  the  benches 
along  its  walks.  At  present  there  are 
but  a  few  loitering  monks  to  be  seen 
there,  and  a  group  of  water-carriers 
from  the  fountain  of  Avellanos. 

You  start !  'tis  nothing  but  a  hawk  that 
we  have  frightened  from  his  nest.  This 
old  tower  is  a  complete  breeding-place 
for  vagrant  birds;  the  swallow  and 
martlet  abound  in  every  chink  and  cran 
ny,  and  circle  about  it  the  whole  day 
long;  while  at  night,  when  all  other 
birds  have  gone  to  rest,  the  moping  owl 
comes  out  of  its  lurking-place,  and  utters 
its  boding  cry  from  the  battlements. 


•H 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


411 


See  how  the  hawk  we  have  dislodged 
sweeps  away  below  us,  skimming  over 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  sailing  up  to 
the  ruins  above  the  Generalife  ! 

Let  us  leave  this  side  of  the  tower, 
and  turn  our  eyes  to  the  west.  Here 
you  behold  in  the  distance,  a  range  of 
mountains  bounding  the  Vega,  the  an 
cient  barrier  between  Moslem  Granada 
and  the  land  of  the  Christians.  Among 
their  heights  you  may  still  discern  war 
rior  towns,  whose  gray  walls  and  battle 
ments  seem  of  a  piece  with  the  rocks  on 
which  they  are  built ;  while  here  and 
there  is  a  solitary  atalaya,  or  watch- 
tower,  mounted  on  some  lofty  point,  and 
looking  down,  as  it  were,  from  the  sky, 
into  the  valleys  on  either  side.  It  was 
down  the  defiles  of  these  mountains,  by 
the  pass  of  Lope,  that  the  Christian  ar 
mies  descended  into  the  Vega.  It  was 
round  the  base  of  yon  gray  and  naked 
mountain,  almost  insulated  from  the  rest, 
and  stretching  its  bold  rocky  promonto 
ry  into  the  bosom  of  the  plain,  that  the 
invading  squadrons  would  come  bursting 
into  view,  with  flaunting  banners,  and 
the  clangour  of  drums  and  trumpets. 
How  changed  is  the  scene  !  Instead  of 
the  glittering  line  of  mailed  warriors,  we 
behold  the  patient  train  of  the  toilful 
muleteer,  slowly  moving  along  the  skirts 
of  the  mountain.  Behind  that  promon 
tory  is  the  eventful  bridge  of  Pinos,  re 
nowned  for  many  a  bloody  strife  between 
Moors  and  Christians ;  but  still  more 
renowned  as  being  the  place  where  Co 
lumbus  was  overtaken  and  called  back 
by  the  messenger  of  Queen  Isabella,  just 
as  he  was  departing  in  despair,  to  carry 
his  project  of  discovery  to  the  court  of 
France. 

Behold  another  place  famous  in  the 
history  of  the  discoverer.  Yon  line  of 
walls  and  towers,  gleaming  in  the  morn 
ing  sun,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Vega, 
in  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  built  by  the 
catholic  sovereigns  during  the  siege  of 
Granada,  after  a  conflagration  had  de 
stroyed  their  camp.  It  was  to  these 
walls  that  Columbus  was  called  back  by 
the  heroic  queen ;  and  within  them  the 
treaty  was  concluded,  that  led  to  the 
discovery  of  the  western  world. 

Here,  towards  the  south,  the  eye  revels 
on  the  luxuriant  beauties  of  the  Vega ; 


a  blooming  wilderness  of  grove  and 
garden,  and  teeming  orchard,  with  the 
Xenil  winding  through  it  in  silver  links, 
and  feeding  innumerable  rills,  conducted 
through  ancient  Moorish  channels,  which 
maintain  the  landscape  in  perpetual  ver 
dure.  Here  are  the  beloved  bovvers  and 
gardens  and  rural  retreats,  for  which  the 
Moors  fought  with  such  desperate  va 
lour.  The  very  farm-houses  and  hovels 
which  are  now  inhabited  by  the  boors, 
retain  traces  of  arabesques  and  other 
tasteful  decorations,  which  show  them  to 
have  been  elegant  residences  in  the  days 
of  the  Moslems. 

Beyond  the  embowered  region  of  the 
Vega,  you  behold  to  the  south  a  line  of 
arid  hills,  down  which  a  long  train  of 
mules  is  slowly  moving.  It  was  from 
the  summit  of  one  of  those  hills  that  the 
unfortunate  Boabdil  cast  back  his  last 
look  upon  Granada,  and  gave  vent  to 
the  agony  of  his  soul.  It  is  the  spot 
famous  in  song  and  story,  "The  last 
sigh  of  the  Moor." 

Now  raise  your  eyes  to  the  snowy 
summit  of  yon  pile  of  mountains,  shi 
ning  like  a  white  summer  cloud  in  the 
blue  sky.  It  is  the  Sierra  Nevada,  the 
pride  and  delight  of  Granada;  the  source 
of  her  cooling  breezes  and  perpetual  ver 
dure,  of  her  gushing  fountains  and  pe 
rennial  streams.  It  is  this  glorious  pile 
of  mountains  that  gives  to  Granada  that 
combination  of  delights  so  rare  in  a 
southern  city ;  the  fresh  vegetation  and 
the  temperate  airs  of  a  northern  climate, 
with  the  vivifying  ardour  of  a  tropical 
sun,  and  the  cloudless  azure  of  a  southern 
sky.  It  is  this  aerial  treasure  of  snow, 
which,  melting  in  proportion  to  the  in 
crease  of  the  summer  heat,  sends  down 
rivulets  and  streams  through  every  glen 
and  gorge  of  the  Alpuxarras,  diffusing 
emerald  verdure  and  fertility  throughout 
a  chain  of  happy  and  sequestered  val 
leys. 

Those  mountains  may  well  be  called 
the  glory  of  Granada.  They  dominate 
the  whole  extent  of  Andalusia,  and  may 
be  seen  from  its  most  distant  parts.  The 
muleteer  hails  them,  as  he  views  their 
frosty  peaks  from  the  sultry  level  of  the 
plain ;  and  the  Spanish  mariner  on  the 
deck  of  his  bark,  far,  far  off  on  the  bo 
som  of  the  blue  Mediterranean,  watches 


412 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


them  with  a  pensive  eye,  thinks  of  de 
lightful  Granada,  and  chants,  in  low 
voice,  some  old  romance  about  the 
Moors. 

But  enough — the  sun  is  high  above 
the  mountains,  and  is  pouring  his  full 
fervour  upon  our  heads.  Already  the 
terraced  roof  of  the  tower  is  hot  beneath 
our  feet :  let  us  abandon  it,  and  descend 
and  refresh  ourselves  under  the  arcades 
by  the  Fountain  of  the  Lions. 


REFLECTIONS 

ON 

THE   MOSLEM   DOMINATION  IN 
SPAIN. 

ONE  of  my  favourite  resorts  is  the 
balcony  of  the  central  window  of  the 
Hall  of  Ambassadors,  in  the  lofty  tower 
of  Comares.  I  have  just  been  seated 
there,  enjoying  the  close  of  a  long  bril 
liant  day.  The  sun,  as  he  sank  behind 
the  purple  mountains  of  Albania,  sent  a 
stream  of  effulgence  up  the  valley  of  the 
Darro,  that  spread  a  melancholy  pomp 
over  the  ruddy  towers  of  the  Alhambra ; 
while  the  Vega,  covered  with  a  slight 
sultry  vapour  that  caught  the  setting 
ray,  seemed  spread  out  in  the  distance 
!  like  a  golden  sea.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
!  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  and 
I  though  the  faint  sound  of  music  and 
merriment  now  and  then  arose  from  the 
gardens  of  the  Darro,  it  but  rendered 
more  impressive  the  monumental  silence 
of  the  pile  which  overshadowed  me.  It 
was  one  of  those  hours  and  scenes  in 
which  memory  asserts  an  almost  magical 
power;  and,  like  the  evening  sun  beam 
ing  on  these  mouldering  towers,  sends 
back  her  retrospective  rays  to  light  up 
the  glories  of  the  past. 

As  I  sat  watching  the  effect  of  the 
declining  day-light  upon  this  Moorish 
pile,  •  I  was  led  into  a  consideration  of 
the  light,  elegant,  and  voluptuous  cha 
racter,  prevalent  throughout  its  internal 
architecture ;  and  to  contrast  it  with  the 
grand  but  gloomy  solemnity  of  the  gothic 
edifices,  reared  by  the  Spanish  conquer 
ors.  The  very  architecture  thus  bespeaks 
the  opposite  and  irreconcilable  natures  of 


the  two  warlike  people  who  so  long  bat 
tled  here  for  the  mastery  of  the  penin 
sula.  By  degrees,  I  fell  into  a  course  of 
musing  upon  the  singular  fortunes  of  the 
Arabian  or  Moresco-Spaniards,  whose 
whole  existence  is  as  a  tale  that  is  told, 
and  certainly  forms  one  of  the  most 
anomalous,  yet  splendid  episodes  in  his 
tory.  Potent  and  durable  as  was  their 
dominion,  we  scarcely  know  how  to  call 
them.  They  are  a  nation,  as  it  were, 
without  a  legitimate  country  or  a  name. 
A  remote  wave  of  the  great  Arabian 
inundation,  cast  upon  the  shores  of  Eu 
rope,  they  seemed  to  have  all  the  im 
petus  of  the  first  rush  of  the  torrent. 
Their  career  of  conquest,  from  the  rock 
o:"  Gibraltar  to  the  cliffs  of  the  Pyrenees, 
was  as  rapid  and  brilliant  as  the  Moslem 
victories  of  Syria  and  Egypt.  Nay,  had 
they  not  been  checked  on  the  plains  of 
Tours,  all  France,  all  Europe,  might 
have  been  overrun  with  the  same  facility 
as  the  empires  of  the  East,  and  the  cres 
cent  might  at  this  day  have  glittered  on 
the  fanes  of  Paris  and  of  London. 

Repelled  within  the  limits  of  the  Py 
renees,  the  mixed  hordes  of  Asia  and 
Africa,  that  formed  this  great  eruption, 
gave  up  the  Moslem  principle  of  con 
quest,  and  sought  to  establish  in  Spain  a 
peaceful  and  permanent  dominion.  As 
conquerors,  their  heroism  was  only 
equalled  by  their  moderation;  and  in 
both,  for  a  time,  they  excelled  the  na 
tions  with  whom  they  contended.  Se 
vered  from  their  native  homes,  they 
loved  the  land  given  them  as  they  sup 
posed  by  Allah,  and  strove  to  embellish 
it  with  every  thing  that  could  administer 
to  the  happiness  of  man.  Laying  the 
foundations  of  their  power  in  a  system 
of  wise  and  equitable  laws,  diligently 
cultivating  the  arts  and  sciences,  and 
promoting  agriculture,  manufactures,  and 
commerce,  they  gradually  formed  an 
empire  unrivalled  for  its  prosperity  by 
any  of  the  empires  of  Christendom ;  and 
diligently  drawing  round  them  the 
graces  and  refinements  that  marked  the 
Arabian  empire  in  the  East,  at  the  time 
of  its  greatest  civilisation,  they  diffused 
the  light  of  Oriental  knowledge  through 
the  Western  regions  of  benighted  Europe. 

The  cities  of  Arabian  Spain  became 
the  resort  of  Christian  artisans,  to  in- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


413 


struct  themselves  in  the  useful  arts.  The 
Universities  of  Toledo,  Cordova,  Seville, 
and  Granada,  were  sought  by  the  pale 
student  from  other  lands,  to  acquaint 
himself  with  the  sciences  of  the  Arabs, 
and  the  treasured  lore  of  antiquity ;  the 
lovers  of  the  gay  sciences  resorted  to 
Cordova  and  Granada,  to  imbibe  the 
poetry  and  music  of  the  East ;  and  the 
steel-clad  warriors  of  the  north  hastened 
thither  to  accomplish  themselves  in  the 
graceful  exercises  and  courteous  usages 
of  chivalry. 

If  the  Moslem  monuments  in  Spain,  if 
the  mosque  of  Cordova,  the  alcazar  of 
Seville,  and  the  Alhambra  of  Granada, 
still  bear  inscriptions  fondly  boasting  of 
the  power  and  permanency  of  their  do 
mination,  can  the  boast  be  derided  as 
arrogant  and  vain  1  Generation  after 
generation,  century  after  century,  had 
passed  away,  and  still  they  maintained 
possession  of  the  land.  A  period  had 
elapsed  longer  than  that  which  has  pass 
ed  since  England  was  subjugated  by  the 
Norman  Conqueror,  and  the  descendants 
of  Musa  and  Taric  might  as  little  anti 
cipate  being  driven  into  exile  across  the 
same  straits,  traversed  by  their  trium 
phant  ancestors,  as  the  descendants  of 
Rollo  and  William,  and  their  veteran 
peers,  may  dream  of  being  driven  back 
to  the  shores  of  Normandy. 

With  all  this,  however,  the  Moslem 
empire  in  Spain  was  but  a  brilliant  ex 
otic,  that  took  no  permanent  root  in  the 
soil  it  embellished.  Severed  from  all 
their  neighbours  in  the  West,  by  impas 
sable  barriers  of  faith  and  manners,  and 
separated  by  seas  and  deserts  from  their 
kindred  of  the  East,  they  were  an  iso 
lated  people.  Their  whole  existence  was 
a  prolonged,  though  gallant  and  chival- 
ric  struggle,  for  a  foothold  in  a  usurped 
land. 

They  were  the  outposts  and  frontiers 
of  Islamism.  The  peninsula  was  the 
great  battle-ground  where  the  Gothic 
conquerors  of  the  North,  and  the  Moslem 
conquerors  of  the  East,  met  and  strove 
for  mastery ;  and  the  fiery  courage  of 
the  Arab  was  at  length  subdued  by  the 
obstinate  and  persevering  valour  of  the 
Goth. 

Never  was  the  annihilation  of  a  people 
more  complete  than  that  of  the  Moresco- 


Spaniards.  Where  are  they  ?  Ask  the 
shores  of  Barbary  and  its  desert  places. 
The  exiled  remnant  of  their  once  power 
ful  empire  disappeared  among  the  bar 
barians  of  Africa,  and  ceased  to  be  a 
nation.  They  have  not  even  left  a  dis 
tinct  name  behind  them,  though  for 
nearly  eight  centuries  they  were  a  dis 
tinct  people.  The  home  of  their  adop 
tion  and  of  their  occupation  for  ages, 
refuses  to  acknowledge  them,  except  as 
invaders  and  usurpers.  A  few  broken 
monuments  are  all  that  remain  to  bear 
witness  to  their  power  and  dominion,  as 
solitary  rocks  left  far  in  the  interior, 
bear  testimony  to  the  extent  of  some  vast 
inundation.  Such  is  the  Alhambra.  A 
Moslem  pile,  in  the  midst  of  a  Christian 
land ;  an  Oriental  palace  amidst  the 
Gothic  edifices  of  the  West ;  an  elegant 
memento  of  a  brave,  intelligent,  and 
graceful  people,  who  conquered,  ruled,  j 
and  passed  away. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

IT  is  time  that  I  give  some  idea  of  my 
domestic  arrangements  in  this  singular 
residence.  The  Royal  Palace  of  the  Al 
hambra  is  entrusted  to  the  care  of  a 
good  old  maiden  dame,  called  Dona  An- 
tonia  Molina ;  but  who,  according  to 
Spanish  custom,  £oes  by  the  more  neigh 
bourly  appellation  of  Tia  Antonia  (Aunt 
Antonia).  She  maintains  the  Moorish 
halls  and  gardens  in  order,  and  shows 
them  to  strangers ;  in  consideration  of 
which  she  is  allowed  all  the  perquisites 
received  from  visiters,  and  all  the  pro 
duce  of  the  gardens,  excepting,  that  she 
is  expected  to  pay  an  occasional  tribute 
of  fruits  and  flowers  to  the  governor. 
Her  residence  is  in  a  corner  of  the 
palace ;  and  ker  family  consists  of  a 
nephew  and  niece,  the  children  of  two 
different  brothers.  The  nephew,  Manuel 
Molina,  is  a  young  man  of  sterling  worth, 
and  Spanish  gravity.  He  has  served  in 
the  armies  both  in  Spain  and  the  West 
Indies ;  but  is  now  studying  medicine,  in 
hopes  of  one  day  or  other  becoming 
physician  to  the  fortress,  a  post  worth  at 
least  a  hundred  and  forty  dollars  a-year. 
As  to  the  niece,  she  is  a  plump  little 

35* 


414 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


black-eyed   Andalusian    damsel,   named  j 
Dolores ;  but  who,  from  her  bright  looks  j 
and  cheerful  disposition,  merits  a  merrier  j 
name.     She  is  the  declared  heiress  of  all  | 
her  aunt's  possessions,  consisting  of  cer 
tain   ruinous  tenements  in   the  fortress, 
yielding  a  revenue  of  about  one  hundred  j 
and  fifty  dollars.     I  had  not  been  long 
in   the   Alhambra,   before   I    discovered 
that  a  quiet  courtship  was  going  on   be-  j 
tween    the    discreet    Manuel     and     his 
bright-eyed  cousin,  and  that  nothing  was 
wanting   to   enable  them    to    join   their 
hands    and    expectations,    but    that    he 
should  receive  his  doctor's  diploma,  and 
purchase  a  dispensation  from  the  Pope, 
on  account  of  their  consanguinity. 

With  the  good  dame  Antonia  I  have 
made  a  treaty,  according  to  which,  she 
furnishes  me  with  board  and  lodging ; 
while  the  merry-hearted  little  Dolores 
keeps  my  apartment  in  order,  and  offi 
ciates  as  handmaid  at  meal-times.  I 
have  also  at  mv  command  a  tall,  stut 
tering,  yellow-haired  lad,  named  Pepe, 
who  works  in  the  gardens,  and  would 
fain  have  acted  as  valet ;  but,  in  this,  he 
was  forestalled  by  Mateo  Ximenes,  "  the 
son  of  the  Alhambra  !"  This  alert  and 
officious  wight  has  managed,  somehow 
or  other,  to  stick  by  me  ever  since  I  first 
encountered  him  at  the  outer  gate  of  the 
fortress,  and  to  weave  himself  into  all 
my  plans,  until  he  has  fairly  appointed 
and  installed  himself  my  valet,  cicerone, 
guide,  guard,  and  historiographic  squire  ; 
and  I  have  been  obliged  to  improve  the 
state  of  his  wardrobe,  that  he  may  not 
disgrace  his  various  functions ;  so  that 
he  has  cast  his  old  brown  mantle,  as  a 
snake  does  his  skin,  and  now  appears 
about  the  fortress  with  a  smart  Andalu 
sian  hat  and  jacket,  to  his  infinite  satis 
faction,  and  the  great  astonishment  of 
his  comrades.  The  chief  fault  of  honest 
Mateo  is  an  over-anxiety  to  be  useful. 
Conscious  of  having  foisted  himself  into 
my  employ,  and  that  my  simple  and 
quiet  habits  render  his  situation  a  sine 
cure,  he  is  at  his  wits'  end  to  devise 
modes  of  making  himself  important  to 
rny  welfare.  I  am,  in  a  manner,  the 
victim  of  his  officiousness;  I  cannot  put 
my  foot  over  the  threshold  of  the  palace, 
to  stroll  about  the  fortress,  but  he  is  at 
my  elbow,  to  explain  every  thing  I  see  ; 


and  if  I  venture  to  ramble  among  the 
surrounding  hills,  he  insists  upon  attend 
ing  me  as  a  guard,  though  1  vehemently 
suspect  he  would  be  more  apt  to  trust  to 
the  length  of  his  legs  than  the  strength 
of  his  arms,  in  case  of  an  attack.  After 
all,  however,  the  poor  fellow  is  at  times 
an  amusing  companion ;  he  is  simple- 
minded,  and  of  infinite  good  humour, 
with  the  loquacity  and  gossip  of  a  vil 
lage  barber,  and  knows  all  the  small- 
talk  of  the  place  and  its  environs ;  but 
what  he  chiefly  values  himself  on,  is  his 
stock  of  local  information,  having  the 
most  marvellous  stories  to  relate,  of 
every  tower,  and  vault,  and  gateway  of 
the  fortress,  in  all  of  which  he  places  the 
most  implicit  faith. 

Most  of  these  he  has  derived,  accord 
ing  to  his  own  account,  from  his  grand 
father,  a  little  legendary  tailor,  who 
lived  to  the  age  of  nearly  a  hundred 
years,  during  which  he  made  but  two 
migrations  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
fortress.  His  shop,  for  the  greater  part 
of  a  century,  was  the  resort  of  a  knot  of 
venerable  gossips,  where  they  would 
pass  half  the  night  talking  about  old 
times,  and  the  wonderful  events  and  hid 
den  secrets  of  the  place.  The  whole 
living,  moving,  thinking,  and  acting,  of 
this  historical  little  tailor,  had  thus  been 
bounded  by  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra ; 
within  them  he  had  been  born,  within 
them  he  lived,  breathed,  and  had  his 
being;  within  them  he  died,  and  was 
buried.  Fortunately  for  posterity,  his 
traditionary  lore  died  not  with  him. 
The  authentic  Mateo,  when  an  urchin, 
used  to  be  an  attentive  listener  to  the 
narratives  of  his  grandfather,  and  of  the 
gossip  group  assembled  round  the  shop- 
board  ;  and  is  thus  possessed  of  a  stock 
of  valuable  knowledge  concerning  the 
Alhambra,  not  to  be  found  in  the  books, 
and  well  worthy  the  attention  of  every 
curious  traveller. 

Such  are  the  personages  that  contri 
bute  to  my  domestic  comforts  in  the 
Alhambra ;  and  I  question  whether  any 
of  the  potentates,  Moslem  or  Christian, 
who  have  preceded  me  in  the  palace, 
have  been  waited  upon  with  greater 
fidelity,  or  enjoyed  a  serener  sway. 

When  I  rise  in  the  morning,  Pepe,  the 
stuttering  lad  from  the  gardens,  brings 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


415 


me  a  tribute  of  fresh-culled  flowers, 
which  are  afterwards  arranged  in  vases, 
by  the  skilful  hand  of  Dolores,  who 
takes  a  female  pride  in  the  decorations 
of  my  chamber.  My  meals  are  made 
wherever  caprice  dictates  ;  sometimes  in 
one  of  the  Moorish  halls,  sometimes 
under  the  arcades  of  the  Court  of  Lions, 
surrounded  by  flowers  and  fountains : 
and  when  I  walk  out,  I  am  conducted  by 
the  assiduous  Mateo,  to  the  most  roman 
tic  retreats  of  the  mountains,  and  deli 
cious  haunts  of  the  adjacent  valleys,  not 
one  of  which  but  is  the  scene  of  some 
wonderful  tale. 

Though  fond  of  passing  the  greater 
part  of  my  day  alone,  yet  I  occasionally 
repair  in  the  evenings  to  the  little  do 
mestic  circle  of  Dona  Antonia.  This 
is  generally  held  in  an  old  Moorish 
chamber,  that  serves  for  kitchen  as 
well  as  hall,  a  rude  fireplace  having 
been  made  in  one  corner,  the  smoke 
from  which  has  discoloured  the  walls, 
and  almost  obliterated  the  ancient  ara 
besques.  A  window,  with  a  balcony  over 
hanging  the  valley  of  the  Darro,  lets  in 
the  cool  evening  breeze ;  and  here  I 
take  my  frugal  supper  of  fruit  and  milk, 
and  mingle  with  the  conversation  of  the 
family.  There  is  a  natural  talent  or 
mother  wit,  as  it  is  called,  about  the 
Spaniards,  which  renders  them  intellec 
tual  and  agreeable  companions,  what 
ever  may  be  their  condition  in  life,  or 
however  imperfect  may  have  been  their 
education  :  add  to  this,  they  are  never 
vulgar ;  nature  has  endowed  them  with 
an  inherent  dignity  of  spirit.  The  good 
Tia  Antonia  is  a  woman  of  strong  and 
intelligent,  though  uncultivated  mind ; 
and  the  bright-eyed  Dolores,  though  she 
has  read  but  three  or  four  books  in  the 
whole  course  of  her  life,  has  an  engaging 
mixture  of  na'tvete  and  good  sense,  and 
often  surprises  me  by  the  pungency 
of  her  artless  sallies.  Sometimes  the 
nephew  entertains  us  by  reading  some 
old  comedy  of  Calderon  or  Lope  de 
Vega,  to  which  he  is  evidently  prompted 
by  a  desire  to  improve,  as  well  as  to 
amuse  his  cousin  Dolores ;  though,  to 
his  great  mortification,  the  little  damsel 
generally  falls  asleep  before  the  first 
act  is  completed.  Sometimes  Tia  An 
tonia  has  a  little  levee  of  humble  friends 


and  dependents,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
adjacent  hamlet,  or  the  wives  of  the  in 
valid  soldiers.  These  look  up  to  her 
with  great  deference,  as  the  custodian 
of  the  palace,  and  pay  their  court  to  her 
by  bringing  the  news  of  the  place,  or 
the  rumours  that  may  have  straggled  up 
from  Granada.  In  listening  to  these  eve 
ning  gossipings  I  have  picked  up  many 
curious  facts,  illustrative  of  the  manners 
of  the  people  and  the  peculiarities  of  the 
neighbourhood.  These  are  simple  de 
tails  of  simple  pleasures  ;  it  is  the  nature 
of  the  place  alone  that  gives  them  in 
terest  and  importance.  I  tread  haunted 
ground,  and  am  surrounded  by  romantic 
associations.  From  earliest  boyhood, 
when,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  I 
first  pored  over  the  pages  of  an  old 
Spanish  story  about  the  wars  of  Gra 
nada,  that  city  has  ever  been  a  subject 
of  my  waking  dreams ;  and  often  have  I 
trod  in  fancy  the  romantic  halls  of  the 
Alhambra.  Behold  for  once  a  day 
dream  realized;  yet  I  can  scarce  credit 
my  senses,  or  believe  that  I  do  indeed 
inhabit  the  palace  of  Boabdil,  and  look 
down  from  its  balconies  upon  chivalric 
Granada.  As  I  loiter  through  these 
oriental  chambers,  and  hear  the  mur 
mur  of  fountains  and  the  song  of  the 
nightingale ;  as  I  inhale  the  odour  of  the 
rose,  and  feel  the  influence  of  the  balmy 
climate,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  fancy 
myself  in  the  paradise  of  Mahomet,  and 
that  the  plump  little  Dolores  is  one  of 
the  bright-eyed  houris,  destined  to  ad 
minister  to  the  happiness  of  true  be 
lievers. 


THE  TRUANT. 

SINCE  noting  the  foregoing  pages,  we 
have  had  a  scene  of  petty  tribulation  in 
the  Alhambra,  which  has  thrown  a  cloud 
over  the  sunny  countenance  of  Dolores. 
This  little  damsel  has  a  female  passion 
for  pets  of  all  kinds,  and  from  the  su 
perabundant  kindness  of  her  disposition, 
one  of  the  ruined  courts  of  the  Alham 
bra  is  thronged  with  her  favourites.  A 
stately  peacock  and  his  hen  seem  to  hold 
regal  sway  here,  over  pompous  turkeys, 


416 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


querulous  guinea-fowls,  and  a  rabble  rout 
of  common  cocks  and  hens.  The  great 
delight  of  Dolores,  however,  has  for 
some  time  been  centered  in  a  youthful  | 
pair  of  pigeons,  who  have  lately  entered 
into  the  holy  state  of  wedlock,  and  who 
have  even  supplanted  a  tortoise-shell  cat 
and  kittens  in  her  affections. 

As  a  tenement  for  them  wherein  to 
commence  housekeeping,  she  had  fitted 
up  a  small  chamber  adjacent  to  the 
kitchen,  the  window  of  which  looked  into 
one  of  the  quiet  Moorish  courts.  Here 
they  lived  in  happy  ignorance  of  any 
world  beyond  the  court  and  its  sunny 
roofs.  Never  had  they  aspired  to  soar 
above  the  battlements,  or  to  mount  to  the 
summit  of  the  towers.  Their  virtuous 
union  was  at  length  crowned  by  two 
spotless  and  milk-white  eggs,  to  the 
great  joy  of  their  cherishing  little  mis 
tress.  Nothing  could  be  more  praise 
worthy  than  the  conduct  of  the  young 
married  folks  on  this  interesting  occa 
sion.  They  took  turns  to  sit  upon  the 
nest  until  the  eggs  were  hatched,  and 
while  their  callow  progeny  required 
warmth  and  shelter ;  while  one  thus 
stayed  at  home,  the  other  foraged  abroad 
for  food,  and  brought  home  abundant 
supplies. 

This  scene  of  conjugal  felicity  has 
suddenly  met  with  a  reverse.  Early  this 
morning,  as  Dolores  was  feeding  the 
male  pigeon,  she  took  a  fancy  to  give 
him  a  peep  at  the  great  world.  Opening 
a  window,  therefore,  which  looks  down 
upon  the  valley  of  the  Darro,  she 
launched  him  at  once  beyond  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra.  For  the  first  time  of 
his  life  the  astonished  bird  had  to  try  the 
full  vigour  of  his  wings.  He  swept  down 
into  the  valley,  and  then  rising  upwards 
with  a  surge,  soared  almost  to  the 
clouds.  Never  before  had  he  risen  to 
such  a  height,  or  experienced  such  de 
light  in  flying;  and,  like  a  young  spend 
thrift  just  come  to  his  estate,  he  seemed 
giddy  with  excess  of  liberty,  and  with 
the  boundless  field  of  action  suddenly 
opened  to  him.  For  the  whole  day  he 
has  been  circling  about  in  capricious 
flights,  from  tower  to  tower,  from  tree  to 
tree.  Every  attempt  has  been  vain  to 
lure  him  back  by  scattering  grain  upon 
the  roofs;  he  seems  to  have  lost  all 


thought  of  home,  of  his  tender  helpmate 
and  his  callow  young.  To  add  to  the 
anxiety  of  Dolores,  he  has  been  joined 
by  two  palomas  ladrones,  or  robber 
pigeons,  whose  instinct  it  is  to  entice 
wandering  pigeons  to  their  own  dove 
cotes.  The  fugitive,  like  many  other 
thoughtless  youths  on  their  first  launch 
ing  upon  the  world,  seems  quite  fasci 
nated  with  these  knowing,  but  graceless 
companions,  who  have  undertaken  to 
show  him  life,  and  introduce  him  to 
society.  He  has  been  soaring  with  them 
over  all  the  roofs  and  steeples  of  Gra 
nada.  A  thunderstorm  has  passed  over 
the  city,  but  he  has  not  sought  his 
home ;  night  has  closed  in,  and  still  he 
comes  not.  To  deepen  the  pathos  of  the 
affair,  the  female  pigeon,  after  remaining 
several  hours  on  the  nest,  without  being 
relieved,  at  length  went  forth  to  seek  her 
recreant  mate ;  but  stayed  away  so  long 
that  the  young  ones  perished  for  want  of 
the  warmth  and  shelter  of  the  parent 
bosom.  At  a  late  hour  in  the  evening, 
word  was  brought  to  Dolores,  that  the 
truant  bird  had  been  seen  upon  the 
towers  of  the  Generalife.  Now  it  hap 
pens  that  the  administrador  of  that 
ancient  palace  has  likewise  a  dovecote, 
among  the  inmates  of  which  are  said  to 
be  two  or  three  of  these  inveigling  birds, 
the  terror  of  all  neighbouring  pigeon- 
fanciers.  Dolores  immediately  conclu 
ded,  that  the  two  feathered  sharpers  who 
had  been  seen  with  her  fugitive,  were 
these  bloods  of  the  Generalife.  A  council 
of  war  was  forthwith  held  in  the  cham 
ber  of  Tia  Antonia.  The  Generalife  is 
a  distinct  jurisdiction  from  the  Alham 
bra,  and  of  course  some  punctilio,  if  not 
jealousy,  exists  between  their  custodians. 
It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  send 
Pepe,  the  stuttering  lad  of  the  gardens, 
as  ambassador  to  the  administrador,  re 
questing,  that  if  such  fugitive  should  be 
found  in  his  dominions,  he  might  be 
given  up  as  a  subject  of  the  Alhambra. 
Pepe  departed  accordingly,  on  his  diplo 
matic  expedition,  through  the  moonlight 
groves  and  avenues,  but  returned  in  an 
hour  with  the  afflicting  intelligence  that 
no  such  bird  was  to  be  found  in  the  dove 
cote  of  the  Generalife.  The  adminis 
trador,  however,  pledged  his  sovereign 
word  that  if  such  vagrant  should  appear 


THE  ALHAMJBRA. 


417 


there,  even  at  midnight,  he  should  in 
stantly  be  arrested,  and  sent  back  priso 
ner  to  h\3  little  black-eyed  mistress. 

Thus  stands  the  melancholy  affair, 
which  has  occasioned  much  distress 
throughout  the  palace,  and  has  sent  the 
inconsolable  Dolores  to  a  sleepless  pil 
low. 

"  Sorrow  endureth  for  a  night,"  says 
the  proverb,  "  but  joy  cometh  in  the 
morning."  The  first  object 'that  met  my 
eyes,  on  leaving  my  room  this  morning, 
was  Dolores,  with  the  truant  pigeon  in 
her  hands,  and  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
joy.  He  had  appeared  at  an  early  hour 
on  the  battlements,  hovering  shyly  about 
from  roof  to  roof,  but  at  length  entered 
the  window,  and  surrendered  himself 
prisoner.  He  gained  little  credit,  how 
ever,  by  his  return ;  for  the  ravenous 
manner  in  which  he  devoured  the  food 
set  before  him.  showed  that,  like  the 
prodigal  son,  he  had  been  driven  home 
by  sheer  famine.  Dolores  upbraided  him 
for  his  faithless  conduct,  calling  him  all 
manner  of  vagrant  names  (though,  wo 
man  like,  she  fondled  him  at  the  same 
time  to  her  bosom,  and  covered  him 
with  kisses.)  I  observed,  however,  that 
she  had  taken  care  to  clip  his  wings  to 
prevent  all  future  soaring;  a  precaution, 
which  I  mention  for  the  benefit  of  all 
those  who  have  truant  lovers  or  wander 
ing  husbands.  More  than  one  valuable 
moral  might  be  drawn  from  the  story  of 
Dolores  and  her  pigeon. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  CHAMBER. 

ON  taking  up  my  abode  in  the  Alham- 
bra,  one  end  of  a  suite  of  empty  cham 
bers  of  modern  architecture,  intended  for 
the  residence  of  the  governor,  was  fitted 
up  for  my  reception.  It  was  in  front  of 
the  palace,  looking  forth  upon  the  espla 
nade;  the  further  end  communicated  with 
a  cluster  of  little  chambers,  partly  Moor 
ish,  partly  modern,  inhabited  by  Tia  An- 
tonia  and  her  family;  these  terminated  in 
a  large  room,  which  serves  the  good  old 
dame  for  parlour,  kitchen,  and  hall  of  au 
dience.  It  had  boasted  of  some  splendour 
in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  but  a  fireplace 


had  been  built  in  one  corner,  the  smoke 
from  which  had  discoloured  the  walls, 
nearly  obliterated  the  ornaments,  and 
spread  a  sombre  tint  on  the  whole. 
From  these  gloomy  apartments,  a  nar 
row  blind  corridor  and  a  dark  winding 
staircase,  led  down  an  angle  of  the 
tower  of  Comares,  groping  along  which, 
and  opening  a  small  door  at  the  bottom, 
you  were  suddenly  dazzled  by  emerging 
into  the  brilliant  antechamber  of  the 
Hall  of  Ambassadors,  with  the  fountain 
of  the  court  of  the  Alberca  sparkling  be 
fore  you. 

I  was  dissatisfied  with  being  lodged  in 
a  modern  and  frontier  apartment  of  the 
palace,  and .  longed  to  ensconce  my 
self  in  the  very  heart  of  the  building. 
As  I  was  rambling  one  day  about  the 
Moorish  halls,  I  found,  in  a  remote  gal 
lery,  a  door  which  I  had  not  before  no 
ticed,  communicating  apparently  with  an 
extensive  apartment,  locked  up  from  the 
public.  Here  then  was  a  mystery  ;  here 
was  the  haunted  wing  of  the  castle.  I 
procured  the  key,  however,  without  diffi 
culty  ;  the  door  opened  to  a  range  of  va 
cant  chambers  of  European  architecture, 
though  built  over  a  Moorish  arcade, 
along  the  little  garden  of  Liridaraxa. 
There  were  two  lofty  rooms,  the  ceilings 
of  which  were  of  deep  panel  work  of 
cedar,  richly  and  skilfully  carved  with 
fruits  and  flowers,  intermingled  with 
grotesque  masks  or  laces,  but  broken  in 
many  places.  The  walls  had  evidently, 
in  ancient  times,  been  hung  with  da 
mask,  but  were  now  naked,  and  scrawled 
over  with  the  insignificant  names  of  as 
piring  travellers ;  the  windows,  which 
were  dismantled  and  open  to  wind  and 
weather,  looked  into  the  garden  of  Lin- 
daraxa,  and  the  orange  and  citron  trees 
flung  their  branches  into  the  chamber. 
Beyond  these  rooms  were  two  saloons, 
less  lofty,  looking  also  into  the  garden. 
In  the  compartments  of  the  panelled 
ceilings,  were  baskets  of  fruit  and  gar 
lands  of  flowers,  painted  by  no  mean 
hand,  and  in  tolerable  preservation. 
The  walls  had  also  been  painted  in  fresco 
in  the  Italian  style,  but  the  paintings 
were  nearly  obliterated ;  the  windows 
were  in  the  same  shattered  state  as  in 
the  other  chambers.  This  fanciful  suite 
of  rooms  terminated  in  an  open  gallery 


418 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


with  balustrades,  which  ran  at  right  an 
gles  and  along  another  side  of  the  gar 
den.  The  whole  apartment  had  a  deli 
cacy  and  elegance  in  its  decorations, 
and  there  was  something  so  choice  and 
sequestered  in  its  situation,  along  this 
retired  little  garden,  that  it  awakened  an 
interest  in  its  history.  I  found  on  in 
quiry,  that  it  was  an  apartment  fitted  up 
by  Italian  artists  in  the  early  part  of  the 
last  century,  at  the  time  when  Philip  V. 
and  the  beautiful  Elizabeth  of  Parma 
were  expected  at  the  Alhambra ;  and 
was  destined  for  the  queen  and  the  ladies 
of  her  train.  One  of  the  loftiest  cham 
bers  had  been  her  sleeping-room  ;  and  a 
narrow  staircase  leading  from  it,  though 
now  walled  up,  opened  to  the  delightful 
belvidere,  originally  a  mirador  of  the 
Moorish  sultanas,  but  fitted  up  as  a  bou 
doir  for  the  fair  Elizabeth,  and  which 
still  retains  the  name  of  the  tocador,  or 
toilette,  of  the  queen.  The  sleeping- 
room  I  have  mentioned,  commanded 
from  one  window  a  prospect  of  the  Ge- 
neralife  and  its  embowered  terraces : 
under  another  window  played  the  ala 
baster  fountain  of  the  garden  of  Linda- 
raxa.  That  garden  carried  my  thoughts 
still  further  back  to  the  period  of  another 
reign  of  beauty:  to  the  days  of  the 
Moorish  sultans. 

*'  How  beauteous  is  this  garden !" 
says  an  Arabic  inscription,  "  where  the 
flowers  of  the  earth  vie  with  the  stars  of 
heaven!  What  can  compare  with  the 
vase  of  yon  alabaster  fountain  filled  with 
crystal  water  1  Nothing  but  the  moon 
in  her  fulness,  shining  in  the  midst  of  an 
unclouded  sky  !" 

Centuries  had  elapsed,  yet  how  much 
of  this  scene  of  apparently  fragile  beauty 
remained.  The  garden  of  Lindaraxa 
was  still  adorned  with  flowers ;  the  foun 
tain  still  presented  its  crystal  mirror; 
it  is  true,  the  alabaster  had  lost  its  white 
ness,  and  the  basin  beneath,  overrun 
with  weeds,  had  become  the  nestling- 
place  of  the  lizard ;  but  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  very  decay,  that  enhanced 
the  interest  of  the  scene,  speaking  as  it 
did,  of  that  mutability  which  is  the  irre 
vocable  lot  of  man  and  all  his  works, 
The  desolation  too  of  these  chambers, 
once  the  abode  of  the  proud  and  elegant 
Elizabetta,  had  a  more  touching  charm 


for  me,  than  if  I  had  beheld  them  in  their 
pristine    splendour,    glittering   with    the 
pageantry  of  a  court.     I  determined  at 
once   to   take   up   my    quarters    in   this  • 
apartment. 

My  determination  excited  great  sur 
prise  in  the  family,  who  could  not  ima 
gine  any  rational  inducement  for  the 
choice  of  so  solitary,  remote,  and  forlorn 
an  apartment.  The  good  Tia  Antonia 
considered  it  highly  dangerous ;  the 
neighbourhood,  she  said,  was  infested  by 
vagrants ;  the  caverns  of  the  adjacent 
hills  swarmed  with  gipsies ;  the  palace 
was  ruinous,  and  easy  to  be  entered  in 
many  parts ;  and  the  rumour  of  a  stran 
ger  quartered  alone  in  one  of  the  ruined 
apartments,  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  rest 
of  the  inhabitants,  might  tempt  unwel 
come  visiters  in  the  night,  especially  as 
foreigners  are  always  supposed  to  be 
well  stocked  with  money.  Dolores  re 
presented  the  frightful  loneliness  of  the 
place,  nothing  but  bats  and  owls  flitting 
about ;  then  there  were  a  fox  and  a  wild 
cat  that  kept  about  the  vaults  and  roam 
ed  about  at  night. 

I  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  my 
humour ;  so  calling  in  the  assistance  of 
a  carpenter,  and  the  ever  officious  Mateo 
Ximenes,  the  doors  and  windows  were 
soon  placed  in  a  state  of  tolerable  secu 
rity.  With  all  these  precautions,  I  must 
confess,  the  first  night  I  passed  in  these 
quarters  was  inexpressibly  dreary.  I 
was  escorted  by  the  whole  family  to  my 
chamber,  and  their  taking  leave  of  me, 
and  returning  along  the  waste  ante 
chambers  and  echoing  galleries,  remind 
ed  me  of  those  hobgoblin  stories  where 
the  hero  is  left  to  accomplish  the  adven 
ture  of  an  enchanted  house, 

Even  the  thoughts  of  the  fair  Eliza 
betta,  and  the  beauties  of  her  court,  who 
had  once  graced  these  chambers,  now, 
by  a  perversion  of  fancy,  added  to  the 
gloom.  Here  was  the  scene  of  their 
transient  gayety  and  loveliness ;  here 
were  the  very  traces  of  their  elegance 
and  enjoyment ;  but  what  and  where 
were  they  ? — Dust  and  ashes  !  tenants  of 
the  tomb  !  phantoms  of  the  memory  ! 

A  vague  and  indescribable  awe  was 
creeping  over  me.  I  would  fain  have 
ascribed  it  to  the  thoughts  of  robbers 
awakened  by  the  evening's  conversation, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


419 


but  I  felt  that  it  was  something  more  un 
real  and  absurd.  In  a  word,  the  long- 
buried  impressions  of  the  nursery  were 
reviving,  and  asserting  their  power  over 
my  imagination.  Every  thing  began  to 
be  affected  by  the  working  of  my  mind. 
The  whispering  of  the  wind  among  the 
citron  trees  beneath  my  window,  had 
something  sinister.  I  cast  my  eyes  into 
the  garden  of  Lindaraxa ;  the  groves 
presented  a  gulf  of  shadows ;  the  thick 
ets,  indistinct  and  ghastly  shapes.  I  was 
glad  to  close  the  window,  but  my  cham 
ber  itself  became  infected.  A  bat  had 
found  its  way  in,  and  flitted  about  my 
head  and  athwart  my  solitary  lamp ; 
the  grotesque  faces  carved  in  the  cedar 
ceiling  seemed  to  mope  and  mow  at  me. 

Rousing  myself,  and  half  smiling  at 
this  temporary  weakness,  I  resolved  to 
brave  it,  and,  taking  lamp  in  hand,  sal 
lied  forth  to  make  a  tour  of  the  ancient 
palace.  Notwithstanding  every  mental 
exertion,  the  task  was  a  severe  one. 
The  rays  of  my  lamp  extended  to  but 
a  limited  distance  around  me  ;  I  walked 
as  it  were  in  a  mere  halo  of  light,  and 
all  beyond  was  thick  darkness.  The 
vaulted  corridors  were  as  caverns ;  the 
vaults  of  the  halls  were  lost  in  gloom ; 
what  unseen  foe  might  not  be  lurking 
before  or  behind  me !  my  own  shadow 
playing  about  the  walls  and  the  echoes 
of  my  own  footsteps  disturbed  me. 

In  this  excited  state,  as  I  was  travers 
ing  the  great  Hall  of  Ambassadors,  there 
were  added  real  sounds  to  these  conjec 
tural  fancies.  Low  moans,  and  indistinct 
ejaculations  seemed  to  rise,  as  it  were, 
beneath  my  feet ;  I  paused  and  listened. 
They  then  appeared  to  resound  from 
without  the  tower.  Sometimes  they  re 
sembled  the  bowlings  of  an  animal,  at 
others  they  were  stifled  shrieks,  mingled 
with  articulate  ravings.  The  thrilling 
effect  of  these  sounds  in  that  still  hour 
and  singular  place,  destroyed  all  inclina 
tion  to  continue  my  lonely  perambula 
tion.  I  returned  to  my  chamber  with 
more  alacrity  than  I  had  sallied  forth, 
and  drew  my  breath  more  freely  when 
once  more  within  its  walls,  and  the  door 
bolted  behind  me.  When  I  awoke  in 
the  morning  with  the  sun  shining  in  at 
my  window  and  lighting  up  every  part 
of  the  building  with  his  cheerful  and 


ruth-telling  beams,  I  could  scarcely  re 
call  the  shadows  and  fancies  conjured 
up  by  the  gloom  of  the  preceding  night ; 
or  believe  that  the  scenes  around  me,  so 
naked  and  apparent,  could  have  been 
clothed  with  such  imaginary  horrors. 

Still  the  dismal  bowlings  and  ejacula 
tions  I  had  heard,  were  not  ideal ;  but 
they  were  soon  accounted  for  by  my 
handmaid  Dolores  ;  being  the  ravings  of 
a  poor  maniac,  a  brother  of  her  aunt, 
who  was  subject  to  violent  paroxysms, 
during  which  he  was  confined  in  a 
vaulted  room  beneath  the  Hall  of  Am 
bassadors. 


THE  ALHAMBRA  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

I  HAVE  given  a  picture  of  my  apart 
ment  on  my  first  taking  possession  of  it ; 
a  few  evenings  have  produced  a  thorough 
change  in  the  scene  and  in  my  feelings. 
The  moon,  which  then  was  invisible,  has 
gradually  gained  upon  the  night,  and 
now  rolls  in  full  splendour  above  the 
towers,  pouring  a  flood  of  tempered  light 
into  every  court  and  hall.  The  garden 
beneath  my  window  is  gently  lighted 
up  ;  the  orange  and  citron  trees  are 
tipped  with  silver  ;  the  fountain  sparkles 
in  the  moonbeams,  and  even  the  blush  of 
the  rose  is  faintly  visible. 

I  have  sat  for  hours  at  my  window, 
inhaling  the  sweetness  of  the  garden, 
and  musing  on  the  chequered  fortunes 
of  those  whose  history  is  dimly  shadowed 
out  in  the  elegant  memorials  around. 
Sometimes  I  have  issued  forth  at  mid 
night,  when  every  thing  was  quiet,  and 
have  wandered  over  the  whole  building. 
Who  can  do  justice  to  a  moonlight  night 
in  such  a  climate  and  in  such  a  place! 
The  temperature  of  an  Andalusian  mid 
night  in  summer  is  perfectly  ethereal. 
We  seem  lifted  up  into  a  purer  atmo 
sphere  ;  there  is  a  serenity  of  soul,  a 
buoyancy  of  spirits,  an  elasticity  of 
frame,  that  render  mere  existence  en 
joyment.  The  effect  of  moonlight  too, 
on  the  Alhambra,  has  something  like 
enchantment.  Every  rent  and  chasm  of 
time,  every  mouldering  tint  and  weather- 
stain  disappears ;  the  marble  resumes  its 


420 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


original  whiteness ;  the  long  colonnades 
brighten  in  the  moonbeams,  the  halls 
are  illuminated  with  a  softened  radiance, 
until  the  whole  edifice  reminds  one  of 
the  enchanted  palace  of  an  Arabian  tale. 

At  such  a  time  I  have  ascended  to  the 
little  pavilion  called  the  Queen's  Toilette, 
to  enjoy  its  varied  and  extensive  pros 
pect.  To  the  right,  the  snowy  summits 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada  would  gleam  like 
silver  clouds  against  the  darker  firma 
ment,  and  all  the  outlines  of  the  moun 
tain  would  be  softened,  yet  delicately 
defined.  My  delight,  however,  would  be 
to  lean  over  the  parapet  of  the  tocador, 
and  gaze  down  upon  Granada,  spread 
out  like  a  map  below  me ;  all  buried  in 
deep  repose,  and  its  white  palaces  and 
convents  sleeping,  as  it  were,  in  the 
moonshine. 

Sometimes  I  would  hear  the  faint 
sounds  of  castanets  from  some  party  of 
dancers  lingering  in  the  Alameda,  at 
other  times  I  have  heard  the  dubious 
tones  of  a  guitar,  and  the  notes  of  a  sin 
gle  voice  rising  from  some  solitary  street, 
and  have  pictured  to  myself  some  youth 
ful  cavalier  serenading  his  lady's  win 
dow  ;  a  gallant  custom  of  former  days, 
but  now  sadly  on  the  decline,  except  in 
the  remote  towns  and  villages  of  Spain. 
Such  were  the  scenes  that  have  detained 
me  for  many  an  hour  loitering  about  the 
courts  and  balconies  of  the  castle,  enjoy 
ing  that  mixture  of  revery  and  sensation 
which  steal  away  existence  in  a  southern 
climate,  and  it  has  been  almost  morning 
before  I  have  retired  to  my  bed,  and  been 
lulled  to  sleep  by  the  falling  waters  of 
the  fountain  of  Lindaraxa. 


INHABITANTS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

I  HAVE  often  observed,  that  the  more 
proudly  a  mansion  has  been  tenanted  in 
the  day  of  its  prosperity,  the  humbler 
are  its  inhabitants  in  the  day  of  its  de 
cline,  and  that  the  palace  of  the  king, 
commonly  ends  in  being  the  nestling- 
place  of  the  beggar. 

The  Alhambra  is  in  a  rapid  state  of 
similar  transition.  Whenever  a  tower 
falls  to  decay,  it  is  seized  upon  by  some 
tatterdemallion  family,  who  become  joint 


: 


tenants,  with  the  bats  and  owls,  of  its 
gilded  halls  ;  and  hang  their  rags,  those 
standards  of  poverty,  out  of  the  windows 
and  loopholes. 

I  have  amused  myself  with  remarking 
some  of  the  motley  characters  that  have 
thus  usurped  the  ancient  abode  of  royalty, 
and  who  seem  as  if  placed  here  to  give  a 
farcical  termination  to  the  drama  of  hu 
man  pride.  One  of  these  even  bears  the 
mockery  of  a  regal  title.  It  is  a  little  old 
woman  named  Maria  Antonia  Sabonea, 
but  who  goes  by  the  appellation  of  La 
Reyna  Coquina,  or  the  Cockle-Queen. 
She  is  small  enough  to  be  a  fairy,  and  a 
fairy  she  may  be  for  aught  I  can  find 
out,  for  no  one  seems  to  know  her  origin. 
Her  habitation  is  in  a  kind  of  closet  under 
the  outer  staircase  of  the  palace,  and  she 
sits  in  the  cool  stone  corridor,  plying  her 
needle  and  singing  from  morning  till 
night,  with  a  ready  joke  for  every  one 
that  passes  ;  for  though  one  of  the  poor 
est,  she  is  one  of  the  merriest  little  women 
breathing.  Her  great  merit  is  a  gift  for 
story-telling,  having,  I  verily  believe,  as 
many  stories  at  her  command,  as  the 
inexhaustible  Scheherezade  of  the  Thou 
sand  and  One  Nights.  Some  of  these  I 
have  heard  her  relate  in  the  evening 
tertulias  of  Dame  Antonia,  at  which  she 
is  occasionally  a  humble  attendant. 

That  there  must  be  some  fairy  gift 
about  this  mysterious  little  old  woman, 
would  appear  from  her  extraordinary 
luck,  since,  notwithstanding  her  being 
very  little,  very  ugly,  and  very  poor, 
she  has  had,  according  to  her  own  ac 
count,  five  husbands  and  a  half,  reckon 
ing  as  a  half  one,  a  young  dragoon  who 
died  during  courtship.  A  rival  personage 
to  this  little  fairy  queen,  is  a  portly  old 
fellow  with  a  bottle  nose,  who  goes  about 
in  a  rusty  garb,  with  a  cocked  hat  of  oil 
skin  and  a  red  cockade.  He  is  one  of 
the  legitimate  sons  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
has  lived  here  all  his  life,  filling  various 
offices,  such  as  deputy  alguazil,  sexton 
of  the  parochial  church,  and  marker  of 
a  fives'  court  established  at  the  foot  of 
one  of  the  towers.  He  is  as  poor  as  a 
rat,  but  as  proud  as  he  is  ragged,  boast 
ing  of  his  descent  from  the  illustrious 
house  of  Aguilar,  from  which  sprang 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  the  grand  captain. 
Nay,  he  actually  bears  the  name  of 


-El 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


4-21 


Alonso  de  Aguilar,  so  renowned  in  the 
history  of  the  conquest  ;  though  the 
graceless  wags  of  the  fortress  have  given 
him  the  title  of  el  padre  santo,  or  the 
holy  father,  the  usual  appellation  of  the 
Pope,  which  I  had  thought  too  sacred  in 
the  eyes  of  true  catholics  to  be  thus 
ludicrously  applied.  It  is  a  whimsical 
caprice  of  fortune  to  present,  in  the  gro 
tesque  person  of  this  tatterdemalion,  a 
namesake  and  descendant  of  the  proud 
Alonso  de  Aguilar,  the  mirror  of  Anda- 
lusian  chivalry,  leading  an  almost  men 
dicant  existence  about  this  once  haughty 
fortress,  which  his  ancestor  aided  to  re 
duce  ;  yet,  such  might  have  been  the  lot 
of  the  descendants  of  Agamemnon  and 
Achilles,  had  they  lingered  about  the 
ruins  of  Troy ! 

Of  this  motley  community,  I  find  the 
family  of  my  gossiping  squire,  Mateo 
Ximenes,  to  form,  from  their  numbers  at 
least,  a  very  important  part.  His  boast 
of  being  a  son  of  the  Alhambra,  is  not 
unfounded.  His  family  has  inhabited 
the  fortress  ever  since  the  time  of  the 
conquest,  handing  down  an  hereditary 
poverty  from  father  to  son ;  not  one  of 
them  having  ever  been  known  to  be 
worth  a  maravedi.  His  father,  by  trade 
a  riband  weaver,  and  who  succeeded  the 
historical  tailor  at  the  head  of  the  family, 
is  now  near  seventy  years  of  age,  and 
lives  in  a  hovel  of  reeds  and  plaster, 
built  by  his  own  hands  just  above  the 
iron  gate.  The  furniture  consists  of  a 
crazy  bed,  a  table,  and  two  or  three 
chairs ;  a  wooden  chest,  containing  his 
clothes  and  the  archives  of  his  family  ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  few  papers  concerning 
old  lawsuits,  which  he  cannot  read ;  but 
the  pride  of  his  hovel  is  a  blazon  of  the 
arms  of  the  family,  brilliantly  coloured, 
and  suspended  in  a  frame  against  the 
wall ;  clearly  demonstrating  by  its  quar- 
terings,  the  various  noble  houses  with 
which  this  poverty-stricken  brood  claims 
affinity. 

As  to  Mateo  himself,  he  has  done  his 
utmost  to  perpetuate  his  line,  having  a 
wife  and  a  numerous  progeny,  who  inha 
bit  an  almost  dismantled  hovel  in  the 
hamlet.  How  they  manage  to  subsist, 
He  only  who  sees  into  all  mysteries  can 
tell ;  the  subsistence  of  a  Spanish  family 
of  the  kind,  is  always  a  riddle  to  me ; 
VOL.  n.  36 


yet  they  do  subsist,  and  what  is  more, 
appear  to  enjoy  their  existence.  The 
wife  takes  her  holiday  stroll  in  the  Paseo 
of  Granada,  with  a  child  in  her  arms 
and  half  a  dozen  at  her  heels ;  and  the 
eldest  daughter,  now  verging  into  wo 
manhood,  dresses  her  hair  with  flowers, 
and  dances  gaily  to  the  castanets. 

Here  are  two  classes  of  people  to 
whom  life  seems  one  long  holiday,  the 
very  rich,  and  the  very  poor ;  one  be 
cause  they  need  do  nothing,  the  other 
because  they  have  nothing  to  do;  but 
there  are  none  who  understand  the  art 
of  doing  nothing  and  living  upon  nothing 
better  than  the  poor  classes  of  Spain. 
Climate  does  one  half,  and  temperament 
the  rest.  Give  a  Spaniard  the  shade  m 
summer,  and  the  sun  in  winter ;  a  little 
bread,  garlic,  oil,  and  garbances,  an 
old  brown  cloak  and  a  guitar,  and  let 
the  world  roll  on  as  it  pleases.  Talk  of 
poverty !  with  him  it  has  no  disgrace. 
It  sits  upon  him  with  a  grandiose  style, 
like  his  ragged  cloak.  He  is  a  hidalgo, 
even  when  in  rags. 

The  "  sons  of  the  Alhambra"  are  an 
eminent  illustration  of  this  practical 
philosophy.  As  the  Moors  imagined 
that  the  celestial  paradise  hung  over  this 
favoured  spot,  so  I  am  inclined  at  times 
to  fancy,  that  a  gleam  of  the  golden  age 
still  lingers  about  the  ragged  community. 
They  possess  nothing,  they  do  nothing, 
they  care  for  nothing.  Yet,  though  ap 
parently  idle  all  the  week,  they  are  as 
observant  of  all  holy  days  and  saints' 
days  as  the  most  laborious  artisan. 
They  attend  all  fetes  and  dancings  in 
Granada  and  its  vicinity,  light  bonfires 
on  the  hills  on  St.  John's  eve,  and  have 
lately  danced  away  the  moonlight  nights 
on  the  harvest  home  of  a  small  field 
within  the  precincts  of  the  fortress,  which 
yielded  a  few  bushels  of  wheat. 

Before  concluding  these  remarks,  I 
must  mention  one  of  the  amusements  of 
the  place  which  has  particularly  struck 
me.  I  had  repeatedly  observed  a  long 
lean  fellow  perched  on  the  top  of  one  of 
the  towers,  manceuvring  two  or  three 
fishing-rods,  as  though  he  was  angling 
for  the  stars.  I  was  for  some  time  per 
plexed  by  the  evolutions  of  this  aerial 
fisherman,  and  my  perplexity  increased 
on  observing  others  employed  in  like 


422 


THEALHAMBRA. 


manner  on  different  parts  of  the  battle 
ments  and  bastions ;  it  was  not  until  I 
consulted  Mateo  Ximenes,  that  I  solved 
the  mystery. 

It  seems  that  the  pure  and  airy  situa 
tion  of  this  fortress  has  rendered  it,  like 
the  castle  of  Macbeth,  a  prolific  breeding- 
place  for  swallows  and  martlets,  who 
sport  about  its  towers  in  myriads,  with 
the  holiday  glee  of  urchins  just  let  loose 
from  school.  To  entrap  these  birds  in 
their  giddy  circlings,  with  hooks  baited 
with  flies,  is  one  of  the  favourite  amuse 
ments  of  the  ragged  "  sons  of  the  Al- 
hambra,"  who,  with  the  good-for-nothing 
ingenuity  of  arrant  idlers,  have  thus 
invented  the  art  of  angling  in  the  sky ! 


THE  COURT  OF  LIONS. 

THE  peculiar  charm  of  this  old 
dreamy  palace,  is  its  power  of  calling  up 
vague  reveries  and  picturings  of  the  past, 
and  thus  clothing  naked  realities  with  the 
illusions  of  the  memory  and  the  imagina 
tion.  As  I  delight  to  walk  in  these  "  vain 
shadows,"  I  am  prone  to  seek  those  parts 
of  the  Alhambra  which  are  most  favour 
able  to  this  phantasmagoria  of  the  mind ; 
and  none  are  more  so  than  the  Court  of 
Lions,  and  its  surrounding  halls.  Here 
the  hand  of  time  has  fallen  the  lightest, 
and  the  traces  of  Moorish  elegance  and 
splendour  exist  in  almost  their  original 
brilliancy.  Earthquakes  have  shaken 
the  foundations  of  this  pile,  and  rent  its 
rudest  towers  ;  yet  see,  not  one  of  those 
slender  columns  has  been  displaced,  not 
an  arch  of  that  light  and  fragile  colon 
nade  has  given  way,  and  all  the  fairy 
fretwork  of  these  domes,  apparently  as 
unsubstantial  as  the  crystal  fabrics  of  a 
morning's  frost,  yet  exist  after  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  almost  as  fresh  as  if  from 
the  hand  of  the  Moslem  artist.  1  write 
in  the  midst  of  these  mementos  of  the 
past,  in  the  fresh  hour  of  early  morning, 
in  the  fated  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages. 
The  blood-stained  fountain,  the  legendary 
monument  of  their  massacre,  is  before 
me ;  the  lofty  jet  almost  casts  its  dew 
upon  my  paper.  How  difficult  to  recon 
cile  the  ancient  tale  of  violence  and 
blood  with  the  gentle  and  peaceful  scene 


: 


around  !  Every  thing  here  appears  cal 
culated  to  inspire  kind  and  happy  feel 
ings,  for  every  thing  is  delicate  and 
beautiful.  The  very  light  falls  tenderly 
from  above,  through  the  lantern  of  a 
dome  tinted  and  wrought  as  if  by  fairy 
hands.  Through  the  ample  and  fretted 
arch  of  the  portal  I  behold  the  Court  of 
Lions,  with  brilliant  sunshine  gleaming 
along  its  colonnades,  and  sparkling  in  its 
fountains.  The  lively  swallow  dives  into 
the  Court,  and  then  surging  upwards, 
darts  away  twittering  over  the  roofs  ;  the 
busy  bee  toils  humming  among  the  flower 
beds ;  and  painted  butterflies  hover  from 
plant  to  plant,  and  flutter  up  and  sport 
with  each  other  in  the  sunny  air.  It 
needs  but  a  slight  exertion  of  the  fancy  to 
picture  some  pensive  beauty  of  the  harem, 
loitering  in  these  secluded  haunts  of 
oriental  luxury. 

He,  however,  who  would  behold  this 
scene  under  an  aspect  more  in  unison 
with  its  fortunes,  let  him  come  when  the 
shadows  of  evening  temper  the  brightness 
of  the  Court,  and  throw  a  gloom  into  the 
surrounding  halls.  Then  nothing  can  be 
more  serenely  melancholy,  or  more  in 
harmony  with  the  tale  of  departed  gran 
deur. 

At  such  times  I  am  apt  to  seek  the 
Hall  of  Justice,  whose  deep  shadowy 
arcades  extend  across  the  upper  end  of 
the  Court.  Here  was  performed,  in  pre 
sence  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  their 
triumphant  court,  the  pompous  ceremo 
nial  of  high  mass,  on  taking  possession 
of  the  Alhambra.  The  very  cross  is 
still  to  be  seen  upon  the  wall,  where  the 
altar  was  erected,  and  where  officiated 
the  Grand  Cardinal  of  Spain,  and  others 
of  the  highest  religious  dignitaries  of  the 
land.  I  picture  to  myself  the  scene  when 
this  place  was  filled  with  the  conquering 
host,  that  mixture  of  mitred  prelate  and 
shaven  monk,  and  steel-clad  knight  and 
silken  courtier ;  when  crosses  and  cro 
siers,  and  religious  standards,  were  min 
gled  with  proud  armorial  ensigns  and  the 
banners  of  the  haughty  chiefs  of  Spain, 
and  flaunted  in  triumph  through  these 
Moslem  halls.  I  picture  to  myself 
Columbus,  the  future  discoverer  of  a 
world,  taking  his  modest  stand  in  a  re 
mote  corner,  the  humble  and  neglected 
spectator  of  the  pageant.  I  see  in  imagi- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


423 


nation  the  catholic  sovereigns  prostrating 
themselves  before  the  altar,  and  pouring 
forth  thanks  for  their  victory  ;  while  the 
vaults  resounded  with  sacred  minstrelsy ; 
and  the  deep-toned  Te  Deum. 

The  transient  illusion  is  over — the 
pageant  melts  from  the  fancy — monarch, 
priest,  and  warrior,  return  into  oblivion, 
with  the  poor  Moslems  over  whom  they 
exulted.  The  hall  of  their  triumph  is 
waste  and  desolate.  The  bat  flits  about 
its  twilight  vault,  and  the  owl  hoots  from 
the  neighbouring  tower  of  Comares. 

On  entering  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  a 
few  evenings  since,  I  was  startled  at  be 
holding  a  turbaned  Moor  quietly  seated 
near  the  fountain.  It  seemed,  for  a 
moment,  as  if  one  of  the  superstitions  of 
the  place  were  realized,  and  some  ancient 
inhabitant  of  the  Alhambra  had  broken 
the  spell  of  centuries,  and  become  visible. 
He  proved,  however,  to  be  a  mere  ordi 
nary  mortal,  a  native  of  Tetuan  in  Bar- 
bary,  who  had  a  shop  in  the  Zacatin  of 
Granada,  where  he  sold  rhubarb,  trinkets, 
and  perfumes.  As  he  spoke  Spanish 
fluently,  I  was  enabled  to  hold  conversa 
tion  with  him,  and  found  him  shrewd  and 
intelligent.  He  told  me  that  he  came  up 
the  hill  occasionally  in  the  summer,  to 
pass  a  part  of  the  day  in  the  Alhambra, 
which  reminded  him  of  the  old  palaces  in 
Barbary,  which  were  built  and  adorned 
in  similar  style,  though  with  less  magni 
ficence. 

As  we  walked  about  the  palace,  he 
pointed  out  several  of  the  Arabic  inscrip 
tions,  as  possessing  much  poetic  beauty. 

"  Ah,  senor,"  said  he,  "  when  the 
Moors  held  Granada,  they  were  a  gayer 
people  than  they  are  now-a-days.  They 
thought  only  of  love,  of  music,  and 
poetry.  They  made  stanzas  upon  every 
occasion,  and  set  them  all  to  music.  He 
who  could  make  the  best  verses,  and  she 
who  had  the  most  tuneful  voice,  might  be 
sure  of  favour  and  preferment.  In  those 
days,  if  any  one  asked  for  bread,  the 
reply  was,  make  me  a  couplet ;  and  the 
poorest  beggar,  if  he  begged  in  rhyme, 
would  often  be  rewarded  with  a  piece  of 
gold." 

"  And  is  the  popular  feeling  for 
poetry,"  said  I,  "entirely  lost  among 
you'?" 

"  By  no  means,  senor,  the  people  of 


Barbary,  even  those  of  the  lower  classes, 
still  make  couplets,  and  good  ones  too,  as 
in  the  olden  time ;  but  talent  is  not  re 
warded  as  it  was  then  :  the  rich  prefer  the 
jingle  of  their  gold  to  the  sound  of  poetry 
or  music." 

As  he  was  talking,  his  eye  caught  one 
of  the  inscriptions  that  foretold  perpetuity 
to  the  power  and  glory  of  the  Mos 
lem  monarchs,  the  masters  of  this  pile. 
He  shook  his  head,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  as  he  interpreted  it.  "  Such 
might  have  been  the  case,"  said  he,  "  the 
Moslems  might  still  have  been  reigning 
in  the  Alhambra,  had  not  Boabdil  been 
a  traitor,  and  given  up  his  capital  to 
the  Christians.  The  Spanish  monarchs 
would  never  have  been  able  to  conquer  it 
by  open  force." 

I  endeavoured  to  vindicate  the  memory 
of  the  unlucky  Boabdil  from  this  asper 
sion,  and  to  show  that  the  dissensions 
which  led  to  the  downfall  of  the  Moorish 
throne,  originated  in  the  cruelty  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father ;  but  the  Moor  would 
admit  of  no  palliation. 

"  Muley  Hassan,"  said  he,  "  might 
have  been  cruel ;  but  he  was  brave,  vigi 
lant,  and  patriotic.  Had  he  been  properly 
seconded,  Granada  would  still  have  been 
ours ;  but  his  son  Boabdil  thwarted  his 
plans,  crippled  his  power,  sowed  treason 
in  his  palace,  and  dissension  in  his  camp. 
May  the  curse  of  God  light  upon  him  for 
his  treachery !"  With  these  words  the 
Moor  left  the  Alhambra. 

The  indignation  of  my  turbaned  com 
panion  agrees  with  an  anecdote  related 
by  a  friend,  who  in  the  course  of  a  tour 
in  Barbary,  had  an  interview  with  the 
Pacha  of  Tetuan.  The  Moorish  governor 
was  particular  in  his  inquiries  about  the 
soil,  and  especially  concerning  the  fa 
voured  regions  of  Andalusia,  the  delights 
of  Granada,  and  the  remains  of  its  royal 
palace.  The  replies  awakened  all  those 
fond  recollections,  so  deeply  cherished  by 
the  Moors,  of  the  power  and  splendour  of 
their  ancient  empire  in  Spain.  Turning 
to  his  Moslem  attendants,  the  pacha 
stroked  his  beard,  and  broke  forth  in  pas 
sionate  lamentations,  that  such  a  sceptre 
should  have  fallen  from  the  sway  of  true 
believers.  He  consoled  himself,  however, 
with  the  persuasion,  that  the  power  and 
prosperity  of  the  Spanish  nation  were  on 


424 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


the  decline ;  that  a  time  would  come 
when  the  Moors  would  conquer  their 
rightful  domains  ;  and  that  the  day  was 
perhaps  not  far  distant,  when  Mahom- 
medan  worship  would  again  be  offered  up 
in  the  Mosque  of  Cordova  and  a  Mahom- 
medan  prince  sit  on  his  throne  in  the 
Alhambra. 

Such  is  the  general  aspiration  and 
belief  among  the  Moors  of  Barbary  ;  who 
consider  Spain,  and  especially  Andalusia, 
their  rightful  heritage,  of  which  they 
have  been  despoiled  by  treachery  and 
violence.  These  ideas  are  fostered  and 
perpetuated  by  the  descendants  of  the 
exiled  Moors  of  Granada,  scattered 
among  the  cities  of  Barbary.  Several  of 
these  reside  in  Tetuan,  preserving  their 
ancient  names,  such  as  Paezand  Medina, 
and  refraining  from  intermarriage  with 
any  families  who  cannot  claim  the  same 
high  origin.  Their  vaunted  lineage  is 
regarded  with  a  degree  of  popular  defe 
rence,  rarely  shown  in  Mahommedan 
communities  to  any  hereditary  distinc 
tion,  except  in  the  royal  line. 

These  families,  it  is  said,  continue  to 
sigh  after  the  terrestial  paradise  of  their 
ancestors,  and  to  put  up  prayers  in  their 
mosques  on  Fridays,  imploring  Allah  to 
hasten  the  time  when  Granada  shall  be 
restored  to  the  faithful :  an  event  to  which 
they  look  forward  as  fondly  and  confi 
dently  as  did  the  Christian  crusaders  to 
the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
Nay,  it  is  added,  that  some  of  them  retain 
the  ancient  maps  and  deeds  of  the  estates 
and  gardens  of  their  ancestors  at  Gra 
nada,  and  even  the  keys  of  the  houses  ; 
holding  them  as  evidences  of  their  here 
ditary  claims,  to  be  produced  at  the  anti 
cipated  day  of  restoration. 

The  Court  of  the  Lions  has  also  its  share 
of  supernatural  legends.  I  have  already 
mentioned  the  belief  in  the  murmuring  of 
voices  and  clanking  of  chains,  made  at 
night  by  the  spirits  of  the  murdered 
Abencerrages.  Mateo  Ximenes,  a  few 
evenings  since,  at  one  of  the  gatherings 
in  Dame  Antonia's  apartment,  related  a 
fact  which  happened  within  the  know 
ledge  of  his  grandfather,  the  legendary 
tailor. 

There  was  an  invalid  soldier,  who  had 
charge  of  the  Alhambra  to  show  it  to 
strangers.  As  he  was  one  evening,  about 


twilight,  passing  through  the  Court  of 
Lions,  he  heard  footsteps  in  the  Hall  of 
the  Abencerrages.  Supposing  some  vi- 
siters  to  be  lingering  there,  he  advanced 
to  attend  upon  them,  when  to  his  asto 
nishment  he  beheld  four  Moors  richly 
dressed,  with  gilded  cuirasses  and  cime- 
ters,  and  poniards  glittering  with  precious 
stones.  They  were  walking  to  and  fro, 
with  solemn  pace ;  but  paused  and  beck 
oned  to  him.  The  old  soldier,  however, 
took  to  flight,  and  could  never  afterwards 
be  prevailed  upon  to  enter  the  Alhambra. 
Thus  it  is  that  men  sometimes  turn  their 
backs  upon  fortune ;  for  it  is  the  firm 
opinion  of  Mateo,  that  the  Moors  intended 
to  reveal  the  place  where  their  treasures 
lay  buried.  A  successor  to  the  invalid 
soldier  was  more  knowing,  he  came  to 
the  Alhambra  poor ;  but  at  the  end  of  a 
year  went  off  to  Malaga,  bought  houses, 
set  up  a  carriage,  and  still  lives  there 
one  of  the  richest  as  well  as  oldest  men 
of  the  place;  all  which,  Mateo  sagely  sur 
mises,  was  in  consequence  of  his  finding 
out  the  golden  secret  of  these  phantom 
Moors. 


BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

MY  conversation  with  the  man  in  the 
Court  of  Lions,  set  me  to  musing  on  the 
singular  fate  of  Boabdil.  Never  was  sur 
name  more  applicable  than  that  bestowed 
upon  him  by  his  subjects,  of  "El  Zogoy- 
bi,"  or  "the  unlucky."  His  misfortunes 
began  almost  in  his  cradle.  In  his  tender 
youth,  he  was  imprisoned  and  menaced 
with  death  by  an  inhuman  father,  and 
only  escaped  through  a  mother's  strata 
gem  ;  in  after  years  his  life  was  embit 
tered  and  repeatedly  endangered,  by  the 
hostilities  of  a  usurping  uncle;  his  reign 
was  distracted  by  external  invasions  and 
internal  feuds :  he  was  alternately  the 
foe,  the  prisoner,  the  friend,  and  always 
the  dupe  of  Ferdinand,  until  conquered 
and  dethroned  by  the  mingled  craft  and 
force  of  that  perfidious  monarch.  An 
exile  from  his  native  land,  he  took  refuge 
with  one  of  the  princes  of  Africa,  and  fell 
obscurely  in  battle,  fighting  in  the  cause 
of  a  stranger.  His  misfortunes  ceased 
not  with  his  death.  If  Boabdil  cherished 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


425 


a  desire  to  leave  an  honourable  name  on 
the  historic  page,  how  cruelly  has  he 
been  defrauded  of  his  hopes !  Who  is 
there  that  has  turned  the  least  attention 
to  the  romantic  history  of  the  Moorish 
domination  in  Spain,  without  kindling 
with  indignation  at  the  alleged  atrocities 
of  Boabdil  ?  Who  has  not  been  touched 
with  the  woes  of  his  lovely  and  gentle 
queen,  subjected  by  him  to  a  trial  of  life 
and  death,  on  a  false  charge  of  infidelity? 
Who  has  not  been  shocked  by  his  alleged 
murder  of  his  sister  and  her  two  children, 
in  a  transport  of  passion  ?  Who  has  not 
felt  his  blood  boil,  at  the  inhuman  mas 
sacre  of  the  gallant  Abencerrages,  thirty- 
six  of  whom,  it  is  affirmed,  he  ordered  to 
be  beheaded  in  the  Court  of  Lions  ?  All 
these  charges  have  been  reiterated  in  va 
rious  forms ;  they  have  passed  into  bal 
lads,  dramas,  and  romances,  until  they 
have  taken  too  thorough  possession  of 
the  public  mind  to  be  eradicated.  There 
is  not  a  foreigner  of  education  that  visits 
the  Alhambra,  but  asks  for  the  fountain 
where  the  Abencerrages  were  beheaded ; 
and  gazes  with  horror  at  the  grated  gal 
lery  where  the  queen  is  said  to  have  been 
confined ;  not  a  peasant  of  the  Vega  or 
the  Sierra,  but  sings  the  story  in  rude 
couplets,  to  the  accompaniment  of  his 
guitar,  while  his  hearers  learn  to  execrate 
the  very  name  of  Boabdii. 

Never,  however,  was  name  more  foully 
and  unjustly  slandered.    I  have  examined 
all  the  authentic  chronicles  and  letters 
written   by  Spanish   authors,  contempo 
rary  with  Boabdil ;  some  of  whom  were 
in  the  confidence  of  the  catholic  sove 
reigns,  and  actually  present  in  the  camp 
throughout  the  war.     I  have  examined 
all  the  Arabian  authorities  I  could  get  ac 
cess  to,  through  the  medium  of  transla 
tion,  and  can  find  nothing  to  justify  these 
dark  and  hateful  accusations.  The  whole 
of  these  tales  may  be  traced  to  a  work 
commonly  called    "  The  Civil  Wars  of 
Granada,"  containing  a  pretended   his 
tory  of  the  feuds  of  the  Zegris  and  Aben 
cerrages,  during  the  last  struggle  of  the 
Moorish   empire.     This  work   appeared  j 
originally  in  Spanish,  and  professed  to  I 
be  translated    from   the  Arabic   by  one  j 
Gincs  Perez  de   Hila,  an  inhabitant  ofi 
Murcia.     It  has  since  passed  into  various  ! 
languages,  and  Florian  has  taken  from  it 


much  of  the  fable  of  his  Gonsalvo  of  Cor 
dova  ;  it  has  since,  in  a  great  measure, 
usurped  the  authority  of  real  history,  and 
is  currently  believed  by  the  people,  and 
especially  the  peasantry,  of  Granada. 
The  whole  of  it,  however,  is  a  mass  of 
fiction,  mingled  with  a  few  disfigured 
truths,  which  give  it  an  air  of  veracity. 
It  bears  internal  evidence  of  its  falsity ; 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Moors 
being  extravagantly  misrepresented  in  it, 
and  scenes  depicted  totally  incompatible 
with  their  habits  and  their  faith,  and 
which  never  could  have  been  recorded  by 
a  Mahometan  writer. 

I  confess  there  seems  to  me  something 
almost  criminal  in  the  wilful  perversions 
of  this  work:  great  latitude  is  undoubt 
edly  to  be  allowed  to  romantic  fiction, 
but  there  are  limits  which  it  must  not 
pass,  and  the  names  of  the  distinguished 
dead,  which  belong  to  history,  are  no 
more  to  be  calumniated  than  those  of 
the  illustrious  living.  One  would  have 
thought,  too,  that  the  unfortunate  Boabdil 
had  suffered  for  his  justifiable  hostility  to 
the  Spaniards,  by  being  stripped  of  his 
kingdom,  without  having  his  name  thus 
wantonly  traduced,  and  rendered  a  by 
word  and  a  theme  of  infamy  in  his  native 
land,  and  in  the  very  mansion  of  his 
fathers ! 

It  is  not  intended  hereby  to  affirm  that 
the  transactions  imputed  to  Boabdil,  are 
totally  without  historic  foundation ;  but 
as  far  as  they  can  be  traced,  they  appear 
to  have  been  the  acts  of  his  father,  A  ben 
Hassan,  who  is  represented,  by  both 
Christian  and  Arabian  chroniclers,  as 
being  of  a  cruel  and  ferocious  nature.  It 
was  he  who  put  to  death  the  cavaliers  of 
the  illustrious  line  of  the  Abencerrages, 
upon  suspicion  of  their  being  engaged  in 
a  conspiracy  to  dispossess  him  of  his 
throne. 

The  story  of  the  accusation  of  the 
Queen  of  Boabdil,  and  of  her  confine 
ment  in  one  of  the  towers,  may  also  be 
traced  to  an  incident  in  the  life  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father.  Aben  Hassan,  in 
his  advanced  age,  married  a  beautiful 
Christian  captive  of  noble  descent,  who 
took  the  Moorish  appellation  of  Zorayda, 
by  wkom  he  had  two  sons.  She  was  of 
an  ambitious  spirit,  and  anxious  that  her 
children  should  succeed  to  the  crown. 

36* 


426 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


For  this  purpose  she  worked  upon  the 
suspicious  temper  of  the  king ;  inflaming 
him  with  jealousies  of  his  children  by  his 
other  wives  and  concubines,  whom  she 
accused  of  plotting  against  his  throne 
and  life.  Some  of  them  were  slain  by 
the  ferocious  father.  Ayxa  la  Horra, 
the  virtuous  mother  of  Boabdil,  who  had 
once  been  his  cherished  favourite,  became 
likewise  the  object  of  his  suspicion.  He 
confined  her  and  her  son  in  the  tower 
of  Comares,  and  would  have  sacrificed 
Boabdil  to  his  fury,  but  that  this  tender 
mother  lowered  him  from  the  tower,  in 
the  night,  by  means  of  the  scarfs  of  her 
self  and  her  attendants,  and  thus  enabled 
him  to  escape  to  Guadix. 

Such  is  the  only  shadow  of  a  founda 
tion  that  I  can  find  for  the  story  of  the 
accused  and  captive  queen .;  and  in  this 
it  appears  that  Boabdil  was  the  persecu 
ted,  instead  of  the  persecutor. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  his  brief, 
turbulent,  and  disastrous  reign,  Boabdil 
gives  evidence  of  a  mild  and  amiable 
character.  He,  in  the  first  instance,  won 
the  hearts  of  the  people  by  his  affable 
and  gracious  manners ;  he  was  always 
peaceable,  and  never  inflicted  any  seve 
rity  of  punishment  upon  those  who  occa 
sionally  rebelled  against  him.  He  was 
personally  brave,  but  he  wanted  moral 
courage ;  and,  in  times  of  difficulty  and 
perplexity,  was  wavering  and  irresolute. 
This  feebleness  of  spirit  hastened  his 
downfall,  while  it  deprived  him  of  that 
heroic  grace  which  would  have  given  a 
grandeur  and  dignity  to  his  fate,  and  ren 
dered  him  worthy  of  closing  the  splen 
did  drama  of  the  Moslem  domination  in 
Spain, 


MEMENTOS  OF  BOABDIL. 

WHILE  my  mind  was  still  warm  with 
the  subject  of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  I 
set  forth  to  trace  the  mementos  connect 
ed  with  his  story,  which  yet  exist  in  this 
scene  of  his  sovereignty  and  his  misfor 
tunes,  In  the  picture-gallery  of  the  Pa- 
iace  of  the  Generalife  hangs  his  portrait. 
The  face  is  mild,  handsome,  and  some 
what  melancholy,  with  a  fair  complexion 
and  yellow  hair;  if  it  be  a  true  represen 


tation  of  the  man,  he  may  have  been 
wavering  and  uncertain,  but  there  is  no 
thing  of  cruelty  or  unkindness  in  his 
aspect. 

I  next  visited  the  dungeon  where  he 
was  confined  in  his  youthful  days,  when 
his  cruel  father  meditated  his  destruction. 
It  is  a  vaulted  room  in  the  tower  of  Co- 
mares,  under  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors ; 
a  similar  room,  separated  by  a  narrow 
passage,  was  the  prison  of  his  mother, 
the  virtuous  Ayxa  la  Horra.  The  walls 
are  of  prodigious  thickness,  and  the 
small  windows  secured  by  iron  bars.  A 
narrow  stone  gallery,  with  a  low  parapet, 
extends  round  three  sides  of  the  tower, 
just  below  the  windows,  but  at  a  consi 
derable  height  from  the  ground.  From 
this  gallery,  it  is  presumed,  the  queen 
lowered  her  son  with  the  scarfs  of  herself 
and  her  female  attendants,  during  the 
darkness  of  night,  to  the  hill  side,  at  the 
foot  of  which  waited  a  domestic  with  a 
fleet  steed  to  bear  the  prince  to  the  moun 
tains. 

As  I  paced  this  gallery,  my  imagina 
tion  pictured  the  anxious  queen  leaning 
over  the  parapet,  and  listening,  with  the 
throbbings  of  a  mother's  heart,  to  the 
last  echoes  of  the  horse's  hoof,  as  her 
son  scoured  along  the  narrow  valley  of 
the  Darro. 

My  next  search  was  for  the  gate  by 
which  Boabdil  departed  from  the  Alham- 
bra  when  about  to  surrender  his  capital. 
With  the  melancholy  caprice  of  a  broken 
spirit,  he  requested  of  the  catholic  mo- 
narchs  that  no  one  afterwards  might  be 
permitted  to  pass  through  this  gate.  His 
prayer,  according  to  ancient  chronicles, 
was  complied  with,  through  the  sympa 
thy  of  Isabella,  and  the  gate  walled  up. 
For  some  time  I  inquired  in  vain  for  such 
a  portal ;  at  length  my  humble  attendant, 
Mateo,  learned,  among  the  old  residents 
of  the  fortress,  that  a  ruinous  gateway 
still  existed,  by  which,  according  to  tra 
dition,  the  Moorish  king  had  left  the  for 
tress,  but  which  had  never  been  open 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabi 
tant. 

He  conducted  me  to  the  spot.  The 
gateway  is  in  the  centre  of  what  was 
once  an  immense  tower,  called  La  Torre 
de  los  Sietc  Suelos,  or,  the  Tower  of  the 
Seven  Floors.  It  is  a  place  famous,  in 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


427 


the  superstitious  stories  of  the  neighbour 
hood,  for  being  the  scene  of  strange  ap 
paritions  and  Moorish  enchantments. 

This  once  redoubtable  tower  is  now  a 
mere  wreck,  having  been  blown  up  with 
gunpowder  by  the  French,  when  they 
abandoned  the  fortress.  Great  masses 
of  the  wall  lie  scattered  about,  buried  in 
the  luxuriant  herbage,  or  overshadowed 
by  vines  and  fig  trees.  The  arch  of  the 
gateway,  though  rent  by  the  shock,  still 
remains;  but  the  last  wish  of  poor  Boab- 
dil  has  again,  though  unintentionally, 
been  fulfilled,  for  the  portal  has  been 
closed  up  by  loose  stones  gathered  from 
the  ruins,  and  remains  impassable. 

Following  up  the  route  of  the  Moslem 
monarch,  as  it  remains  on  record,  I 
crossed  on  horseback  the  hill  of  Los 
Martyres,  keeping  along  the  garden  of 
the  convent  of  the  same  name,  and  thence 
down  a  rugged  ravine,  beset  by  thickets 
of  aloes  and  Indian  figs,  and  lined  by 
caves  and  hovels  swarming  with  gipsies. 
It  was  the  road  taken  by  Boabdil  to 
avoid  passing  through  the  city.  The 
descent  was  so  steep  and  broken,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  dismount  and  lead  my 
horse. 

Emerging  from  the  ravine,  and  passing 
by  the  Puerto,  de  los  Molinos  (the  Gate  of 
the  Mills),  I  issued  forth  upon  the  public 
promenade  called  the  Prado,  and  pursuing 
the  course  of  the  Xenil,  arrived  at  a 
small  Moorish  mosque, now  converted  into 
the  chapel  or  hermitage  of  San  Sebastian. 
A  tablet  on  the  wall  relates  that  on  this 
spot  Boabdil  surrendered  the  keys  of 
Granada  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 
From  thence  I  rode  slowly  across  the 
Vega  to  a  village  where  the  family  and 
household  of  the  unhappy  king  awaited 
him,  for  he  had  sent  them  forward  on 
the  preceding  night  from  the  Alhambra, 
that  his  mother  and  wife  might  not  par 
ticipate  in  his  personal  humiliation,  or  be 
exposed  to  the  gaze  of  the  conquerors. 
Following  on  in  the  route  of  the  me 
lancholy  band  of  royal  exiles,  I  arrived 
at  the  foot  of  a  chain  of  barren  and 
dreary  heights,  forming  the  skirt  of  the 
Alpuxarra  mountains.  From  the  summit 
of  one  of  these  the  unfortunate  Boabdil 
took  his  last  look  at  Granada  ;  it  bears  a 
name  expressive  of  his  sorrows,  la  Cu- 
csta  fk  las  Lagrimas  (the  Hill  of  Tears). 


Beyond  it,  a  sandy  road  winds  across  a 
rugged  cheerless  waste,  doubly  dismal  to 
the  unhappy  monarch,  as  it  led  to  exile. 

I  spurred  my  horse  to  the  summit  of  a 
rock,  where  Boabdil  uttered  his  last 
sorrowful  exclamation,  as  he  turned  his 
eyes  from  taking  their  farewell  gaze  :  it 
is  still  denominated  el  ultimo  Suspiro  del 
Moro  (the  last  Sigh  of  the  Moor).  Who 
can  wonder  at  his  anguish  at  being  ex 
pelled  from  such  a  kingdom  and  such  an 
abode  ?  With  the  Alhambra  he  seemed 
to  be  yielding  up  all  the  honours  of  his 
line,  and  all  the  glories  and  delights  of 
life. 

It  was  here,  too,  that  his  affliction  was 
embittered  by  the  reproach  of  his  mother, 
Ayxa,  who  had  so  often  assisted  him  in 
times  of  peril,  and  had  vainly  sought  to 
instil  into  him  her  own  resolute  spirit. 
"  You  do  well,"  said  she,  "  to  weep  as  a 
woman  over  what  you  could  not  defend 
as  a  man," — a  speech  that  savours  more 
of  the  pride  of  the  princess  than  the 
tenderness  of  the  mother. 

When  this  anecdote  was  related  to 
Charles  V.  by  Bishop  Guevara,  the  em 
peror  joined  in  the  expression  of  scorn  at 
the  weakness  of  the  wavering  Boabdil. 
"  Had  I  been  he,  or  he  been  I,"  said  the 
haughty  potentate,  "  I  would  rather  have 
made  this  Alhambra  my  sepulchre  than 
have  lived  without  a  kingdom  in  the 
Alpuxarra." 

How  easy  it  is  for  those  in  power  and 
prosperity  to  preach  heroism  to  the  van 
quished  !  how  little  can  they  understand 
that  life  itself  may  rise  in  value  with  the 
unfortunate,  when  nought  but  life  re 
mains  ! 


THE  BALCONY. 

IN  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors,  at  the 
central  window,  there  is  a  balcony,  of 
which  I  have  already  made  mention  :  it 
projects  like  a  cage  from  the  face  of  the 
tower,  high  in  mid  air  above  the  tops  of 
the  trees  that  grow  on  the  steep  hill-side. 
It  serves  me  as  a  kind  of  observatory, 
where  I  often  take  my  seat  to  consider, 
not  merely  the  heaven  above,  but  the 
earth  beneath.  Besides  the  magnificent 
prospect  which  it  commands  of  mountain, 


428 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


valley,  and  vega,  there  is  a  busy  little 
scene  of  human  life  laid  open  to  inspection 
immediately  below.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  is  an  alameda,  or  public  walk,  which, 
though  not  so  fashionable  as  the  more 
modern  and  splendid  paseo  of  the  Xenil, 
still  boasts  a  varied  and  picturesque  con 
course.  Hither  resort  the  small  gentry 
of  the  suburbs,  together  with  priests  and 
friars,  who  walk  for  appetite  and  diges 
tion,  majos  and  majas,  the  beaux  and 
belles  of  the  lower  classes,  in  their  An- 
dalusian  dresses,  swaggering  contraban- 
distas,  and  sometimes  half-muffled  and 
mysterious  loungers  of  the  higher  ranks, 
on  some  secret  assignation. 

It  is  a  moving  and  motley  picture  of 
Spanish  life  and  character,  which  I  de 
light  to  study;  and,  as  the  naturalist  has 
his  microscope  to  aid  him  in  his  investiga 
tions,  so  I  have  a  small  pocket  telescope 
which  brings  the  countenances  of  the 
motley  groups  so  close,  as  almost,  at 
times,  to  make  me  think  I  can  divine 
their  conversation  by  the  play  and  ex 
pression  of  their  features.  I  am  thus,  in 
a  manner,  an  invisible  observer,  and, 
without  quitting  my  solitude,  can  throw 
myself  in  an  instant  into  the  midst  of 
society, — a  rare  advantage  to  one  of 
somewhat  shy  and  quiet  habits,  and  who, 
like  myself,  is  fond  of  observing  the 
drama  of  life  without  becoming  an  actor 
in  the  scene. 

There  is  a  considerable  suburb  lying 
below  the  Alhambra,  filling  the  narrow 
gorge  of  the  valley,  and  extending  up  the 
opposite  hill  of  the  Albaycin.  Many  of 
the  houses  are  built  in  the  Moorish  style, 
round  patios,  or  courts,  cooled  by  foun 
tains,  and  open  to  the  sky ;  and  as  the 
inhabitants  pass  much  of  their  time  in 
these  courts,  and  on  the  terraced  roofs 
during  the  summer  season,  it  follows  that 
many  a  glance  at  their  domestic  life  may 
be  obtained  by  an  aerial  spectator  like 
'  myself,  who  can  look  down  on  them 
from  the  clouds. 

I  enjoy,  in  some  degree,  the  advantages 
of  the  student  in  the  famous  old  Spanish 
story,  who  beheld  all  Madrid  unroofed 
for  his  inspection ;  and  my  gossiping 
squire,  Mateo  Ximenes,  officiates  occa 
sionally  as  my  Asmodeus,  to  give  me 
anecdotes  of  the  different  mansions  and 
their  inhabitants. 


I  prefer,  however,  to  perform  conjec 
tural  histories  for  myself,  and  thus  can 
sit  for  hours  weaving  from  casual  inci 
dents  and  indications  that  pass  under  my 
eye,  the  whole  tissue  of  schemes,  in 
trigues,  and  occupations  of  certain  of  the 
busy  mortals  below.  There  is  scarce  a 
pretty  face,  or  a  striking  figure,  that  I 
daily  see,  about  which  I  have  not  thus 
gradually  framed  a  dramatic  story,  though 
some  of  my  characters  will  occasionally 
act  in  direct  opposition  to  the  part  as 
signed  them,  and  disconcert  my  whole 
drama.  A  few  days  since,  as  I  was  re 
connoitring  with  my  glass  the  streets  of 
the  Albaycin,  I  beheld  the  procession  of 
a  novice  about  to  take  the  veil ;  and 
remarked  several  circumstances  that  ex 
cited  the  strongest  sympathy  in  the  fate 
of  the  youthful  being  thus  about  to  be 
consigned  to  a  living  tomb.  I  ascertained 
to  my  satisfaction  that  she  was  beautiful  ; 
and,  by  the  paleness  of  her  cheek,  that 
she  was  a  victim,  rather  than  a  votary. 
She  was  arrayed  in  bridal  garments,  and 
decked  with  a  chaplet  of  white  flowers, 
but  her  heart  evidently  revolted  at  this 
mockery  of  a  spiritual  union,  and  yearned 
after  its  earthly  loves.  A  tall  stern- 
looking  man  walked  near  her  in  the  pro 
cession  ;  it  was  evidently  the  tyrannical 
father,  who,  from  some  bigoted  or  sordid 
motive,  had  compelled  this  sacrifice. 
Amidst  the  crowd  was  a  dark  handsome 
youth,  in  Andalusian  garb,  who  seemed 
to  fix  on  her  an  eye  of  agony.  It  was 
doubtless  the  secret  lover  from  whom  she 
was  for  ever  to  be  separated.  My  in 
dignation  rose  as  I  noted  the -malignant 
expression  painted  on  the  countenances 
of  the  attendant  monks  and  friars.  The 
procession  arrived  at  the  chapel  of  the 
convent;  the  sun  gleamed  for  the  last 
time  upon  the  chaplet  of  the  poor  novice, 
as  she  crossed  the  fatal  threshold,  and 
disappeared  within  the  building.  The 
throng  poured  in  with  cowl,  and  cross, 
and  minstrelsy ;  the  lover  paused  for  a 
moment  at  the  door.  I  could  not  divine 
the  tumult  of  his  feelings ;  but  he  mas 
tered  them,  and  entered.  There  was  a 
long  interval — I  pictured  to  myself  the 
scene  passing  within  ;  the  poor  novice 
despoiled  of  her  transient  finery,  clothed 
in  the  conventual  garb,  her  bridal  chaplet 
taken  from  her  brow,  her  beautiful  head 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


429 


shorn  of  its  long  silken  tresses — I  heard 
her  murmur  the  irrevocable  vow.  I  saw 
her  extended  on  her  bier  ;  the  death-pall 
spread  over  her;  the  funeral  service  was 
performed  ;  I  heard  the  deep  tones  of  the 
organ,  and  the  plaintive  requiem  chanted 
by  the  nuns  ;  the  father  looked  on  with 
a  hard  unfeeling  countenance.  The 
lover — but  no,  my  imagination  refused 
to  paint  the  lover ;  there  the  picture  re 
mained  a  blank. 

After  a  time  the  throng  again  poured 
forth,  and  dispersed  various  ways,  to 
enjoy  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  mingle 
with  the  stirring  scenes  of  life ;  the 
victim,  however,  remained  behind.  Al 
most  the  last  that  came  forth  were  the 
father  and  the  lover ;  they  were  in  earnest 
conversation.  The  latter  was  vehement 
in  his  gesticulations ;  I  expected  some 
violent  termination  to  my  drama  ;  but  an 
angle  of  a  building  interfered  and  closed 
the  scene.  My  eye  has  since  frequently 
been  turned  to  that  convent  with  painful 
interest.  I  remarked  late  at  night  a 
light  burning  in  a  remote  window  of  one 
of  its  towers.  "  There,"  said  I,  "  the 
unhappy  nun  sits  weeping  in  her  cell, 
while  perhaps  her  lover  paces  the  street 
below  in  unavailing  anguish." 

The  officious  Mateo  interrupted  my 
meditations  and  destroyed  in  an  instant 
the  cobweb  tissue  of  my  fancy.  With 
his  usual  zeal  he  had  gathered  facts 
concerning  the  scene,  that  had  put  my 
fictions  all  to  flight.  The  heroine  of  my 
romance  was  neither  young  nor  hand 
some  ;  she  had  no  lover — she  had  en 
tered  the  convent  of  her  own  free  will, 
as  a  respectable  asylum,  and  was  one  of 
the  most  cheerful  residents  within  its 
walls. 

It  was  some  little  while  before  I  could 
forgive  the  wrong  done  me  by  the  nun 
in  being  thus  happy  in  her  cell,  in  con 
tradiction  to  all  the  rules  of  romance ;  I 
diverted  my  spleen,  however,  by  watch 
ing,  for  a  day  or  two,  the  pretty  coquetries 
of  a  dark-eyed  brunette,  who,  from  the 
covert  of  a  balcony  shrouded  with  flow 
ering  shrubs  and  a  silken  awning,  was 
carrying  on  a  mysterious  correspondence, 
with  a  handsome,  dark,  well-whiskered 
cavalier,  who  was  frequently  in  the  street 
beneath  her  window.  Sometimes  I  saw 
him  at  an  early  hour,  stealing  forth 


wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  a  mantle.  Some 
times  he  loitered  at  a  corner,  in  various 
disguises,  apparently  waiting  for  a  private 
signal  to  slip  into  the  house.  Then  there 
was  the  tinkling  of  a  guitar  at  night,  and 
a  lantern  shifted  from  place  to  place  in 
the  balcony.  I  imagined  another  intrigue 
like  that  of  Almaviva,  but  was  again 
disconcerted  in  all  my  suppositions,  by 
being  informed  that  the  supposed  lover 
was  the  husband  of  the  lady,  and  a  noted 
contrabandista ;  and  that  all  his  mys 
terious  signs  and  movements  had  doubt 
less  some  smuggling  scheme  in  view. 

I  occasionally  amused  myself  with 
noting  from  this  balcony  the  gradual 
changes  that  came  over  the  scenes  below, 
according  to  the  different  stages  of  the 
day. 

Scarce  has  the  gray  dawn  streaked  the 
sky,  and  the  earliest  cock  crowed  from 
the  cottages  of  the  hill -side,  when  the 
suburbs  give  sign  of  reviving  animation  ; 
for  the  fresh  hours  of  dawning  are  pre 
cious  in  the  summer  season  in  a  sultry 
climate.  All  are  anxious  to  get  the  start 
of  the  sun,  in  the  business  of  the  day. 
The  muleteer  drives  forth  his  loaded 
train  for  the  journey  ;  the  traveller  slings 
his  carbine  behind  his  saddle,  and  mounts 
his  steed  at  the  gate  of  the  hostel ;  the 
brown  peasant  urges  his  loitering  beasts, 
laden  with  panniers  of  sunny  fruit  and 
fresh  dewy  vegetables ;  for  already  the 
thrifty  housewives  are  hastening  to  the 
market. 

The  sun  is  up  and  sparkles  along  the 
valley,  tipping  the  transparent  foliage  of 
the  groves.  The  matin  bells  resound 
melodiously  through  the  pure  bright  air, 
announcing  the  hour  of  devotion.  The 
muleteer  halts  his  burthened  animals 
before  the  chapel,  thrusts  his  staff*  through 
his  belt  behind,  and  enters  with  hat  in 
hand,  smoothing  his  coal-black  hair,  to 
hear  a  mass,  and  put  up  a  prayer  for  a 
prosperous  wayfaring  across  the  sierra. 
And  now  steals  forth  on  fairy  foot  the 
gentle  senora,  in  trim  basquina,  with 
restless  fan  in  hand,  and  dark  eye 
flashing  from  beneath  the  gracefully 
folded  mantilla :  she  seeks  some  well- 
frequented  church  to  offer  up  her  morning 
orisons ;  but  the  nicely  adjusted  dress, 
the  dainty  shoe,  and  cobweb  stocking, 
the  raven  tresses,  exquisitely  braided,  the 


430 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


fresh  plucked  rose,  that  gleams  among 
them  like  a  gem,  show  that  earth  divides 
with  Heaven  the  empire  of  her  thoughts. 
Keep  an  eye  upon  her,  careful  mother, 
or  virgin  aunt,  or  vigilant  duenna,  which 
ever  you  be,  that  walk  behind. 

As  the  morning  advances,  the  din  of 
labour  augments  on  every  side  ;  the 
streets  are  thronged  with  man,  and  steed, 
and  beast  of  burthen,  and  there  is  a  hum 
and  murmur,  like  the  surges  of  the  ocean. 
As  the  sun  ascends  to  his  meridian,  the 
hum  and  bustle  gradually  decline;  at  the 
height  of  noon  there  is  a  pause.  The 
panting  city  sinks  into  lassitude,  and  for 
several  hours  there  is  a  general  repose. 
The  windows  are  closed,  the  curtains 
drawn,  the  inhabitants  retired  into  the 
coolest  recesses  of  their  mansions ;  the 
full-fed  monk  snores  in  his  dormitory; 
the  brawny  porter  lies  stretched  on  the 
pavement  beside  his  burthen ;  the  peasant 
and  the  labourer  sleep  beneath  the  trees 
of  the  Alameda,  lulled  by  the  sultry 
chirping  of  the  locust.  The  streets  are 
deserted,  except  by  the  water-carrier, 
who  refreshes  the  ear  by  proclaiming 
the  merits  of  his  sparkling  beverage, 
"  colder  than  the  mountain  snow." 

As  the  sun  declines,  there  is  again  a 
gradual  reviving,  and  when  the  vesper 
bell  rings  out  his  sinking  knell,  all  na 
ture  seems  to  rejoice  that  the  tyrant  of 
the  day  has  fallen.  Now  begins  the 
bustle  of  enjoyment,  when  the  citizens 
pour  forth  to  breathe  the  evening  air, 
and  revel  away  the  brief  twilight  in  the 
walks  and  gardens  of  the  Darro  and  the 
Xenil. 

As  night  closes,  the  capricious  scene 
assumes  new  features.  Light  after  light 
gradually  twinkles  forth ;  here  a  taper 
from  a  balconied  window ;  there  a  votive 
lamp  before  the  image  of  a  saint.  Thus, 
by  degrees,  the  city  emerges  from  the 
pervading  gloom,  and  sparkles  with  scat 
tered  lights,  like  the  starry  firmament. 
Now  break  forth  from  court  and  garden, 
and  street  and  lane,  the  tinkling  of  innu 
merable  guitars,  and  the  clicking  of  cas 
tanets  ;  blending,  at  this  lofty  height,  in 
a  faint  but  general  concert.  Enjoy  the 
moment,  is  the  creed  of  the  gay  and 
amorous  Andalusian,  and  at  no  time 
does  he  practise  it  more  zealously  than 
in  the  balmy  nights  of  summer,  wooing 


his  mistress  with  the  dance,  the  love- 
ditty,  and  the  passionate  serenade. 

I  was  one  evening  seated  in  the  bal- 
i  cony,  enjoying  the  light  breeze  that  came 
j  rustling  along  the  side  of  the  hill,  among 
j  the  tree  tops,  when  my  humble  historio- 
j  grapher  Mateo,  who  was  at  my  elbow, 
\  pointed  out  a  spacious  house,  in  an  ob- 
j  scure  street  of  the  Albaycin,  about  which 
j  he  related,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect, 
the  following  anecdote. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MASON. 

"  THERE  was  once  upon  a  time  a  poor 
mason,  or  bricklayer,  in  Granada,  who 
kept  all  the  Saint's  days  and  holidays, 
and  Saint  Monday  into  the  bargain,  and 
yet,  with  all  his  devotion,  he  grew  poorer 
and  poorer,  and  could  scarcly  earn  bread 
for  his  numerous  family.  One  night  he 
was  roused  from  his  first  sleep  by  a 
knocking  at  his  door.  He  opened  it, 
and  beheld  before  him  a  tall,  meagre, 
cadaverous-looking  priest. 

"  *  Hark  ye,  honest  friend !'  said  the 
stranger  ;  '  I  have  observed  that  you  are 
a  good  Christian,  and  one  to  be  trusted ; 
will  you  undertake  a  job  this  very 
night  V 

"  «  With  all  my  heart,  Senor  Padre, 
on  condition  that  I  am  paid  accordingly.' 

"  '  That  you  shall  be ;  but  you  must 
suffer  yourself  to  be  blindfolded.' 

"  To  this  the  mason  made  no  objec 
tion  ;  so,  being  hoodwinked,  he  was  led 
by  the  priest  through  various  rough  lanes 
and  winding  passages,  until  they  stopped 
before  the  portal  of  a  house.  The  priest 
then  applied  a  key,  turned  a  creaking 
lock,  and  opened  what  sounded  like  a 
ponderous  door.  They  entered,  the  door 
was  closed  and  bolted,  and  the  mason 
was  conducted  through  an  echoing  cor 
ridor,  and  a  spacious  hall,  to  an  interior 
part  of  the  building.  Here  the  bandage 
was  removed  from  his  eyes,  and  he  found 
himself  in  a  patio,  or  court,  dimly  lighted 
by  a  single  lamp.  In  the  centre  was  the 
dry  basin  of  an  old  Moorish  fountain, 
under  which  the  priest  requested  him  to 
form  a  small  vault,  bricks  and  mortar 
being  at  hand  for  the  purpose.  He  ac 
cordingly  worked  all  night,  but  without 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


431 


finishing  the  job.  Just  before  daybreak, 
the  priest  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  his 
hand,  and  having  again  blindfolded  him, 
conducted  him  back  to  his  dwelling. 

"'Are  you  willing,'  said  he,  'to  re 
turn  and  complete  your  work  V 

11 « Gladly,  Senor  Padre,  provided  I 
am  so  well  paid.' 

"  «  Well,  then,  to-morrow  at  midnight 
I  will  call  again.' 

"  He  did  so,  and  the  vault  was  com 
pleted. 

"  <  Now,'  said  the  priest,  *  you  must 
help  me  to  bring  forth  the  bodies  that 
are  to  be  buried  in  this  vault.' 

"The  poor  mason's  hair  rose  on  his 
head  at  these  words  :  he  followed  the 
priest,  with  trembling  steps,  into  a  re 
tired  chamber  of  the  mansion,  expecting 
to  behold  some  ghastly  spectacle  of  death, 
but  was  relieved  on  perceiving  three  or 
four  portly  jars  standing  in  one  corner. 
They  were  evidently  full  of  money,  and 
it  was  with  great  labour  that  he  and  the 
priest  carried  them  forth  and  consigned 
them  to  their  tomb.  The  vault  was  then 
closed,  the  pavement  replaced,  and  all 
traces  of  the  work  obliterated.  The  ma 
son  was  again  hoodwinked  and  led  forth 
by  a  route  different  from  that  by  which 
he  had  come.  After  they  had  wandered 
for  a  long  time  through  a  perplexed 
maze  of  lanes  and  alleys,  they  halted. 
The  priest  then  put  two  pieces  of  gold 
into  his  hand :  « Wait  here,'  said  he, 
1  until  you  hear  the  cathedral  bell  toll 
for  matins.  If  you  presume  to  uncover 
your  eyes  before  that  time,  evil  will  befall 
you :'  so  saying,  he  departed.  The 
mason  waited  faithfully,  amusing  himself 
by  weighing  the  gold  pieces  in  his  hand, 
and  clinking  them  against  each  other. 
The  moment  the  cathedral  bell  rang  its 
matin  peal,  he  uncovered  his  eyes,  and 
found  himself  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil, 
from  whence  he  made  the  best  of  his  way 
home,  and  revelled  with  his  family  for  a 
whole  fortnight  on  the  profits  of  his  two 
nights'  work ;  after  which,  he  was  as 
poor  as  ever. 

"  He  continued  to  work  a  little,  and 
pray  a  good  deal,  and  keep  Saints'  days 
and  holidays,  from  year  to  year,  while 
his  family  grew  up  as  gaunt  and  ragged 
as  a  crew  of  gipsies.  As  he  was  seated 
one  evening  at  the  door  of  his  hovel,  he 


was  accosted  by  a  rich  old  curmudgeon, 
who  was  noted  for  owning  many  houses, 
and  being  a  griping  landlord.  The  man 
of  money  eyed  him  for  a  moment  from 
beneath  a  pair  of  anxious  shagged  eye 
brows. 

"  '  I  am  told,  friend,  that  you  are  very 
poor.' 

" « There  is  no  denying  the  fact,  senor 
— it  speaks  for  itself.' 

"'I  presume  then,  that  you  will  be 
glad  of  a  job,  and  will  work  cheap.' 

" '  As  cheap,  my  master,  as  any  ma 
son  in  Granada.' 

"  '  That's  what  I  want.  I  have  an  old 
house  fallen  into  decay,  that  costs  me 
more  money  than  it  is  worth  to  keep  it 
in  repair,  for  nobody  will  live  in  it ;  so  I 
must  contrive  to  patch  it  up  and  keep  it 
together  at  as  small  expense  as  possible.' 

"  The  mason  was  accordingly  con 
ducted  to  a  large  deserted  house  that 
seemed  going  to  ruin.  Passing  through 
several  empty  halls  and  chambers,  he 
entered  an  inner  court,  where  his  eye 
was  caught  by  an  old  Moorish  fountain. 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  for  a  dreaming 
recollection  of  the  place  came  over  him. 

"  '  Pray,'  said  he,  '  who  occupied  this 
house  formerly?' 

"  '  A  pest  upon  him  !'  cried  the  land 
lord,  '  it  was  an  old  miserly  priest,  who 
cared  for  nobody  but  himself.  He  was 
said  to  be  immensely  rich,  and,  having 
no  relations,  it  was  thought  he  would 
leave  all  his  treasures  to  the  Church. 
He  died  suddenly,  and  the  priests  and 
friars  thronged  to  take  possession  of  his 
wealth ;  but  nothing  could  they  find  but 
a  few  ducats  in  a  leathern  purse.  The 
worst  luck  has  fallen  on  me,  for,  since 
his  death,  the  old  fellow  continues  to 
occupy  my  house  without  paying  rent, 
and  there's  no  taking  the  law  of  a  dead 
man.  The  people  pretend  to  hear  the 
clinking  of  gold  all  night  in  the  chamber 
where  the  old  priest  slept,  as  if  he  were 
counting  over  his  money,  and  sometimes 
a  groaning  and  moaning  about  the  court. 
Whether  true  or  false,  the  stories  have 
brought  a  bad  name  on  my  house,  and 
not  a  tenant  will  remain  in  it.' 

"  '  Enough,'  said  the  mason  sturdily  : 
4  let  me  live  in  your  house  rent-free  until 
some  better  tenant  present,  and  I  will 
engage  to  put  it  in  repair,  and  to  quiet 


13= 


432 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


the  troubled  spirit  that  disturbs  it.  I  am 
a  good  Christian  and  a  poor  man,  and 
am  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  devil  him 
self,  even  though  he  should  come  in  the 
shape  of  a  big  bag  of  money  !' 

"  The  offer  of  the  honest  mason  was 
gladly  accepted ;  he  moved  with  his  fa 
mily  into  the  house,  and  fulfilled  all  his 
engagements.  By  little  and  little  he 
restored  it  to  its  former  state  ;  the  clink 
ing  of  gold  was  no  more  heard  at  night 
in  the  chamber  of  the  defunct  priest,  but 
began  to  be  heard  by  day  in  the  pocket 
of  the  living  mason.  In  a  word,  he 
increased  rapidly  in  wealth,  to  the  admi 
ration  of  all  his  neighbours,  and  became 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  Granada  :  he 
gave  large  sums  to  the  Church,  by  way, 
no  doubt,  of  satisfying  his  conscience, 
and  never  revealed  the  secret  of  the 
vault  until  on  his  death-bed  to  his  son 
and  heir." 


A  RAMBLE  AMONG  THE  HILLS. 

I  FREQUENTLY  amuse  myself  towards 
the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  heat  has 
subsided,  with  taking  long  rambles  about 
the  neighbouring  hills  and  the  deep  um 
brageous  valleys,  accompanied  by  my 
historiographic  squire,  Mateo,  to  whose 
passion  for  gossiping  I  on  such  occasions 
give  the  most  unbounded  license ;  and 
there  is  scarce  a  rock,  or  ruin,  or  broken 
fountain,  or  lonely  glen,  about  which  he 
has  not  some  marvellous  story,  or,  above 
all,  some  golden  legend  ;  for  never  was 
poor  devil  so  munificent  in  dispensing 
hidden  treasures. 

A  few  evenings  since,  we  took  a  long 
stroll  of  the  kind,  in  the  course  of  which 
Mateo  was  more  than  usually  communi 
cative.  It  was  towards  sunset  that  we 
sallied  forth  from  the  Great  Gate  of 
Justice,  and  ascending  an  alley  of  trees, 
Mateo  paused  under  a  clump  of  fig  and 
pomegranate  trees,  at  the  foot  of  a  huge 
ruined  tower,  called  the  Tower  of  the 
Seven  Floors  (de  los  Sietes  Suelos). 
Here,  pointing  to  a  low  archway  in  the 
foundation  of  the  tower,  he  informed  me 
of  a  monstrous  sprite,  or  hobgoblin,  said 
to  infest  this  tower  ever  since  the  time  of 
the  Moors,  and  to  guard  the  treasures  of 


a  Moslem  king.  Sometimes  it  issues 
forth  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  and  scours 
the  avenues  of  the  Alhambra  and  the 
streets  of  Granada,  in  the  shape  of  a 
headless  horse,  pursued  by  six  dogs  with 
terrible  yells  and  howlings. 

"  But  have  you  ever  met  with  it  your 
self,  Mateo,  in  any  of  your  rambles  ?' 
demanded  I. 

"  No,  senor,  God  be  thanked !  but  my 
grandfather,  the  tailor,  knew  several  per 
sons  that  had  seen  it,  for  it  went  about 
much  oftener  in  his  time  than  at  present  ; 
sometimes  in  one  shape,  sometimes  in 
another.  Every  body  in  Granada  has 
heard  of  the  Bellado,  for  the  old  women 
and  the  nurses  frighten  the  children  with 
it  when  they  cry.  Some  say  it  is  the 
spirit  of  a  cruel  Moorish  king,  who  killed 
his  six  sons  and  buried  them  in  these 
vaults,  and  that  they  hunt  him  at  night 
in  revenge." 

I  forbear  to  dwell  upon  the  marvellous 
details  given  by  the  simple-minded  Mateo 
about  this  redoubtable  phantom,  which 
has,  in  fact,  been  time  out  of  mind  a 
favourite  theme  of  nursery  tales  and 
popular  tradition  in  Granada,  and  of 
which  honourable  mention  is  made  by  an 
ancient  and  learned  historian  and  topo 
grapher  of  the  place.  I  would  only  ob 
serve  that,  through  this  tower  was  the 
gateway  by  which  the  unfortunate  Boab- 
dil  issued  forth  to  surrender  his  capital. 

Leaving  this  eventful  pile,  we  con 
tinued  our  course,  skirting  the  fruitful 
orchards  of  the  Generalife,  in  which  two 
or  three  nightingales  were  pouring  forth 
a  rich  strain  of  melody.  Behind  these 
orchards  we  passed  a  number  of  Moorish 
tanks,  with  a  door  cut  into  the  rocky 
bosom  of  the  hill,  but  closed  up.  These 
tanks,  Mateo  informed  me,  were  favourite 
bathing  places  of  himself  and  his  com 
rades  in  boyhood,  until  frightened  away 
by  a  story  of  a  hideous  Moor,  who  used 
to  issue  forth  from  the  door  in  the  rock 
to  entrap  unwary  bathers. 

Leaving  these  haunted  tanks  behind 
us,  we  pursued  our  ramble  up  a  solitary 
mule-path  that  wound  among  the  hills, 
and  soon  found  ourselves  amidst  wild  and 
melancholy  mountains,  destitute  of  trees, 
and  here  and  there  tinted  with  scanty 
verdure.  Every  thing  within  sight  was 
severe  and  sterile,  and  it  was  scarcely 


-B 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


433 


possible  to  realize  the  idea  that  but  a 
short  distance  behind  us  was  the  Ge- 
neralife,  with  its  blooming  orchards  and 
terraced  gardens,  and  that  we  were  in  the 
vicinity  of  delicious  Granada,  that  city 
of  groves  and  fountains.  But  such  is 
the  nature  of  Spain — wild  and  stern  the 
moment  it  escapes  from  cultivation ;  the 
desert  and  the  garden  are  ever  side  by 
side. 

The  narrow  defile  up  which  we  were 
passing  is  called,  according  to  Mateo,  el 
Barranco  de  la  Tinaja,  or,  the  ravine  of 
the  jar,  because  a  jar  full  of  Moorish 
gold  was  found  here  in  old  times.  The 
brain  of  poor  Mateo  is  continually  run 
ning  upon  these  golden  legends. 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  cross 
I  see  yonder  upon  a  heap  of  stones,  in 
that  narrow  part  of  the  ravine  ?" 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing — a  muleteer  was 
murdered  there  some  years  since." 

"  So  then,  Mateo,  you  have  robbers 
and  murderers  even  at  the  gates  of  the 
Aihambra  ?" 

"  Not  at  present,  senor  ;  that  was  for 
merly,  when  there  used  to  be  many  loose 
fellows  about  the  fortress ;  but  they've 
all  been  weeded  out.  Not  but  that  the 
gipsies  who  live  in  caves  in  the  hill 
sides,  just  out  of  the  fortress,  are  many 
of  them  fit  for  any  thing ;  but  we  have 
had  no  murder  about  here  for  a  long 
time  past.  The  man  who  murdered  the 
muleteer  was  hanged  in  the  fortress." 

Our  path  continued  up  the  barranca, 

,  with  a  bold,  rugged  height  to  our  left, 

I  called  the  Silla  delMoro,  or  Chair  of  the 

Moor,  from  the  tradition  already  alluded 

to,   that   the    unfortunate    Boabdil    fled 

thither    during   a   popular    insurrection, 

and   remained    all    day   seated   on    the 

rocky  summit,  looking  mournfully  down 

on  his  factious  city. 

We  at  length  arrived  on  the  highest 
part  of  the  promontory  above  Granada, 
called  the  Mountain  of  the  Sun.  The 
evening  was  approaching;  the  setting 
sun  just  gilded  the  loftiest  heights.  Here 
and  there  a  solitary  shepherd  might  be 
descried  driving  his  flock  down  the  de 
clivities,  to  be  folded  for  the  night ;  or  a 
muleteer  and  his  lagging  animals,  thread 
ing  some  mountain  path,  to  arrive  at  the 
city  gates  before  nightfall. 

Presently  the  deep  tones  of  the  cathe- 
VOL.  ii.  37 


dral  bell  came  swelling  up  the  defiles, 
proclaiming  the  hour  of  "  oracion"  or 
prayer.  The  note  was  responded  to 
from  the  belfry  of  every  church,  and 
from  the  sweet  bells  of  the  convents 
among  the  mountains.  The  shepherd 
paused  on  the  fold  of  the  hill,  the  mule 
teer  in  the  midst  of  the  road,  each  took 
off  his  hat  and  remained  motionless  for  a 
time,  murmuring  his  evening  prayer. 
There  is  always  something  pleasingly 
solemn  in  this  custom,  by  which,  at  a 
melodious  signal,  every  human  being 
throughout  the  land  unites  at  the  same 
moment  in  a  tribute  of  thanks  to  God  for 
the  mercies  of  the  day.  It  spreads  a 
transient  sanctity  over  the  land,  and  the 
sight  of  the  sun  sinking  in  all  his  glory, 
adds  not  a  little  to  the  solemnity  of  the 
scene. 

In  the  present  instance  the  effect  was 
heightened  by  the  wild  and  lonely  nature 
of  the  place.  We  were  on  the  naked 
and  broken  summit  of  the  haunted 
Mountain  of  the  Sun,  where  ruined  tanks 
and  cisterns,  and  the  mouldering  foun 
dations  of  extensive  buildings,  spoke  of 
former  populousness,  but  where  all  was 
now  silent  and  desolate. 

As  we  were  wandering  among  these 
traces  of  old  times,  Mateo  pointed  out  to 
me  a  circular  pit,  that  seemed  to  pene 
trate  deep  into  the  bosom  of  the  moun 
tain.  It  was  evidently  a  deep  well,  dug 
by  the  indefatigable  Moors,  to  obtain 
their  favourite  element  in  its  greatest 
purity-  Mateo,  however,  had  a  different 
story,  and  much  more  to  his  humour. 
This  was,  according  to  tradition,  an 
entrance  to  the  subterranean  caverns  of 
the  mountain,  in  which  Boabdil  and  his 
court  lay  bound  in  magic  spell ;  and 
from  whence  they  sallied  forth  at  night, 
at  allotted  times,  to  revisit  their  ancient 
abodes. 

The  deepening  twilight,  which,  in  this 
climate,  is  of  such  short  duration,  ad 
monished  us  to  leave  this  haunted  ground. 
As  we  descended  the  mountain  defiles, 
there  was  no  longer  herdsman  or  mule 
teer  to  be  seen,  nor  any  thing  to  be  heard 
but  our  own  footsteps  and  the  lonely 
chirping  of  the  cricket.  The  shadows 
of  the  valleys  grew  deeper  and  deeper, 
until  all  was  dark  around  us.  The  lofty 
summit  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  alone  re- 


434 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


tained  a  lingering  gleam  of  daylight ;  its 
snowy  peaks  glaring  against  the  dark 
blue  firmament,  and  seeming  close  to  us, 
from  the  extreme  purity  of  the  atmo 
sphere. 

"  How  near  the  Sierra  looks  this  eve 
ning  !"  said  Mateo  ;  "  it  seems  as  if  you 
could  touch  it  with  your  hand ;  and  yet 
it  is  many  long  leagues  off."  While  he 
was  speaking,  a  star  appeared  over  the 
snowy  summit  of  the  mountain,  the  only 
one  yet  visible  in  the  heavens,  and  so 
pure,  so  large,  so  bright  and  beautiful,  as 
to  call  forth  ejaculations  of  delight  from 
honest  Mateo. 

"  Que  estrella  hermosa !  que  clara  y 
limpia  es ! — -No  puede  ser  estrella  mas 
brillante !" 

(What  a  beautiful  star !  how  clear 
and  lucid — no  star  could  be  more  bril 
liant  !) 

I  have  often  remarked  this  sensibility 
of  the  common  people  of  Spain  to  the 
charms  of  natural  objects.  The  lustre 
of  a  star,  the  beauty  or  fragrance  of  a 
flower,  the  crystal  purity  of  a  fountain, 
will  inspire  them  with  a  kind  of  poetical 
delight;  and  then,  what  euphonious 
words  their  magnificent  language  af 
fords,  with  which  to  give  utterance  to 
their  transports ! 

"But  what  lights  are  those,  Mateo, 
which  I  see  twinkling  along  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  just  below  the  snowy  region, 
and  which  might  be  taken  for  stars,  only 
that  they  are  ruddy,  and  against  the 
dark  side  of  the  mountain  ?" 

"  Those,  seiior,  are  fires,  made  by  the 
men  who  gather  snow  and  ice  for  the 
supply  of  Granada.  They  go  up  every 
afternoon  with  mules  and  asses,  and  take 
turns,  some  to  rest  and  warm  themselves 
by  the  fires,  while  others  fill  the  panniers 
with  ice.  They  then  set  off  down  the 
mountain,  so  as  to  reach  the  gates  of 
Granada  before  sunrise.  That  Sierra 
Nevada,  seiior,  is  a  lump  of  ice  in  the 
middle  of  Andalusia,  to  keep  it  all  cool 
in  summer." 

It  was  now  completely  dark  ;  we  were 
passing  through  the  barranca,  where 
stood  the  cross  of  the  murdered  mule 
teer  ;  when  I  beheld  a  number  of  lights 
moving  at  a  distance,  and  apparently 
advancing  up  the  ravine.  On  nearer 
approach,  they  proved  to  be  torches 


borne  by  a  train  of  uncouth  figures  ar 
rayed  in  black :  it  would  have  been  a 
procession  dreary  enough  at  any  time, 
but  was  peculiarly  so  in  this  wild  and 
solitary  place. 

Mateo  drew  near,  and  told  me  in  a 
low  voice,  that  it  was  a  funeral  train 
bearing  a  corpse  to  the  burying  ground 
among  the  hills. 

As  the  procession  passed  by,  the  lu 
gubrious  light  of  the  torches  falling  on 
the  rugged  features  and  funeral-weeds  of 
the  attendants,  had  the  most  fantastic 
effect,  but  was  perfectly  ghastly,  as  it 
revealed  the  countenance  of  the  corpse, 
which,  according  to  the  Spanish  custom, 
was  borne  uncovered  on  an  open  bier.  I 
remained  for  some  time  gazing  after  the 
dreary  train  as  it  wound  up  the  dark 
defile  of  the  mountain.  It  put  me  in 
mind  of  the  old  story  of  a  procession  of 
demons  bearing  the  body  of  a  sinner  up 
the  crater  of  Stfomboli. 

"  Ah  !  seiior,"  cried  Mateo,  "  I  could 
tell  you  a  story  of  a  procession  once 
seen  among  these  mountains,  but  then 
you'd  laugh  at  me,  and  say  it  was  one 
of  the  legacies  of  my  grandfather  the 
tailor." 

"  By  no  means,  Mateo.  There  is  no 
thing  I  relish  more  than  a  marvellous 
tale." 

"  Well,  seiior,  it  is  about  one  of  those 
very  men  we  have  been  talking  of,  who 
gather  snow  on  the  Sierra  Nevada." 

"  You  must  know,  that  a  great  many 
years  since,  in  my  grandfather's  time, 
there  was  an  old  fellow,  Tio  Nicolo  by 
name,  who  had  filled  the  panniers  of  his 
mule  with  snow  and  ice,  and  was  return 
ing  down  the  mountain.  Being  very 
drowsy,  he  mounted  upon  the  mule,  and 
soon  falling  asleep,  went  with  his  head 
nodding  and  bobbing  about  from  side  to 
side,  while  his  surefooted  old  mule  step 
ped  along  the  edge  of  the  precipices,  and 
down  steep  and  broken  barrancas,  just 
as  safe  and  steady  as  if  it  had  been  on 
plain  ground.  At  length,  Tio  Nicolo 
awoke,  and  gazed  about  him,  and  rubbed 
his  eyes — and,  in  good  truth,  he  had  rea 
son.  The  moon  shone  almost  as  bright 
as  day,  and  he  saw  the  city  belpw  him, 
as  plain  as  your  hand,  and  shining  with 
its  white  buildings,  like  a  silver  platter 
in  the  moonshine ;  but,  Lord !  seiior,  it 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


435 


was  nothing  like  the  city  he  had  left  a 
few  hours  before  !  Instead  of  the  cathe 
dral,  with  its  great  dome  and  turrets, 
and  the  churches  with  their  spires,  and 
the  convents  with  their  pinnacles,  all 
surmounted  with  the  blessed  cross,  he 
saw  nothing  but  Moorish  mosques,  and 
minarets,  and  cupolas,  all  topped  off  with 
glittering  crescents,  such  as  you  see  on 
the  Barbary  flags.  Well,  senor,  as  you 
may  suppose,  Tio  Nicolo  was  mightily 
puzzled  at  all  this,  but  while  he  was 
gazing  down  upon  the  city,  a  great  army 
came  marching  up  the  mountain,  wind 
ing  along  the  ravines,  sometimes  in  the 
moonshine,  sometimes  in  the  shade.  As 
it  drew  nigh,  he  saw  that  there  were 
horse  and  foot  all  in  Moorish  armour. 
Tio  Nicolo  tried  to  scramble  out  of  their 
way,  but  his  old  mule  stood  stock  still, 
and  refused  to  budge,  trembling,  at  the 
same  time,  like  a  leaf — for  dumb  beasts, 
seiior,  are  just  as  much  frightened  at 
such  things  as  human  beings.  Well, 
senor,  the  hobgoblin  army  came  march 
ing  by ;  there  were  men  that  seemed  to 
blow  trumpets,  and  others  to  beat  drums 
and  strike  cymbals,  yet  never  a  sound 
did  they  make ;  they  all  moved  on  with 
out  the  least  noise,  just  as  I  have  seen 
painted  armies  move  across  the  stage  in 
the  theatre  of  Granada,  and  all  looked 
as  pale  as  death.  At  last,  in  the  rear 
of  the  army,  between  two  black  Moorish 
horsemen,  rode  the  Grand  Inquisitor  of 
Granada,  on  a  mule  as  white  as  snow. 
Tio  Nicolo  wondered  to  see  him  in  such 
company,  for  the  Inquisitor  was  famous 
for  his  hatred  of  Moors,  and,  indeed,  of 
all  kinds  of  Infidels,  Jews,  and  heretics, 
and  used  to  hunt  them  out  with  fire  and 
scourge.  However,  Tio  Nicolo  felt  him 
self  safe,  now  that  there  was  a  priest  of 
such  sanctity  at  hand.  So  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  he  called  out  for  his 
benediction,  when,  hombre !  he  received 
a  blow  that  sent  him  and  his  old  mule 
over  the  edge  of  a  steep  bank,  down 
which  they  rolled,  head  over  heels,  to 
the  bottom !  Tio  Nicolo  did  not  come 
to  his  senses  until  long  after  sunrise, 
when  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of 
a  deep  ravine,  his  mule  grazing  beside 
him,  and  the  panniers  of  snow  complete 
ly  melted.  He  crawled  back  to  Granada, 
sorely  bruised  and  battered,  but  was  glad 


to  find  the  city  looking  as  usual,  with 
Christian  churches  and  crosses.  When 
he  told  the  story  of  his  night's  adventure, 
every  one  laughed  at  him ;  some  said  he 
had  dreamed  it  all,  as  he  dozed  on  his 
mule ;  others  thought  it  all  a  fabrication 
of  his  own — but  what  was  strange, 
senor,  and  made  people  afterwards  think 
more  seriously  of  the  matter,  was,  that 
the  Grand  Inquisitor  died  within  the 
year.  I  have  often  heard  my  grand 
father,  the  tailor,  say  that  there  was 
more  meant  by  that  hobgoblin  army 
bearing  off  the  resemblance  of  the  priest, 
than  folks  dared  to  surmise." 

"  Then  you  would  insinuate,  friend 
Mateo,  that  there  is  a  kind  of  Moorish 
limbo,  or  purgatory,  in  the  bowels  of 
these  mountains,  to  which  the  padre  in 
quisitor  was  borne  off." 

"  God  forbid,  senor  !  I  know  nothing 
of  the  matter — I  only  relate  what  I  heard 
from  my  grandfather." 

By  the  time  Mateo  had  finished  the 
tale  which  I  have  more  succinctly  re 
lated,  and  which  was  interlarded  with 
many  comments,  and  spun  out  with 
minute  details,  we  reached  the  gate  of 
the  Alhambra. 


LOCAL  TRADITIONS. 


THE  common  people  of  Spain  have  an  | 
oriental    passion   for   story-telling,   and  j 
are  fond  of  the  marvellous.     They  will  j 
gather  round  the  doors  of  their  cottages 
in   summer   evenings,   or   in   the   great  I 
cavernous  chimney  corners  of  the  ventas  i 
in  the  winter,  and  listen  with  insatiable 
delight  to  miraculous  legends  of  saints, 
perilous   adventures    of   travellers,   and 
daring  exploits  of  robbers  and  contra- 
bandistas.     The  wild  and  solitary  cha 
racter  of  the  country,  the  imperfect  diffu-  j 
sion   of   knowledge,   the   scarceness   of  ' 
general  topics  of  conversation,  and  the 
romantic  adventurous  life  that  every  one 
leads  in  a  land  where  travelling  is  yet 
in  its  primitive  state,    all  contribute   to 
cherish  this  love  of  oral  narration,  and  to 
produce  a  strong  infusion  of  the  extra 
vagant    and    incredible.      There    is   no 
theme,    however,   more    prevalent    and 
popular   than   that   of  treasures   buried 


436 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


by  the  Moors ;  it  pervades  the  whole 
country.  In  traversing  the  wild  sierras, 
the  scenes  of  ancient  foray  and  exploit, 
you  cannot  see  a  Moorish  atalaya,  or 
watchtower,  perched  among  the  cliffs, 
or  beetling  above  its  rock-built  village, 
but  your  muleteer,  on  being  closely 
questioned,  will  suspend  the  smoking  of 
his  cigarillo  to  tell  some  tale  of  Moslem 
gold  buried  beneath  its  foundations  ;  nor 
is  there  a  ruined  alcazar  in  a  city  but 
has  its  golden  tradition  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation  among  the 
poor  people  of  the  neighbourhood. 

These,  like  most  popular  fictions,  have 
sprung  from  some  scanty  groundwork 
of  fact.  During  the  wars  between  Moor 
and  Christian  which  distracted  this 
country  for  centuries,  towns  and  castles 
were  liable  frequently  and  suddenly  to 
change  owners,  and  the  inhabitants, 
during  sieges  and  assaults,  were  fain 
to  bury  their  money  and  jewels  in  the 
earth,  or  hide  them  in  vaults  and  wells, 
as  is  often  done  at  the  present  day  in  the 
despotic  and  belligerent  countries  of  the 
east.  At  the  time  of  the  expulsion  of 
the  Moors,  also,  many  of  them  concealed 
their  most  precious  effects,  hoping  that 
their  exile  would  be  but  temporary,  and 
that  they  would  be  enabled  to  return  and 
retrieve  their  treasures  at  some  future 
day.  It  is  certain  that  from  time  to 
time  hoards  of  gold  and  silver  coin  have 
been  accidentally  dug  up,  after  a  lapse 
of  centuries,  from  among  the  ruins  of 
Moorish  fortresses  and  habitations ;  and 
it  requires  but  a  few  facts  of  the  kind  to 
give  birth  to  a  thousand  fictions. 

The  stories  thus  originating  have 
generally  something  of  an  oriental  tinge, 
and  are  marked  with  that  mixture  of 
the  Arabic  and  the  Gothic  which  seems 
to  me  to  characterize  every  thing  in 
Spain,  and  especially  in  its  southern 
provinces.  The  hidden  wealth  is  always 
laid  under  magic  spell,  and  secured  by 
charm  and  talisman.  Sometimes  it  is 
guarded  by  uncouth  monsters  or  fiery 
dragons,  sometimes  by  enchanted  Moors, 
who  sit  by  it  in  armour,  with  drawn 
swords,  but  motionless  as  statues,  main 
taining  a  sleepless  watch  for  ages. 

The  Alhambra,  of  course,  from  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  its  history, 
is  a  stronghold  for  popular  fictions  of 


the  kind ;  and  various  relics  dug  up 
from  time  to  time,  have  contributed  to 
strengthen  them.  At  one  time  an 
earthen  vessel  was  found  containing 
Moorish  coins  and  the  skeleton  of  a 
cock,  which,  according  to  the  opinion  of 
certain  shrewd  inspectors,  must  have 
been  buried  alive.  At  another  time  a 
vessel  was  dug  up,  containing  a  great 
scarabseus  or  beetle  of  baked  clay, 
covered  with  Arabic  inscriptions,  which 
was  pronounced  a  prodigious  amulet  of 
occult  virtues.  In  this  way  the  wits  of 
the  ragged  brood  who  inhabit  the  Al 
hambra  have  been  set  wool-gathering, 
until  there  is  not  a  hall,  or  tower,  or 
vault,  of  the  old  fortress,  that  has  not 
been  made  the  scene  of  some  marvellous 
tradition.  Having,  I  trust,  in  the  prece 
ding  papers  made  the  reader  in  some 
degree  familiar  with  the  localities  of  the 
Alhambra,  I  shall  now  launch  out  more 
largely  into  the  wonderful  legends  con 
nected  with  it,  and  which  I  have  dili 
gently  wrought  into  shape  and  form, 
from  various  legendary  scraps  and  hints 
picked  up  in  the  course  of  my  perambu 
lations  ;  in  the  same  manner  that  an  an 
tiquary  works  out  a  regular  historical 
document  from  a  few  scattered  letters  of 
an  almost  defaced  inscription. 

If  any  thing  in  these  legends  should 
shock  the  faith  of  the  over-scrupulous 
reader,  he  must  remember  the  nature  of 
the  place,  and  make  due  allowances. 
He  must  not  expect  here,  the  same  laws 
of  probability  that  govern  commonplace 
scenes,  and  every-day  life;  he  must 
remember  that  he  treads  the  halls  of 
an  enchanted  palace,  and  that  all  is 
"  haunted  ground." 


THE 

HOUSE  OF  THE  WEATHERCOCK. 

ON  the  brow  of  the  lofty  hill  of  the 
Albaycin,  the  highest  part  of  the  city  of 
Granada,  stand  the  remains  of  what  was 
once  a  royal  palace,  founded  shortly 
after  the  conquest  of  Spain  by  the  Arabs. 
It  is  now  converted  into  a  manufactory, 
and  has  fallen  into  such  obscurity,  that 
it  cost  me  much  trouble  to  find  it,  not- 


: 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


437 


withstanding  that  I  had  the  assistance  of 
the  sagacious,  and  all-knowing  Mateo 
Ximenes.  This  edifice  still  bears  the 
name  by  which  it  has  been  known  for 
centuries,  namely,  "  La  Casa  del  Gallo 
de  Viento,"  i.  e.,  the  House  of  the 
Weathercock.  It  was  so  called  from  a 
bronze  figure  of  a  warrior  on  horseback, 
armed  with  shield  and  spear,  erected  on 
one  of  its  turrets,  and  turning  with  every 
wind ;  bearing  an  Arabic  motto,  which, 
translated  into  Spanish,  was  as  follows  : 

Dice  el  sabio  Aben  Habuz, 
Que  asi  se  defiende  el  Andaluz. 

In  this  way,  says  Aben  Habuz  the  wise, 
The  Andalusian  his  foe  defies. 

This  Aben  Habuz,  according  to  Moor 
ish  chronicles,  was  a  captain  in  the  in 
vading  army  of  Taric,  and  was  left  by 
him  as  Alcalde  of  Granada.  He  is 
supposed  to  have  intended  this  warlike 
effigy  as  a  perpetual  memorial  to  the 
Moslem  inhabitants,  that,  surrounded  as 
they  were  by  foes,  their  safety  depended 
upon  being  always  on  their  guard,  and 
ready  for  the  field. 

Traditions,  however,  give  a  different 
account  of  this  Aben  Habuz  and  his 
palace,  and  affirm  that  his  bronze  horse 
man  was  originally  a  talisman  of  great 
virtue,  though,  in  after  ages,  it  lost  its 
magic  properties,  and  degeaerated  into  a 
mere  weathercock. 

The  following  are  the  traditions  al 
luded  to. 


LEGEND  OF 
THE  ARABIAN  ASTROLOGER. 

IN  old  times,  many  hundred  years 
ago,  there  was  a  Moorish  king,  named 
Aben  Habuz,  who  reigned  over  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.  He  was  a  retired 
conqueror,  that  is  to  say,  one  who  having 
in  his  more  youthful  days  led  a  life  of 
constant  foray  and  depredation,  now  that 
he  had  grown  feeble  and  superannuated, 
"  languished  for  repose,"  and  desired 
nothing  more  than  to  live  at  peace  with 
all  the  world,  to  husband  his  laurels,  and 
to  enjoy  in  quiet  the  possessions  he  had 
wrested  from  his  neighbours. 


It  so  happened,  however,  that  this 
most  reasonable  and  pacific  old  mo 
narch  had  young  rivals  to  deal  with  ; 
princes  full  of  his  early  passion  for  fame 
and  fighting,  and  who  were  disposed  to 
call  him  to  account  for  the  scores  he 
had  run  up  with  their  fathers.  Certain 
distant  districts  of  his  own  territories, 
also,  which  during  the  days  of  his  vigour 
he  had  treated  with  a  high  hand,  were 
prone,  now  that  he  languished  for  re 
pose,  to  rise  in  rebellion  and  threaten  to 
invest  him  in  his  capital.  Thus  he  had 
foes  on  every  side,  and  as  Granada  is 
surrounded  by  wild  and  craggy  moun 
tains,  which  hide  the  approach  of  an 
enemy,  the  unfortunate  Aben  Habuz  was 
kept  in  a  constant  state  of  vigilance  and 
alarm,  not  knowing  in  what  quarter  hos 
tilities  might  break  out. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  built  watch- 
towers  on  the  mountains,  and  stationed 
guards  at  every  pass,  with  orders  to 
make  fires  by  night  and  smoke  by  day, 
on  the  approach  of  an  enemy.  His  alert 
foes,  baffling  every  precaution,  would 
break  out  of  some  unthought  of  defile, 
ravage  his  lands  beneath  his  very  nose, 
and  then  make  off  with  prisoners  and 
booty  to  the  mountains.  Was  ever 
peaceable  and  retired  conqueror  in  a 
more  uncomfortable  predicament  1 

While  Aben  Habuz  was  harassed  by 
these  perplexities  and  molestations,  an 
ancient  Arabian  physician  arrived  at  his 
court.  His  gray  beard  descended  to  his 
girdle,  and  he  had  every  mark  of  ex 
treme  age,  yet  he  had  travelled  almost 
the  whole  way  from  Egypt  on  foot,  with 
no  other  aid  than  a  staff,  marked  with 
hieroglyphics.  His  fame  had  preceded 
him.  His  name  was  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu 
Ajeeb;  he  was  said  to  have  lived  ever 
since  the  days  of  Mahomet,  and  to  be 
the  son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,  the  last  of  the 
companions  of  the  Prophet.  He  had, 
when  a  child,  followed  the  conquering 
army  of  Amru  into  Egypt,  where  he  had 
remained  many  years  studying  the  dark 
sciences,  and  particularly  magic,  among 
the  Egyptian  priests. 

It  was,  moreover,  said,  that  he  had 
found  out  the  secret  of  prolonging  life, 
by  means  of  which  he  had  arrived  to  the 
great  age  of  upwards  of  two  centuries, 
though,  as  he  did  not  discover  the  secret 

37* 


438 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


until  well  stricken  in  years,  he  could 
only  perpetuate  his  gray  hairs  and 
wrinkles. 

This  wonderful  old  man  was  honoura 
bly  entertained  by  the  king;  who,  like 
most  superannuated  monarchs,  began  to 
take  physicians  into  great  favour.  He 
would  have  assigned  him  an  apartment 
in  his  palace,  but  the  astrologer  prefer 
red  a  cave  on  the  side  of  the  hill  which 
rises  above  the  city  of  Granada,  being 
the  same  on  which  the  Alhambra  has 
since  been  built.  He  caused  the  cave  to 
be  enlarged  so  as  form  a  spacious  and 
lofty  hall,  with  a  circular  hole  at  the  top, 
through  which,  as  through  a  well,  he 
could  see  the  heavens  and  behold  the 
stars  even  at  mid-day.  The  walls  of 
this  hall  were  covered  with  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics,  with  cabalistic  symbols, 
and  with  the  figures  of  the  stars  in  their 
signs.  This  hall  he  furnished  with 
many  implements,  fabricated  under  his 
directions  by  cunning  artificers  of  Gra 
nada,  but  the  occult  properties  of  which 
were  known  only  to  himself. 

In  a  little  while  the  sage  Ibrahim  be 
came  the  bosom  counsellor  of  the  king, 
who  applied  to  him  for  advice  in  every 
emergency.  A  ben  Habuz  was  once  in 
veighing  against  the  injustice  of  his 
neighbours,  and  bewailing  the  restless 
vigilance  he  had  to  observe,  to  guard 
himself  against  their  invasions ;  when 
he  had  finished,  the  astrologer  remained 
silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied, 
"Know,  O  king,  that  when  I  was-  in 
Egypt  I  beheld  a  great  marvel  devised 
by  a  pagan  priestess  of  old.  On  a  moun 
tain,  above  the  city  of  Borsa,  and  over 
looking  the  great  valley  of  the  Nile,  was 
a  figure  of  a  ram,  and  above  it  a  figure 
of  a  cock,  both  of  molten  brass,  and  turn 
ing  upon  a  pivot.  Whenever  .the  country 
was  threatened  with  invasion,  the  ram 
would  turn  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy, 
and  the  cock  would  crow ;  upon  this  the 
inhabitants  of  the  city  knew  of  the  dan 
ger,  and  of  the  quarter  from  which  it 
was  approaching,  and  could  take  timely 
means  to  guard  against  it." 

"  God  is  great !"  exclaimed  the  pacific 
Aben  Habuz,  "  what  a  treasure  would 
be  such  a  ram  to  keep  an  eye  upon  these 
mountains  around  me,  and  then  such  a 
cock,  to  crow  in  time  of  danger  !  Allah 


achbar !  how  securely  I  might  sleep  in 
my  palace  with  such  sentinels  on  the 
top !" 

The  astrologer  waited  until  the  ecsta 
sies  of  the  king  had  subsided,  and  then 
proceeded. 

"  After  the  victorious  Amru  (may  he 
rest  in  peace  !)  had  finished  his  conquest 
of  Egypt,  I  remained  among  the  ancient 
priests  of  the  land,  studying  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  of  their  idolatrous  faith, 
and  seeking  to  make  myself  master  of 
the  hidden  knowledge  for  which  they  are 
renowned.  I  was  one  day  seated  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile,  conversing  with  an 
ancient  priest,  when  he  pointed  to  the 
mighty  pyramids  which  rose  like  moun 
tains  out  of  the  neighbouring  desert. 
*  All  that  we  can  teach  thee,'  said  he,  « is 
nothing  to  the  knowledge  locked  up  in 
those  mighty  piles.  In  the  centre  of  the 
central  pyramid  is  a  sepulchral  chamber, 
in  which  is  enclosed  the  mummy  of  the 
high  priest  who  aided  in  rearing  that 
stupendous  pile ;  and  with  him  is  buried 
a  wondrous  book  of  knowledge,  contain 
ing  all  the  secrets  of  magic  and  art. 
This  book  was  given  to  Adam  after  his 
fall,  and  was  handed  down  from  genera 
tion  to  generation  to  King  Solomon  the 
wise,  and  by  its  aid  he  built  the  temple 
of  Jerusalem.  How  it  came  into  the  pos 
session  of  the  builder  of  the  pyramids, 
is  known  to  him  alone  who  knows  all 
things. 

"  When  I  heard  these  words  of  the 
Egyptian  priest,  my  heart  burned  to  get 
possession  of  that  book.  I  could  com 
mand  the  services  of  many  of  the  soldiers 
of  our  conquering  army,  and  of  a  num 
ber  of  the  native  Egyptians  :  with  these 
I  set  to  work,  and  pierced  the  solid  mass 
of  the  pyramid,  until,  after  great  toil, 
I  came  upon  one  of  its  interior  and  hid 
den  passages.  Following  this  up,  and 
threading  a  fearful  labyrinth,  I  pene 
trated  into  the  very  heart  of  the  pyramid, 
even  to  the  sepulchral  chamber,  where 
the  mummy  of  the  high  priest  had  lain 
for  ages.  I  broke  through  the  outer 
cases  of  the  mummy,  unfolded  its  many 
wrappers  and  bandages,  and,  at  length, 
found  the  precious  volume  on  its  bosom. 
I  seized  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
groped  my  way  out  of  the  pyramid, 
leaving  the  mummy  in  its  dark  and 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


439 


silent  sepulchre,  there  to  await  the  final 
day  of  resurrection  and  judgment." 

"  Son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,"  exclaimed  Aben 
Habuz,  "  thou  hast  been  a  great  travel 
ler,  and  seen  marvellous  things  ;  but  of 
what  avail  to  me  is  the  secret  of  the 
pyramid,  and  the  volume  of  knowledge 
of  the  wise  Solomon  ?" 

"  This  it  is,  O  king !  by  the  study  of 
that  book  I  am  instructed  in  all  magic 
arts,  and  can  command  the  assistance  of 
genii  to  accomplish  my  plans.  The  mys 
tery  of  the  Talisman  of  Borsa  is  there 
fore  familiar  to  me,  and  such  a  talisman 
can  I  make ;  nay,  one  of  greater  vir 
tues." 

"  O  wise  son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,"  cried 
Aben  Habuz,  "  better  were  such  a  talis 
man  than  all  the  watchtowers  on  the 
hills,  and  sentinels  upon  the  borders. 
Give  me  such  a  safeguard,  and  the  riches 
of  my  treasury  are  at  thy  command." 

The  astrologer  immediately  set  to 
work  to  gratify  the  wishes  of  the  mo 
narch.  He  caused  a  great  tower  to  be 
erected  upon  the  top  of  the  royal  palace, 
which  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  of 
the  Albaycin.  The  tower  was  built  of 
stones  brought  from  Egypt,  and  taken, 
it  is  said,  from  one  of  the  pyramids.  In 
the  upper  part  of  the  tower  was  a  circu 
lar  hall,  with  windows  looking  towards 
every  point  of  the  compass,  and  before 
each  window  was  a  table,  on  which  was 
arranged,  as  on  a  chess-board,  a  mimic 
army  of  horse  and  foot,  with  the  effigy 
of  the  potentate  that  ruled  in  that  direc 
tion,  all  carved  of  wood.  To  each  of 
these  there  was  a  small  lance,  no  bigger 
than  a  bodkin,  on  which  were  engraved 
certain  Chaldaic  characters.  This  hall 
was  kept  constantly  closed,  by  a  gate  of 
brass,  with  a  great  lock  of  steel,  the  key 
of  which  was  in  possession  of  the  king. 

On  the  top  of  the  tower  was  a  bronze 
figure  of  a  Moorish  horseman,  fixed  on 
a  pivot,  with  a  shield  on  one  arm,  and 
his  lance  elevated  perpendicularly.  The 
face  of  this  horseman  was  towards  the 
city,  as  if  keeping  guard  over  it ;  but  if 
any  foe  were  at  hand,  the  figure  would 
turn  in  that  direction,  and  would  level 
the  lance  as  if  for  action. 

When  this  talisman  was  finished, 
Aben  Habuz  was  all  impatient  to  try  its 
virtues ;  and  longed  as  ardently  for  an 


invasion  as  he  had  ever  sighed  after  re 
pose.  His  desire  was  soon  gratified. 
Tidings  were  brought  early  one  morning 
by  the  sentinel  appointed  to  watch  the 
tower,  that  the  face  of  the  bronze  horse 
man  was  turned  towards  the  mountains 
of  Elvira,  and  that  his  lance  pointed  di 
rectly  against  the  pass  of  Lope. 

"  Let  the  drums  and  trumpets  sound 
to  arms,  and  all  Granada  be  put  on  the 
alert,"  said  Aben  Habuz. 

"  O  king,"  said  the  astrologer,  "  let 
not  your  city  be  disquieted,  nor  your 
warriors  called  to  arms  ;  we  need  no  aid 
of  force  to  deliver  you  from  your  ene 
mies.  Dismiss  your  attendants,  and  let 
us  proceed  alone  to  the  secret  hall  of  the 
tower." 

The  ancient  Aben  Habuz  mounted 
the  staircase  of  the  tower,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  the  still  more  ancient  Ibrahim 
Ebn  Abu  Ajeeb.  They  unlocked  the  bra 
zen  door,  and  entered.  The  window  that 
looked  towards  the  pass  of  Lope  was 
open.  "  In  this  direction,"  said  the  as 
trologer,  "  lies  the  danger  ;  approach,  O 
king,  and  behold  the  mystery  of  the 
table." 

King  Aben  Habuz  approached  the 
seeming  chess-board,  on  which  were  ar 
ranged  the  small  wooden  effigies,  when, 
to  his  surprise,  he  perceived  that  they 
were  all  in  motion.  The  horses  pranced 
and  curveted,  the  warriors  brandished 
their  weapons,  and  there  was  a  faint 
sound  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the 
clang  of  arms,  and  neighing  of  steeds ; 
but  all  no  louder,  nor  more  distinct,  than 
the  hum  of  the  bee  or  the  summer-fly, 
in  the  drowsy  ear  of  him  who  lies  at 
noontide  in  the  shade. 

"Behold,  O  king,"  said  the  astro 
loger,  "  a  proof  that  thy  enemies  are 
even  now  in  the  field.  They  must  be 
advancing  through  yonder  mountains, 
by  the  passes  of  Lope.  Would  you  pro 
duce  a  panic  and  confusion  amongst 
them,  and  cause  them  to  retreat  without 
loss  of  life,  strike  these  effigies  with  the 
but-end  of  this  magic  lance  ;  but  would 
you  cause  bloody  feud  and  carnage 
among  them,  strike  with  the  point." 

A  livid  streak  passed  across  the  coun 
tenance  of  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz ;  he 
seized  the  mimic  lance  with  trembling 
eagerness,  and  tottered  towards  the  table, 


440 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


his  gray  beard  wagged  with  chuckling 
exultation :  «« Son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  I  think  we  will  have  a 
little  blood !" 

So  saying,  he  thrust  the  magic  lance 
into  some  of  the  pigmy  effigies,  and  be 
laboured  others  with  the  but-end,  upon 
which  the  former  fell  as  dead  upon  the 
board,  and  the  rest,  turning  upon  each 
other,  began,  pellmell,  a  chance-medley 
fight. 

It  was  with  difficulty  the  astrologer 
could  stay  the  hand  of  the  most  pacific 
of  monarchs,  and  prevent  him  from  ab 
solutely  exterminating  his  foes;  at  length 
he  prevailed  upon  him  to  leave  the  tower, 
and  to  send  out  scouts  to  the  mountains 
by  the  pass  of  Lope. 

They  returned  with  the  intelligence, 
that  a  Christian  army  had  advanced 
through  the  heart  of  the  Sierra,  almost 
within  sight  of  Granada,  where  a  dissen 
sion  had  broken  out  among  them ;  they 
had  turned  their  weapons  against  each 
other,  and  after  much  slaughter  had  re 
treated  over  the  border. 

Aben  Habuz  was  transported  with  joy 
on  thus  proving  the  efficacy  of  the  talis 
man.  "  At  length,"  said  he,  I  shall  lead 
a  life  of  tranquillity,  and  have  all  my 
enemies  in  my  power.  O  wise  son  of 
Abu  Ajeeb,  what  can  I  bestow  on  thee 
in  reward  for  such  a  blessing  ?" 

"  The  wants  of  an  old  man  and  a 
philosopher,  O  king,  are  few  and  simple; 
grant  me  but  the  means  of  fitting  up  my 
cave  as  a  suitable  hermitage,  and  I  am 
content." 

"  How  noble  is  the  moderation  of  the 
truly  wise !"  exclaimed  Aben  Habuz, 
secretly  pleased  at  the  cheapness  of  the 
recompense.  He  summoned  his  trea 
surer,  and  bade  him  dispense  whatever 
sums  might  be  required  by  Ibrahim  to 
complete  and  furnish  his  hermitage. 

The   astrologer   now   gave  orders  to 
have  various  chambers  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  rock,  so  as  to  form  ranges  of  apart 
ments   connected   with    his    astrological 
hall ;   these   he  caused  to  be  furnished 
;  with  luxurious  ottomans  and  divans,  and 
I  the  walls  to    be  hung  with  the  richest 
!  silks  of  Damascus.   "  I  am  an  old  man," 
I  said    he,  "and  can  no  longer   rest  my 
|  bones  on  stone  couches,  and  these  damp 
j  walls  require  covering." 


He  had  baths  too  constructed,  and 
provided  with  all  kinds  of  perfumes  and 
aromatic  oils.  "  For  a  bath,"  said  he, 
"  is  necessary  to  counteract  the  rigidity 
of  age,  and  to  restore  freshness  and  sup 
pleness  to  the  frame  withered  by  study." 

He  caused  the  apartments  to  be  hung 
with  innumerable  silver  and  crystal 
lamps,  which  he  filled  with  a  fragrant 
oil,  prepared  according  to  a  receipt  dis 
covered  by  him  in  the  tombs  of  Egypt. 
This  oil  was  perpetual  in  its  nature, 
and  diffused  a  soft  radiance  like  the  tem 
pered  light  of  day.  "  The  light  of  the 
sun,"  said  he,  "  is  too  garish  and  violent 
for  the  eyes  of  an  old  man,  and  the  light 
of  the  lamp  is  more  congenial  to  the  stu 
dies  of  a  philosopher." 

The  treasurer  of  King  Aben  Habuz 
groaned  at  the  sums  daily  demanded  to 
fit  up  this  hermitage,  and  he  carried  his 
complaints  to  the  king.  The  royal 
word,  however,  was  given;  Aben  Habuz 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  We  must 
have  patience,"  said  he,  "  this  old  man 
has  taken  his  idea  of  a  philosophic  re 
treat  from  the  interior  of  the  pyramids, 
and  of  the  vast  ruins  of  Egypt ;  but  all 
things  have  an  end,  and  so  will  the  fur 
nishing  of  his  cavern." 

The  king  was  in  the  right,  the  her 
mitage  was  at  length  complete,  and 
formed  a  sumptuous  subterranean  pa 
lace.  "  I  am  now  content,"  said  Ibrahim 
Ebn  Abu  Ajeeb  to  the  treasurer,  "  I  will 
shut  myself  up  in  my  cell,  and  devote 
my  time  to  study.  I  desire  nothing  more, 
nothing  except  a  trifling  solace,  to  amuse 
me  at  the  intervals  of  mental  labour." 

"  O  wise  Ibrahim,  ask  what  thou  wilt, 
I  am  bound  to  furnish  all  that  is  neces 
sary  for  thy  solitude." 

"  I  would  fain  have  then  a  few  dancing 
women,"  said  the  philosopher. 

"  Dancing  women !"  echoed  the  trea 
surer  with  surprise. 

"Dancing  women,"  replied  the  sage 
gravely ;  "  a  few  will  suffice,  for  I  am 
an  old  man,  and  a  philosopher,  of  simple 
habits,  and  easily  satisfied.  Let  them, 
however,  be  young,  and  fair  to  look 
upon ;  for  the  sight  of  youth  and  beauty 
is  refreshing  to  old  age." 

While  the  philosopher,  Ibrahim  Ebn 
Abu  Ajeeb,  passed  his  time  thus  sagely 
in  his  hermitage,  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


441 


carried  on  furious  campaigns  in  effigy  in 
his  tower.  It  was  a  glorious  thing  for 
an  old  man,  like  himself,  of  quiet  habits, 
to  have  war  made  easy,  and  to  be  ena 
bled  to  amuse  himself  in  his  chamber 
by  brushing  away  whole  armies  like  so 
many  swarms  of  flies. 

For  a  time  he  rioted  in  the  indulgence 
of  his  humours,  and  even  taunted  and 
insulted  his  neighbours,  to  induce  them 
to  make  incursions ;  but  by  degrees  they 
grew  wary  from  repeated  disasters,  until 
no  one  ventured  to  invade  his  territories. 
For  many  months  the  bronze  horseman 
remained  on  the  peace  establishment  with 
his  lance  elevated  in  the  air,  and  the 
worthy  old  monarch  began  to  repine  at 
the  want  of  his  accustomed  sport,  and  to 
grow  peevish  at  his  monotonous  tran 
quillity. 

At  length,  one  day,  the  talismanic 
horseman  veered  suddenly  round,  and 
lowering  his  lance,  made  a  dead  point 
towards  the  mountains  of  Guadix.  Aben 
Habuz  hastened  to  his  tower,  but  the 
magic  table  in  that  direction  remained 
quiet ;  not  a  single  warrior  was  in  mo 
tion.  Perplexed  at  the  circumstance,  he 
sent  forth  a  troop  of  horse  to  scour  the 
mountains  and  reconnoitre.  They  re 
turned  after  three  days'  absence. 

"  We  have  searched  every  mountain 
pass,"  said  they,  "  but  not  a  helm  or 
spear  was  stirring.  All  that  we  have  found 
in  the  course  of  our  foray,  was  a  Chris 
tian  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty,  sleep 
ing  at  noontide  beside  a  fountain,  whom 
we  have  brought  away  captive." 

"  A  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty  !" 
exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  his  eyes  gleam 
ing  with  animation ;  "  let  her  be  con 
ducted  into  my  presence." 

The  beautiful  damsel  was  accordingly 
conducted  into  his  presence.  She  was 
arrayed  with  all  the  luxury  of  ornament 
that  had  prevailed  among  the  Gothic 
Spaniards  at  the  time  of  the  Arabian 
conquest.  Pearls  of  dazzling  whiteness 
were  entwined  with  her  raven  tresses ; 
and  jewels  sparkled  on  her  forehead, 
rivalling  the  lustre  of  her  eyes.  Around 
her  neck  was  a  golden  chain,  to  which 
was  suspended  a  silver  lyre,  which  hung 
by  her  side. 

The  flashes  of  her  dark  refulgent  eye 
were  like  sparks  of  fire  on  the  withered, 


yet  combustible,  heart  of  Aben  Habuz ; 
the  swimming  voluptuousness  of  her  gait 
made  his  senses  reel.  "  Fairest  of  wo 
men,"  cried  he,  with  rapture,  «*  who  and 
what  art  thou  ?" 

««  The  daughter  of  one  of  the  Gothic 
princes,  who  but  lately  ruled  over  this 
land.  The  armies  of  my  father  have 
been  destroyed  as  if  by  magic,  among 
these  mountains ;  he  has  been  driven 
into  exile,  and  his  daughter  is  a  captive." 

"  Beware,  O  king !"  whispered  Ibra 
him  Ebn  Abu  Ajeeb,  "  this  may  be  one 
of  those  Northern  sorceresses  of  whom 
we  have  heard,  who  assume  the  most 
seductive  forms  to  beguile  the  unwary. 
Methinks  I  read  witchcraft  in  her  eye, 
and  sorcery  in  every  movement.  Doubt 
less  this  is  the  enemy  pointed  out  by  the 
talisman." 

"  Son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,"  replied  the  king, 
"  thou  art  a  wise  man,  I  grant,  a  conjuror 
for  aught  I  know ;  but  thou  art  little 
versed  in  the  ways  of  woman.  In  that 
knowledge  will  I  yield  to  no  man ;  no, 
not  the  wise  Solomon  himself,  not 
withstanding  the  number  of  his  wives 
and  concubines.  As  to  this  damsel,  I 
see  no  harm  in  her,  she  is  fair  to  look 
upon,  and  finds  favour  in  my  eyes." 

"  Hearken,  O  king!"  replied  the  astro 
loger.  "  I  have  given  thee  many  vic 
tories  by  means  of  my  talisman,  but 
have  never  shared  any  of  the  spoil. 
Give  me  then  this  stray  captive,  to  solace 
me  in  my  solitude  with  her  silver  lyre. 
If  she  be  indeed  a  sorceress,  I  have 
counter  spells  that  set  her  charms  at 
defiance." 

"What!  more  women!"  cried  Aben 
Habuz.  "  Hast  thou  not  already  dancing 
women  enough  to  solace  thee  ?" 

"  Dancing  women  have  I,  it  is  true, 
but  no  singing  women.  I  would  fain 
have  a  little  minstrelsy  to  refresh  my 
mind  when  weary  with  the  toils  of 
study." 

"  A  truce  with  thy  hermit  cravings," 
said  the  king,  impatiently.  "  This  damsel 
have  I  marked  for  my  own.  I  see  much 
comfort  in  her;  even  such  comfort  as 
David,  the  father  of  Solomon  the  wise, 
found  in  the  society  of  Abishag  the 
Shunamite." 

Further  solicitations  and  remonstrances 
of  the  astrologer  only  provoked  a  more 


442 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


peremptory  reply  from  the  monarch,  and 
they  parted  in  high  displeasure.  The 
sage  shut  himself  up  in  his  hermitage  to 
brood  over  his  disappointment ;  ere  he 
departed,  however,  he  gave  the  king  one 
more  warning  to  beware  of  his  dangerous 
captive.  But  where  is  the  old  man  in 
love  that  will  listen  to  council?  Aben 
Habuz  resigned  himself  to  the  full  sway 
of  his  passion.  His  only  study  was  how 
to  render  himself  amiable  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Gothic  beauty.  He  had  not  youth 
to  recommend  him,  it  is  true,  but  then 
he  had  riches ;  and  when  a  lover  is  old, 
he  is  generally  generous.  The  Zacatin 
of  Granada  was  ransacked  for  the  most 
precious  merchandise  of  the  East ;  silks, 
jewels,  precious  gems,  exquisite  perfumes, 
all  that  Asia  and  Africa  yielded  of  rich 
and  rare,  were  lavished  upon  the  prin 
cess.  All  kinds  of  spectacles  and  festi 
vities  were  devised  for  her  entertainment; 
minstrelsy,  dancing,  tournaments,  bull 
fights  :  Granada,  for  a  time,  was  a  scene 
of  perpetual  pageant.  The  Gothic  prin 
cess  regarded  all  this  splendour  with  the 
air  of  one  accustomed  to  magnificence. 
She  received  every  thing  as  a  homage 
due  to  her  rank,  or  rather  to  her  beauty, 
for  beauty  is  more  lofty  in  its  exactions 
even  than  rank.  Nay,  she  seemed  to 
take  a  secret  pleasure  in  exciting  the 
monarch  to  expenses  that  made  his  trea 
sury  shrink ;  and  then  treating  his  extra 
vagant  generosity  as  a  mere  matter  of 
course.  With  all  his  assiduity  and  mu 
nificence,  also,  the  venerable  lover  could 
not  flatter  himself  that  he  had  made  any 
impression  on  her  heart.  She  never 
frowned  on  him,  it  is  true,  but  then  she 
never  smiled.  Whenever  he  began  to 
plead  his  passion,  she  struck  her  silver 
lyre.  There  was  a  mystic  charm  in  the 
sound.  In  an  instant  the  monarch  began 
to  nod ;  a  drowsiness  stole  over  him,  and 
he  gradually  sank  into  a  sleep,  from 
which  he  awoke  wonderfully  refreshed, 
but  perfectly  cooled,  for  the  time,  of  his 
passion.  This  was  very  baffling  to  his 
suit;  but  then  these  slumbers  were  ac 
companied  by  agreeable  dreams,  that 
completely  enthralled  the  senses  of  the 
drowsy  lover ;  so  he  continued  to  dream 
on,  while  all  Granada  scoffed  at  his  in 
fatuation,  and  groaned  at  the  treasures 
lavished  for  a  song. 


At  length  a  danger  burst  on  the  head 
of  Aben  Habuz,  against  which  his  talis 
man  yielded  him  no  warning.  An  insur 
rection  broke  out  in  his  very  capital: 
his  palace  was  surrounded  by  an  armed 
rabble,  who  menaced  his  life  and  the  life 
of  his  Christian  paramour.  A  spark  of 
his  ancient  warlike  spirit  was  awakened 
in  the  breast  of  the  monarch.  At  the 
head  of  a  handful  of  his  guards  he  sallied 
forth,  put  the  rebels  to  flight,  and  crushed 
the  insurrection  in  the  bud. 

When  quiet  was  again  restored,  he 
sought  the  astrologer,  who  still  remained 
shut  up  in  his  hermitage,  chewing  the 
bitter  cud  of  resentment. 

Aben  Habuz  approached  him  with  a 
conciliatory  tone.  "  O  wise  son  of  Abu 
Ajeeb,"  said  he,  "  well  didst  thou  predict 
dangers  to  me  from  this  captive  beauty : 
tell  me  then,  thou  who  art  so  quick  at 
foreseeing  peril,  what  I  should  do  to 
avert  it." 

"  Put  from  thee  the  infidel  damsel  who 
is  the  cause." 

"  Sooner  would  I  part  with  my  king 
dom,"  cried  Aben  Habuz. 

"  Thou  art  in  danger  of  losing  both," 
replied  the  astrologer. 

"  Be  not  harsh  and  angry,  O  most 
profound  of  philosophers  ;  consider  the 
double  distress  of  a  monarch  and  a  lover, 
and  devise  some  means  of  protecting  me 
from  the  evils  by  which  I  am  menaced. 
I  care  not  for  grandeur,  I  care  not  for 
power,  I  languish  only  for  repose ;  would 
that  I  had  some  quiet  retreat  where  I 
might  take  refuge  from  the  world,  and 
all  its  cares,  and  pomps,  and  troubles, 
and  devote  the  remainder  of  my  days  to 
tranquillity  and  love." 

The  astrologer  regarded  him  for  a 
moment,  from  under  his  bushy  eye 
brows. 

"  And  what  wouldst  thou  give,  if  I 
could  provide  thee  such  a  retreat  ?" 

"  Thou  shouldst  name  thy  own  re 
ward,  and  whatever  it  might  be,  if  within 
the  scope  of  my  power,  as  my  soul  liveth, 
it  should  be  thine." 

"  Thou  hast  heard,  O  king,  of  the 
Garden  of  Irem,  one  of  the  prodigies  of 
Arabia  the  Happy." 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  garden ;  it  is 
recorded  in  the  Koran,  even  in  the  chap 
ter  entitled  'The  Dawn  of  Day.'  I  have, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


443 


moreover,  heard  marvellous  things  re 
lated  of  it  by  pilgrims  who  had  been  to 
Mecca  ;  but  I  consider  them  wild  fables, 
such  as  travellers  are  wont  to  tell  who 
have  visited  remote  countries." 

"  Discredit  not,  O  king,  the  tales  of 
travellers,"  rejoined  the  astrologer  grave 
ly,  "  for  they  contain  precious  rarities  of 
knowledge  brought  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  As  to  the  Palace  and  Garden  of 
Irem,  what  is  generally  told  of  them  is 
true ;  I  have  seen  them  with  mine  own 
eyes — listen  to  my  adventure  ;  for  it  has 
a  bearing  upon  the  object  of  your  re 
quest. 

"  In  my  younger  days,  when  a  mere 
Arab  of  the  desert,  I  tended  my  father's 
camels.  In  traversing  the  Desert  of 
Aden,  one  of  them  strayed  from  the 
rest,  and  was  lost.  I  searched  after  it 
for  several  days,  but  in  vain,  until  wea 
ried  and  faint,  I  laid  myself  down  one 
noontide,  and  slept  under  a  palm  tree  by 
the  side  of  a  scanty  well.  When  I 
awoke,  I  found  myself  at  the  gate  of  a 
city.  I  entered,  and  beheld  noble  streets, 
and  squares,  and  market-places  ;  but  all 
were  silent  and  without  an  inhabitant.  I 
wandered  on  until  I  came  to  a  sumptuous 
palace  with  a  garden,  adorned  with  foun 
tains  and  fish-ponds,  and  groves  and 
flowers,  and  orchards  laden  with  deli 
cious  fruit ;  but  still  no  one  was  to  be 
seen.  Upon  which,  appalled  at  this  lone 
liness,  I  hastened  to  depart ;  and,  after 
issuing  forth  at  the  gate  of  the  city,  I 
turned  to  look  upon  the  place,  but  it  was 
no  longer  to  be  seen,  nothing  but  the 
silent  desert  extended  before  my  eyes. 

"  In  the  neighbourhood  I  met  with  an 
aged  dervise,  learned  in  the  traditions 
and  secrets  of  the  land,  and  related  to 
him  what  had  befallen  me.  *  This,'  said 
he,  'is  the  far-famed  Garden  of  Irem,  one 
of  the  wonders  of  the  desert.  It  only 
appears  at  times  to  some  wanderer  like 
thyself,  gladdening  him  with  the  sight  of 
towers  and  palaces,  and  garden  walls 
overhung  with  richly  laden  fruit  trees, 
and  then  vanishes,  leaving  nothing  but  a 
lonely  desert.  And  this  is  the  story  of 
it.  In  old  times,  when  this  country  was 
inhabited  by  the  Addites,  King  Sheddad, 
the  son  of  Ad,  the  great  grandson  of 
Noah,  founded  here  a  splendid  city. 
When  it  was  finished,  and  he  saw  its 


grandeur,  his  heart  was  puffed  up  with 
pride  and  arrogance,  and  he  determined 
to  build  a  royal  palace,  with  gardens 
that  should  rival  all  that  was  related  in 
the  Koran  of  the  celestial  paradise.  But 
the  curse  of  Heaven  fell  upon  him  for 
his  presumption.  He  and  his  subjects 
were  swept  from  the  earth,  and  his 
splendid  city,  and  palace,  and  gardens, 
were  laid  under  a  perpetual  spell,  that 
hides  them  from  the  human  sight,  ex 
cepting  that  they  are  seen  at  intervals, 
by  way  of  keeping  his  sin  in  perpetual 
remembrance.' 

"  This  story,  O  king,  and  the  wonders 
I  had  seen,  ever  dwelt  in  my  mind  ;  and 
in  after  years,  when  I  had  been  in 
Egypt,  and  was  possessed  of  the  book 
of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the  wise,  I 
determined  to  return  and  revisit  the  Gar 
den  of  Irem.  I  did  so,  and  found  it 
revealed  to  my  instructed  sight.  I  took 
possession  of  the  palace  of  Sheddad,  and 
passed  several  days  in  his  mock  para 
dise.  The  genii  who  watch  over  the 
place,  were  obedient  to  my  magic  power, 
and  revealed  to  me  the  spells  by  which 
the  whole  garden  had  been,  as  it  were, 
conjured  into  existence,  and  by  which  it 
was  rendered  invisible.  Such  a  palace 
and  garden,  O  king,  can  I  make  for 
thee,  even  here,  on  the  mountain  above 
the  city.  Do  I  not  know  all  the  secret 
spells?  and  am  I  not  in  possession  of 
the  book  of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the 
wise  ?" 

"  O  wise  son  of  Abu  Ajeeb !"  ex 
claimed  Aben  Habuz,  trembling  with 
eagernesss,  "  thou  art  a  traveller  indeed, 
and  hast  seen  and  learnt  marvellous 
things !  Contrive  me  such  a  paradise, 
and  ask  any  reward,  even  to  the  half  of 
my  kingdom." 

"  Alas !"  replied  the  other,  "  thou 
knowest  I  am  an  old  man,  and  a  philo 
sopher,  and  easily  satisfied ;  all  the  reward 
I  ask  is  the  first  beast  of  burden,  with  its 
load,  that  shall  enter  the  magic  portal  of 
the  palace." 

The  monarch  gladly  agreed  to  so 
moderate  a  stipulation,  and  the  astrologer 
began  his  work.  On  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  immediately  above  his  subterranean 
hermitage,  he  caused  a  great  gateway  or 
barbacan  to  be  erected,  opening  through 
the  centre  of  a  strong  tower. 


444 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


There  was  an  outer  vestibule  or  porch, 
with  a  lofty  arch,  and  within  it  a  portal 
secured  by  massive  gates.  On  the  key 
stone  of  the  portal  the  astrologer,  with 
his  own  hand,  wrought  the  figure  of  a 
huge  key;  and  on  the  keystone  of  the 
outer  arch  of  the  vestibule,  which  was 
loftier  than  that  of  the  portal,  he  carved 
a  gigantic  hand.  These  were  potent 
talismans,  over  which  he  repeated  many 
sentences  in  an  unknown  tongue. 

When  this  gateway  was  finished,  he 
shut  himself  up  for  two  days  in  his  astro 
logical  hall,  engaged  in  secret  incanta 
tions  ;  on  the  third  he  ascended  the  hill, 
and  passed  the  whole  day  on  its  summit. 
At  a  late  hour  of  the  night  he  came 
down,  and  presented  himself  before  Aben 
Habuz.  "  At  length,  O  king,"  said  he, 
"  my  labour  is  accomplished.  On  the 
summit  of  the  hill  stands  one  of  the  most 
delectable  palaces  that  ever  the  head  of 
man  devised,  or  the  heart  of  man  desired. 
It  contains  sumptuous  halls  and  galleries, 
delicious  gardens,  cool  fountains,  and  fra 
grant  baths :  in  a  word,  the  whole  moun 
tain  is  converted  into  a  paradise.  Like 
the  Garden  of  Irem,  it  is  protected  by  a 
mighty  charm,  which  hides  it  from  the 
view  and  search  of  mortals,  excepting 
such  as  possess  the  secret  of  its  talis 
mans." 

"  Enough !"  cried  Aben  Habuz  joy 
fully,  "  to-morrow  morning  with  the  first 
light  we  will  ascend  and  take  possession." 

The  happy  monarch  slept  but  little  that 
night.  Scarcely  had  the  rays  of  the  sun 
begun  to  play  about  the  snowy  summit  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  when  he  mounted  his 
steed,  and,  accompanied  only  by  a  few 
chosen  attendants,  ascended  a  steep  and 
narrow  road  leading  up  the  hill.  Beside 
him,  on  a  white  palfrey,  rode  the  Gothic 
princess,  her  whole  dress  sparkling  with 
jewels,  while  round  her  neck  was  sus 
pended  her  silver  lyre.  The  astrologer 
walked  on  the  other  side  of  the  king, 
assisting  his  steps  with  his  hieroglyphic 
staff,  for  he  never  mounted  steed  of  any 
kind. 

Aben  Habuz  looked  to  see  the  towers 
of  the  palace  brightening  above  him,  and 
the  embowered  terraces  of  its  gardens 
stretching  along  the  heights  ;  but  as  yet 
nothing  of  the  kind  was  to  be  descried. 
"  That  is  the  mystery  and  safeguard  of 


the  place,"  said  the  astrologer,  "  nothing 
can  be  discerned  until  you  have  passed 
the  spellbound  gateway,  and  been  put  in 
possession  of  the  place." 

As  they  approached  the  gateway,  the 
astrologer  paused,  and  pointed  out  to  the 
king  the  mystic  hand  and  key  carved 
upon  the  portal  and  the  arch.  "  These," 
said  he,  ««  are  the  talismans  which  guard 
the  entrance  to  this  paradise.  Until 
yonder  hand  shall  reach  down  and  seize 
that  key,  neither  mortal  power  nor  magic 
artifice  can  prevail  against  the  lord  of  this 
mountain." 

While  Aben  Habuz  was  gazing  with 
open  mouth,  and  silent  wonder,  at  these 
mystic  talismans,  the  palfrey  of  the 
princess  proceeded,  and  bore  her  in  at 
the  portal,  to  the  very  centre  of  the  bar- 
bacan. 

"  Behold,"  cried  the  astrologer,  "  my 
promised  reward ;  the  first  animal  with 
its  burthen  that  should  enter  the  magic 
gateway." 

Aben  Habuz  smiled  at  what  he  con 
sidered  a  pleasantry  of  the  ancient  man  ; 
but  when  he  found  him  to  be  in  earnest, 
his  gray  beard  trembled  with  indigna 
tion. 

"  Son  of  Abu  Ajeeb,"  said  he,  sternly, 
"  what  equivocation  is  this  ?  Thou 
knowest  the  meaning  of  my  promise  : 
the  first  beast  of  burthen,  with  its  load, 
that  should  enter  this  portal.  Take  the 
strongest  mule  in  my  stables,  load  it  with 
the  most  precious  things  of  my  treasury, 
and  it  is  thine ;  but  dare  not  to  raise  thy 
thoughts  to  her  who  is  the  delight  of  my 
heart." 

"  What  need  I  of  wealth,"  cried  the 
astrologer,  scornfully  ;  "  have  I  not  the 
book  of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the  wise, 
and  through  it  the  command  of  the  secret 
treasures  of  the  earth  ?  The  princess  is 
mine  by  right ;  thy  royal  word  is  pledged ; 
I  claim  her  as  my  own." 

The  princess  looked  down  haughtily 
from  her  palfrey,  and  a  light  smile  of  scorn 
curled  her  rosy  lip  at  this  dispute  between 
two  graybeards  for  the  possession  of 
youth  and  beauty.  The  wrath  of  the 
monarch  got  the  better  of  his  discretion. 
"  Base  son  of  the  desert,"  cried  he,  "thou 
may'st  be  master  of  many  arts,  but  know 
me  for  thy  master,  and  presume  not  to 
juggle  with  thy  king." 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


445 


"  My  master  !"  echoed  the  astrologer, 
"  my  king  !  The  monarch  of  a  mole-hill 
to  claim  sway  over  him  who  possesses 
the  talismans  of  Solomon  !  Farewell, 
Aben  Habuz ;  reign  over  thy  petty  king 
dom,  and  revel  in  thy  paradise  of  fools  ; 
for  me,  I  will  laugh  at  thee  in  my  philo 
sophic  retirement." 

So  saying,  he  seized  the  bridle  of  the 
palfrey,  smote  the  earth  with  his  staff, 
and  sank  with  the  Gothic  princess  through 
the  centre  of  the  barbacan.  The  earth 
closed  over  them,  and  no  trace  remained 
of  the  opening  by  which  they  had  de 
scended. 

Aben  Habuz  was  struck  dumb  for  a 
time  with  astonishment.  Recovering 
himself,  he  ordered  a  thousand  workmen 
to  dig,  with  pickaxe  and  spade,  into  the 
ground  where  the  astrologer  had  disap 
peared.  They  digged  and  digged,  but  in 
vain;  the  flinty  bosom  of  the  hill  resisted 
their  implements  ;  or  if  they  did  penetrate 
a  little  way,  the  earth  filled  in  again  as 
fast  as  they  threw  it  out.  Aben  Habuz 
sought  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  leading  to  the  subter- 
I  ranean  palace  of  the  astrologer  :  but  it 
I  was  no  where  to  be  found.  Where  once 
had  been  an  entrance,  was  now  a  solid 
surface  of  primeval  rock.  With  the  dis 
appearance  of  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ajeeb, 
ceased  the  benefit  of  his  talismans.  The 
bronze  horseman  remained  fixed,  with  his 
face  towards  the  hill,  and  his  spear  point 
ed  to  the  spot  where  the  astrologer  had 
descended,  as  if  there  still  lurked  the 
deadliest  foe  of  Aben  Habuz. 

From  time  to  time  the  sound  of  music, 
and  the  tones  of  a  female  voice,  could  be 
faintly  heard  from  the  bosom  of  the  hill ; 
and  a  peasant  one  day  brought  word  to 
the  king,  that  in  the  preceding  night  he 
had  found  a  fissure  in  the  rock,  by  which 
he  had  crept  in  until  he  looked  down  into 
a  subterranean  hall,  in  which  sat  the 
astrologer,  on  a  magnificent  divan,  slum 
bering  and  nodding  to  the  silver  lyre  of 
the  princess,  which  seemed  to  hold  a 
magic  sway  over  his  senses. 

Aben  Habuz  sought  the  fissure  in  the 
rock,  but  it  was  again  closed.  He  re 
newed  the  attempt  to  unearth  his  rival, 
but  all  in  vain.  The  spell  of  the  hand 
and  key  was  too  potent  to  be  counter 
acted  by  human  power.  As  to  the 
VOL.  n.  38 


summit  of  the  mountain,  the  site  of  the 
promised  palace  and  garden,  it  remained 
a  naked  waste;  either  the  boasted  elysium 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  enchantment, 
or  was  a  mere  fable  of  the  astrologer. 
The  world  charitably  supposed  the  latter, 
and  some  used  to  call  the  place,  "  The 
King's  Folly ;"  while  others  named  it, 
«  The  Fool's  Paradise." 

To  add  to  the  chagrin  of  Aben  Habuz, 
the  neighbours  whom  he  had  defied  and 
taunted,  and  cut  up  at  his  leisure  while 
master  of  the  talismanic  horseman,  find 
ing  him  no  longer  protected  by  magic 
spell,  made  inroads  into  his  territories 
from  all  sides,  and  the  remainder  of  the 
life  of  the  most  pacific  of  monarchs,  was 
a  tissue  of  turmoils. 

At  length  Aben  Habuz  died,  and  was 
buried.  Ages  have  since  rolled  away. 
The  Alhambra  has  been  built  on  the 
eventful  mountain,  and  in  some  measure 
realizes  the  fabled  delights  of  the  Garden 
of  Irem.  The  spellbound  gateway  still 
exists  entire,  protected  no  doubt  by  the 
mystic  hand  and  key,  and  now  forms  the 
Gate  of  Justice,  the  grand  entrance  to  the 
fortress.  Under  that  gateway,  it  is  said, 
the  old  astrologer  remains  in  his  subter 
ranean  hall,  nodding  on  his  divan,  lulled 
by  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess. 

The  old  invalid  sentinels  who  mount 
guard  at  the  gate,  hear  the  strains  occa 
sionally  in  the  summer  nights ;  and  yield 
ing  to  their  soporific  power,  doze  quietly 
at  their  posts.  Nay,  so  drowsy  an  in 
fluence  pervades  the  place,  that  even  those 
who  watch  by  day  may  generally  be 
seen  nodding  on  the  stone  benches  of  the 
barbacan,  or  sleeping  under  the  neigh 
bouring  trees ;  so  that  in  fact  it  is  the 
drowsiest  military  post  in  all  Christen 
dom.  All  this,  say  the  ancient  legends, 
will  endure  from  age  to  age.  The  prin 
cess  will  remain  captive  to  the  astrologer, 
and  the  astrologer  bound  up  in  magic 
slumber  by  the  princess,  until  the  last 
day,  unless  the  mystic  hand  shall  grasp 
the  fated  key,  and  dispel  the  whole  charm 
of  this  enchanted  mountain. 


THE  TOWER  OF  LAS  INFANTAS. 

IN   an  evening's  stroll   up  a   narrow 
glen,  overshadowed  by  fig  trees,  pome- 


446 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


granates,  and  myrtles,  that  divides  the 
lands  of  the  fortress  from  those  of  the 
Generalife,  I  was  struck  with  the  ro 
mantic  appearance  of  a  Moorish  tower  in 
the  outer  wall  of  the  Alhambra,  that  rose 
high  above  the  tree-tops,  and  caught  the 
ruddy  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  A  soli 
tary  window  at  a  great  height  command 
ed  a  view  of  the  glen ;  and  as  I  was 
regarding  it,  a  young  female  looked  out, 
with  her  head  adorned  with  flowers. 
She  was  evidently  superior  to  the  usual 
class  of  people  that  inhabit  the  old  towers 
of  the  fortress ;  and  this  sudden  and  pic 
turesque  glimpse  of  her  reminded  me  of 
the  descriptions  of  captive  beauties  in 
fairy  tales.  These  fanciful  associations 
of  my  mind  were  increased  on  being  in 
formed  by  my  attendant  Mateo,  that  this 
was  the  tower  of  the  Princesses  (La 
Torre  de  las  Infantas) ;  so  called,  from 
having  been,  according  to  tradition,  the 
residence  of  the  daughters  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  I  have  since  visited  the  tower.  It 
is  not  generally  shown  to  strangers, 
though  well  worthy  attention,  for  the  in 
terior  is  equal,  for  beauty  of  architecture 
and  delicacy  of  ornament,  to  any  part  of 
the  palace.  The  elegance  of  the  central 
hall,  with  its  marble  fountain,  its  lofty 
arches,  and  richly  fretted  dome;  ara 
besques  and  stucco  work  of  the  small  but 
well-proportioned  chamber,  though  in 
jured  by  time  and  neglect,  all  accord  with 
the  story  of  its  being  anciently  the  abode 
of  royal  beauty. 

The  little  old  fairy  queen  who  lives 
under  the  staircase  of  the  Alhambra  and 
frequents  the  evening  tertulias  of  Dame 
Antonia,  tells  some  fanciful  traditions 
about  three  Moorish  princesses,  who  were 
once  shut  up  in  this  tower  by  their  father, 
a  tyrant  king  of  Granada,  and  were  only 
permitted  to  ride  out  at  night  about  the 
hills,  when  no  one  was  permitted  to  come 
in  their  way,  under  pain  of  death.  They 
still,  according  to  her  account,  may  be 
seen  occasionally  when  the  moon  is  in 
the  full,  riding  in  lonely  places  along  the 
mountain  side,  on  palfreys  richly  capari 
soned  and  sparkling  with  jewels,  but  they 
vanish  on  being  spoken  to. 

But  before  I  relate  any  thing  further 
respecting  these  princesses,  the  reader 
may  "be  anxious  to  know  something  about 
the  fair  inhabitant  of  the  tower,  with  her 


head  dressed  with  flowers,  who  looked 
out  from  the  lofty  window.  She  proved 
to  be  the  newly  married  spouse  of  the 
worthy  adjutant  of  invalids;  who,  though 
well  stricken  in  years,  had  had  the 
courage  to  take  to  his  bosom  a  young 
and  buxom  Andalusian  damsel.  May 
the  good  old  cavalier  be  happy  in  his 
choice,  and  find  the  Tower  of  the  Prin 
cesses  a  more  secure  residence  for  female 
beauty,  than  it  seems  to  have  proved  in 
the  time  of  the  Moslems,  if  we  may  be 
lieve  the  following  legend ! 


LEGEND 

OF  THE 

THREE  BEAUTIFUL  PRINCESSES. 

IN  old  times  there  reigned  a  Moorish 
king  in  Granada,  whose  name  was  Mo- 
hamed,  to  which  his  subjects  added  the 
appellation  of  El  Haygari,  or  "  The 
Left-handed."  Some  say  he  was  so 
called  on  account  of  his  being  really 
more  expert  with  his  sinister  than  his 
dexter  hand ;  others,  because  he  was 
prone  to  take  every  thing  by  the  wrong 
end,  or,  in  other  words,  to  mar  wherever 
he  meddled.  Certain  it  is,  either  through 
misfortune  or  mismanagement,  he  was 
continually  in  trouble:  thrice  was  he 
driven  from  his  throne,  and,  on  one  occa 
sion,  barely  escaped  to  Africa  with  his 
life,  in  the  disguise  of  a  fisherman.  Still 
he  was  as  brave  as  he  was  blundering ; 
and  though  left-handed,  wielded  his  cime- 
ter  to  such  purpose,  that  he  each  time 
re-established  himself  upon  his  throne  by 
dint  of  hard  fighting.  Instead,  however, 
of  learning  wisdom  from  adversity,  he 
hardened  his  neck,  and  stiffened  his  left 
arm  in  wilfulness.  The  evils  of  a  public 
nature  which  he  thus  brought  upon  him 
self  and  his  kingdom,  may  be  learned  by 
those  who  will  delve  into  the  Arabian 
annals  of  Granada ;  the  present  legend 
deals  but  with  his  domestic  policy. 

As  this  Mohamed  was  one  day  riding 
forth  with  a  train  of  his  courtiers,  by  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  of  Elvira,  he  met  a 
band  of  horsemen  returning  from  a  foray 
into  the  land  of  the  Christians.  They 
were  conducting  a  long  string  of  mules 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


447 


laden  with  spoil,  and  many  captives  of 
both  sexes,  among  whom  the  monarch 
was  struck  with  the  appearance  of  a 
beautiful  damsel,  richly  attired,  who  sat 
weeping  on  a  low  palfrey,  and  heeded 
not  the  consoling  words  of  a  duenna  who 
rode  beside  her. 

The  monarch  was  struck  with  her 
beauty,  and,  on  inquiring  of  the  captain 
of  the  troop,  found  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  the  alcayde  of  a  frontier  for 
tress,  that  had  been  surprised  and  sacked 
in  the  course  of  the  foray.  Mohamed 
claimed  her  as  his  royal  share  of  the 
booty,  and  had  her  conveyed  to  his 
harem  in  the  Alhambra.  There  every 
thing  was  devised  to  soothe  her  melan 
choly;  and  the  monarch,  more  and  more 
enamoured,  sought  to  make  her  his  queen. 
The  Spanish  maid  at  first  repulsed  his 
addresses — he  was  an  infidel — he  was 
the  open  foe  of  her  country — what  was 
worse,  he  was  stricken  in  years ! 

The  monarch,  finding  his  assiduities 
of  no  avail,  determined  to  enlist  in  his 
favour  the  duenna,  who  had  been  cap 
tured  with  the  lady.  She  was  an  Anda- 
lusian  by  birth,  whose  Christian  name  is 
forgotten,  being  mentioned  in  Moorish 
legends  by  no  other  appellation  than  that 
of  the  discreet  Kadiga — and  discreet  in 
truth  she  was,  as  her  whole  history 
makes  evident.  No  sooner  had  the 
Moorish  king  held  a  little  private  con 
versation  with  her,  than  she  saw  at  once 
the  cogency  of  his  reasoning,  and  under 
took  his  cause  with  her  young  mistress. 

"Go  to,  now!"  cried  she,  "what  is 
there  in  all  this  to  weep  and  wail  about  ? 
Is  it  not  better  to  be  mistress  of  this  beau 
tiful  palace,  with  all  its  gardens  and  foun 
tains,  than  to  be  shut  up  within  your 
father's  old  frontier  tower  1  As  to  this 
Mohamed  being  an  infidel,  what  is  that 
to  the  purpose  1  You  marry  him,  not  his 
religion  :  and  if  he  is  waxing  a  little  old, 
the  sooner  will  you  be  a  widow,  and  mis 
tress  of  yourself;  at  any  rate,  you  are  in 
his  power,  and  must  either  be  a  queen  or 
a  slave.  When  in  the  hands  of  a  robber, 
it  is  better  to  sell  one's  merchandise  for  a 
fair  price,  than  to  have  it  taken  by  main 
force." 

The  arguments  of  the  discreet  Kadiga 
prevailed.  The  Spanish  lady  dried  her 
tears,  and  became  the  spouse  of  Mohamed 


the  Left-handed;  she  even  conformed,  in 
appearance,  to  the  faith  of  her  royal  hus 
band  ;  and  her  discreet  duenna  immedi 
ately  became  a  zealous  convert  to  the 
Moslem  doctrines ;  it  was  then  the  latter 
received  the  Arabian  name  of  Kadiga, 
and  was  permitted  to  remain  in  the  con 
fidential  employ  of  her  mistress. 

In  due  process  of  time  the  Moorish 
king  was  made  the  proud  and  happy 
father  of  three  lovely  daughters,  all  born 
at  a  birth :  he  could  have  wished  they 
had  been  sons,  but  consoled  himself  with 
the  idea  that  three  daughters  at  a  birth 
were  pretty  well  for  a  man  somewhat 
stricken  in  years,  and  left-handed ! 

As  usual  with  all  Moslem  monarchs, 
he  summoned  his  astrologers  on  this 
happy  event.  They  cast  the  nativities 
of  the  three  princesses,  and  shook  their 
heads.  "Daughters,  O  king!"  said  they, 
"are  always  precarious  property;  but 
these  will  most  need  your  watchfulness 
when  they  arrive  at  a  marriageable  age ; 
at  that  time  gather  them  under  your 
wings,  and  trust  them  to  no  other  guar 
dianship." 

Mohamed  the  Left-handed  was  ac 
knowledged  to  be  a  wise  king  by  his 
courtiers,  and  was  certainly  so  consider 
ed  by  himself.  The  prediction  of  the 
astrologers  caused  him  but  little  disquiet, 
trusting  to  his  ingenuity  to  guard  his 
daughters  and  outwit  the  Fates. 

The  threefold  birth  was  the  last  matri 
monial  trophy  of  the  monarch ;  his  queen 
bore  him  no  more  children,  and  died 
within  a  few  years,  bequeathing  her  in 
fant  daughters  to  his  love,  and  to  the  fide 
lity  of  the  discreet  Kadiga. 

Many  years  had  yet  to  elapse  before 
the  princesses  would  arrive  at  that  period 
of  danger — the  marriageable  age  :  "  It  is 
good,  however,  to  be  cautious  in  time," 
said  the  shrewd  monarch ;  so  he  deter 
mined  to  have  them  reared  in  the  royal 
castle  of  Salobrefia.  This  was  a  sump 
tuous  palace,  incrusted,  as  it  were,  in  a 
powerful  Moorish  fortress,  on  the  summit 
of  a  hill  that  overlooks  the  Mediterranean 
sea.  It  was  a  royal  retreat,  in  which  the 
Moslem  monarchs  shut  up  such  of  their 
relations  as  might  endanger  their  safety, 
allowing  them  all  kinds  of  luxuries  and 
amusements,  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
passed  their  lives  in  voluptuous  indolence. 


448 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


Here  the  princesses  remained,  im 
mured  from  the  world,  but  surrounded 
by  enjoyments,  and  attended  by  female 
slaves  who  anticipated  their  wishes. 
They  had  delightful  gardens  for  their 
recreation,  filled  with  the  rarest  fruits 
and  flowers,  with  aromatic  groves  and 
perfumed  baths.  On  three  sides  the 
castle  looked  down  upon  a  rich  valley, 
enamelled  with  all  kinds  of  culture,  and 
bounded  by  the  lofty  Alpuxarra  moun 
tains  ;  on  the  other  side  it  overlooked  the 
broad  sunny  sea. 

In  this  delicious  abode,  in  a  propitious 
climate,  and  under  a  cloudless  sky,  the 
three  princesses  grew  up  into  wondrous 
beauty;  but,  though  all  reared  alike, 
they  gave  early  tokens  of  diversity  of 
character.  Their  names  were  Zayda, 
Zoraydar  and  Zorahayda ;  and  such  was 
their  order  of  seniority,  for  there  had 
been  precisely  three  minutes  between 
their  births. 

Zayda,  the  eldest,  was  of  an  intrepid 
spirit,  and  took  the  lead  of  her  sisters  in 
every  thing,  as  she  had  done  in  entering 
first  into  the  world.  She  was  curious  and 
inquisitive,  and  fond  of  getting  at  the 
bottom  of  things. 

Zoraycla  had  a  great  feeling  for  beau 
ty,  which  was  the  reason,  no  doubt,  of 
her  delighting  to  regard  her  own  image 
in  a  mirror  or  a  fountain,  and  of  her 
fondness  for  flowers,  and  jewels,  and 
other  tasteful  ornaments. 

As  to  Zorahayda,  the  youngest,  she 
was  soft  and  timid,  and  extremely  sensi 
tive,  with  a  vast  deal  of  disposable  ten 
derness,  as  was  evident  from  her  number 
of  pet  flowers,  and  pet  birds,  and  pet  ani 
mals,  all  of  which  she  cherished  with  the 
fondest  care.  Her  amusements,  too,  were 
of  a  gentle  nature,  and  mixed  up  with 
musing  and  revery.  She  would  sit  for 
hours  in  a  balcony,  gazing  on  the  spark 
ling  stars  of  a  summer's  night ;  or  on  the 
sea  when  lit  up  by  the  moon ;  and  at 
such  times,  the  song  of  a  fisherman, 
faintly  heard  from  the  beach,  or  the 
notes  of  a  Moorish  flute  from  some  glid 
ing  bark,  sufficed  to  elevate  her  feelings 
into  ecstasy.  The  least  uproar  of  the 
elements,  however,  filled  her  with  dis 
may;  and  a  clap  of  thunder  was  enough 
to  throw  her  into  a  swoon. 

Years  rolled  on  smoothly  and  serene 


ly;  the  discreet  Kadiga,  to  whom  the 
princesses  were  confided,  was  faithful  to 
her  trust,  and  attended  them  with  unre 
mitting  care. 

The  castle  of  Salobrena,  as  has  been 
said,  was  built  upon  a  hill  on  the  sea- 
coast.  One  of  the  exterior  walls  strag 
gled  down  the  profile  of  the  hill  until  it 
reached  a  jutting  rock,  overhanging  the 
sea,  with  a  narrow  sandy  beach  at  its 
foot,  laved  by  the  rippling  billows.  A 
small  watchtower  on  this  rock  had  been 
fitted  up  as  a  pavilion,  with  latticed  win 
dows  to  admit  the  sea-breeze.  Here  the 
princesses  used  to  pass  the  sultry  hours 
of  mid-day. 

The  curious  Zayda  was  one  day  seated 
at  one  of  the  windows  of  the  pavilion,  as 
her  sisters,  reclining  on  ottomans,  were 
taking  the  siesta,  or  noontide  slumber. 
Her  attention  had  been  attracted  to  a 
galley  which  came  coasting  along  with 
measured  strokes  of  the  oar.  As  it  drew 
near,  she  observed  that  it  was  filled  with 
armed  men.  The  galley  anchored  at  the 
foot  of  the  tower:  a  number  of  Moorish 
soldiers  landed  on  the  narrow  beach, 
conducting  several  Christian  prisoners. 
The  curious  Zayda  awakened  her  sisters, 
and  all  three  peeped  cautiously  through 
the  close  jalousies  of  the  lattice,  which 
screened  them  from  sight.  Among  the 
prisoners  were  three  Spanish  cavaliers, 
richly  dressed.  They  were  in  the  flower 
of  youth,  and  of  noble  presence;  and  the 
lofty  manner  in  which  they  carried  them 
selves,  though  loaded  with  chains  and 
surrounded  with  enemies,  bespoke  the 
grandeur  of  their  souls.  The  princesses 
gazed  with  intense  and  breathless  inte 
rest.  Cooped  up  as  they  had  been  in  this 
castle  among  female  attendants,  seeing 
nothing  of  the  male  sex  but  black  slaves, 
or  the  rude  fishermen  of  the  sea-coast, 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the  ap 
pearance  of  three  gallant  cavaliers  in  the 
pride  of  youth  and  manly  beauty,  should 
produce  some  commotion  in  their  bosom. 

"Did  ever  nobler  being  tread  the  earth 
than  that  cavalier  in  crimson?"  cried 
Zayda,  the  eldest  of  the  sisters.  "  See 
how  proudly  he  bears  himself,  as  though 
all  around  him  were  his  slaves !" 

"  But  notice  that  one  in  blue  !"  ex 
claimed  Zorayda.  "  What  grace  !  what 
elegance  !  what  spirit !" 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


449 


The  gentle  Zorahayda  said  nothing, 
but  she  secretly  gave  preference  to  the 
cavalier  in  green. 

The  princesses  remained  gazing  until 
the  prisoners  were  out  of  sight;  then 
heaving  long-drawn  sighs,  they  turned 
round,  looked  at  each  other  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  sat  down,  musing  and  pensive, 
on  their  ottomans. 

The  discreet  Kadiga  found  them  in 
this  situation  ;  they  related  to  her  what 
they  had  seen,  and  even  the  withered 
heart  of  the  duenna  was  warmed.  "  Poor 
youths !"  exclaimed  she,  "  I'll  warrant 
their  captivity  makes  many  a  fair  and 
highborn  lady's  heart  ache  in  their  na 
tive  land  !  Ah  !  my  children,  you  have 
little  idea  of  the  life  these  cavaliers  lead 
in  their  own  country.  Such  prankling 
at  tournaments  !  such  devotion  to  the 
ladies  !  such  courting  and  serenading !" 

The  curiosity  of  Zayda  was  fully 
aroused ;  she  was  insatiable  in  her  in 
quiries,  and  drew  from  the  duenna  the 
most  animated  pictures  of  the  scenes  of 
her  youthful  days  and  native  land.  The 
beautiful  Zorayda  bridled  up,  and  slyly 
regarded  herself  in  a  mirror,  when  the 
theme  turned  upon  the  charms  of  the 
Spanish  ladies ;  while  Zorahayda  sup 
pressed  a  struggling  sigh  at  the  mention 
of  moonlight  serenades. 

Every  day  the  curious  Zayda  renewed 
her  inquiries,  and  every  day  the  sage 
duenna  repeated  her  stories,  which  were 
listened  to  with  profound  interest,  though 
with  frequent  sighs,  by  her  gentle  audi 
tors.  The  discreet  old  woman  at  length 
awakened  to  the  mischief  she  might  be 
doing.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
think  of  the  princesses  only  as  children ; 
but  they  had  imperceptibly  ripened  be 
neath  her  eye,  and  now  bloomed  before 
her  three  lovely  damsels  of  the  mar 
riageable  age.  It  is  time,  thought  the 
duenna,  to  give  notice  to  the  king. 

Mohamed  the  Left-handed  was  seated 
one  morning  on  a  divan  in  one  of  the 
cool  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  when  a  slave 
arrived  from  the  fortress  of  Salobrena, 
with  a  message  from  the  sage  Kadiga, 
congratulating  him  on  the  anniversary  of 
his  daughters'  birthday.  The  slave  at 
the  same  time  presented  a  delicate  little 
basket  decorated  with  flowers,  within 
which,  on  a  couch  of  vine  and  fig-leaves, 


I  lay  a  peach,  an  apricot,  and  a  nectarine, 
|  with  their  bloom  and  down    and  dewy 
!  sweetness  upon  them,  and  all  in  the  early 
stage  of  tempting  ripeness.  The  monarch 
was  versed  in  the  oriental  language  of 
•  fruits   and  flowers,  and  readily  divined 
|  the  meaning  of  this  emblematical  offer 
ing. 

"  So,"  said  he,  "  the  critical  period  j 
pointed  out  by  the  astrologers  is  arrived: 
my  daughters  are  at  a  marriageable  age. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  They  are  shut  up 
from  the  eyes  of  men ;  they  are  under 
the  eyes  of  the  discreet  Kadiga — all  very 
good, — but  still  they  are  not  under  my 
own  eye,  as  was  prescribed  by  the  as 
trologers  :  I  must  gather  them  under  my 
wing,  and  trust  to  no  other  guardian 
ship." 

So  saying,  he  ordered  that  a  tower  of 
the  Alhambra  should  be  prepared  for 
their  reception,  and  departed  at  the  head 
of  his  guards  for  the  fortress  of  Salo 
brena,  to  conduct  them  home  in  person. 

About  three  years  had  elapsed  since 
Mohamed  had  beheld  his  daughters,  and 
he  could  scarcely  credit  his  eyes  at  the 
wonderful  change  which  that  small  space 
of  time  had  made  in  their  appearance. 
During  the  interval,  they  had  passed 
that  wondrous  boundary  line  in  female 
life  which  separates  the  crude,  uninform 
ed,  and  thoughtless  girl  from  the  bloom 
ing,  blushing;,  meditative  woman.  It  is 
like  passing  from  the  flat,  bleak,  unin 
teresting  plains  of  La  Mancha  to  the 
voluptuous  valleys  and  swelling  hills  of 
Andalusia. 

Zayda  was  tall  and  finely  formed, 
with  a  lofty  demeanour  and  a  penetrating 
eye.  She  entered  with  a  stately  and 
decided  step,  and  made  a  profound  re 
verence  to  Mohamed,  treating  him  more 
as  her  sovereign  than  her  father.  Zo 
rayda  was  of  the  middle  height,  with  an 
alluring  look  and  swimming  gait,  and  a 
sparkling  beauty,  heightened  by  the  as 
sistance  of  the  toilette.  She  approached 
her  father  with  a  smile,  kisned  his  hand, 
and  saluted  him  with  several  stanzas 
from  a  popular  Arabian  poet,  with  which 
the  monarch  was  delighted.  Zorahayda 
was  shy  and  timid,  smaller  than  her  sis 
ters,  and  with  a  beauty  of  that  tender 
beseeching  kind  which  looks  for  fond 
ness  and  protection.  She  was  little  fitted 

38* 


450 


THE  ALIIAMBRA. 


to  command  like  her  elder  sister,  or  to 
dazzle  like  the  second,  but  was  rather 
formed  to  creep  to  the  bosom  of  manly 
affection,  to  nestle  within  it,  and  be  con 
tent.  She  drew  near  her  father  with  a 
timid,  and  almost  faltering  step,  and 
would  have  taken  his  hand  to  kiss,  but 
on  looking  up  into  his  face,  and  seeing  it 
beaming  with  a  paternal  smile,  the  ten 
derness  of  her  nature  broke  forth,  and 
she  threw  herself  upon  his  neck. 

Mohamed  the  Left-handed  surveyed 
his  blooming  daughters  with  mingled 
pride  and  perplexity ;  for  while  he  ex 
ulted  in  their  charms,  he  bethought  him 
self  of  the  prediction  of  the  astrologers. 
"  Three  daughters  !  three  daughters  !" 
muttered  he  repeatedly  to  himself,  "  and 
all  of  a  marriageable  age !  Here's  tempt 
ing  Hesperian  fruit,  that  requires  a  dra 
gon  watch !" 

He  prepared  for  his  return  to  Gra 
nada  by  sending  heralds  before  him,  com 
manding  every  one  to  keep  out  of  the 
road  by  which  he  was  to  pass,  and  that 
all  doors  and  windows  should  be  closed 
at  the  approach  of  the  princesses.  This 
done,  he  set  forth,  escorted  by  a  troop  of 
black  horsemen  of  hideous  aspect,  and 
clad  in  shining  armour. 

The  princesses. rode  beside  the  king, 
closely  veiled,  on  beautiful  white  pal 
freys,  with  velvet  caparisons,  embroider 
ed  with  gold,  and  sweeping  the  ground ; 
the  bits  and  stirrups  were  of  gold,  and  the 
silken  bridles  adorned  with  pearls  and 
precious  stones.  The  palfreys  were 
covered  with  little  silver  bells,  that  made 
the  most  musical  tinkling  as  they  am 
bled  gently  along.  Wo  to  the  unlucky 
wight,  however,  who  lingered  in  the 
way  when  he  heard  the  tinkling  of  these 
bells ! — the  guards  were  ordered  to  cut 
him  down  without  mercy. 

The  cavalcade  was  drawing  near  to 
Granada,  when  it  overtook;  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Xenil,  a  small  body  of 
Moorish  soldiers  with  a  convoy  of  pri 
soners.  It  was  too  late  for  the  soldiers 
to  get  out  of  the  way,  so  they  threw 
themselves  orj  their  faces  on  the  earth, 
ordering  their '"  captives  to  do  the  like. 
Among  the  prisoners  were  the  three 
identical  cavaliers  whom  the  princesses 
had  seen  from  the  pavilion.  They  either 
did  not  understand,  or  were  too  haughty 


to  obey  the  order,  and  remained  standing 
and  gazing  upon  the  cavalcade  as  it  ap 
proached. 

The  ire  of  the  monarch  was  kindled 
at  this  flagrant  defiance  of  his  orders. 
Drawing  his  cimeter,  and  pressing  for 
ward,  he  was  about  to  deal  a  left-handed 
blow  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  at 
least  one  of  the  gazers,  when  the  prin 
cesses  crowded  round  him,  and  implored 
mercy  for  the  prisoners  ;  even  the  timid 
Zorahayda  forgot  her  shyness,  and  be 
came  eloquent  in  their  behalf.  Mohamed 
paused,  with  uplifted  cimeter,  when  the 
captain  of  the  guard  threw  himself  at 
his  feet.  "  Let  not  your  majesty,"  said 
he,  "  do  a  deed  that  may  cause  great 
scandal  throughout  the  kingdom.  These 
are  three  brave  and  noble  Spanish 
knights,  who  have  been  taken  in  battle, 
fighting  like  lions ;  they  are  of  high 
birth,  and  may  bring  great  ransoms." — 

"  Enough  !"  said  the  king ;  "  I  will 
spare  their  lives,  but  punish  their  auda 
city — let  them  be  taken  to  the  Vermilion 
Towers  and  put  to  hard  labour." 

Mohamed  was  making  one  of  his  usual 
left-handed  blunders.  In  the  tumult  and 
agitation  of  this  blustering  scene,  the 
veils  of  the  three  princesses  had  been 
thrown  back,  and  the  radiance  of  their 
beauty  revealed ;  and  in  prolonging  the 
parley,  the  king  had  given  that  beauty 
time  to  have  its  full  effect.  In  those  days 
people  fell  in  love  much  more  suddenly 
than  at  present,  as  all  ancient  stories 
make  manifest :  it  is  not  a  matter  of 
wonder,  therefore,  that  the  hearts  of  the 
three  cavaliers  were  completely  cap 
tured;  especially  as  gratitude  was  added 
to  their  admiration;  it  is  a  little  singular, 
however,  though  no  less  certain,  that 
each  of  them  was  enraptured  with  a 
several  beauty.  As  to  the  princesses, 
they  were  more  than  ever  struck  with 
the  noble  demeanour  of  the  captives,  and 
cherished  in  their  breasts  all  that  they 
had  heard  of  their  valour  and  noble 
lineage. 

The  cavalcade  resumed  its  march ; 
the  three  princesses  rode  pensively  along 
on  their  tinkling  palfreys,  now  and  then 
stealing  a  glance  behind  in  search  of  the 
Christian  captives,  and  the  latter  were 
conducted  to  their  allotted  prison  in  the 
Vermilion  Towers. 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


451 


The  residence  provided  for  the  prin 
cesses  was  one  of  the  most  dainty  that  | 
fancy  could  devise.  It  was  in  a  tower  i 
somewhat  apart  from  the  main  palace  6f  j 
the  Alhambra,  though  connected  with  it  I 
by  the  main  wall  that  encircled  the  whole  j 
summit  of  the  hill.  On  one  side  it  looked 
into  the  interior  of  the  fortress,  and  had, 
at  its  foot,  a  small  garden  filled  with  the 
rarest  flowers.  On  the  other  side  it  over 
looked  a  deep  embowered  ravine  that 
separated  the  grounds  of  the  Alhambra 
from  those  of  the  Generalife.  The  in 
terior  of  the  tower  was  divided  into  small 
fairy  apartments,  beautifully  ornamented 
in  the  light  Arabian  style,  surrounding 
a  lofty  hall,  the  vaulted  roof  of  which 
rose  almost  to  the  summit  of  the  tower. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  hall  were 
adorned  with  arabesques  and  fretwork, 
sparkling  with  gold  and  with  brilliant 
pencilling.  In  the  centre  of  the  marble 
pavement  was  an  alabaster  fountain,  set 
round  with  aromatic  shrubs  and  flowers, 
and  throwing  up  a  jet  of  water  that 
cooled  the  whole  edifice  and  had  a 
lulling  sound.  Round  the  hall  were  sus 
pended  cages  of  gold  and  silver  wire, 
containing  singing-birds  of  the  finest 
plumage  or  sweetest  note. 

The  princesses  had  been  represented 
as  always  cheerful  when  in  the  Castle  of 
Salobreila ;  the  king  had  expected  to 
see  them  enraptured  with  the  Alhambra. 
To  his  surprise,  however,  they  began  to 
pine,  and  grow  melancholy,  and  dissatis 
fied  with  every  thing  around  them.  The 
flowers  yielded  them  no  fragrance,  the 
song  of  the  nightingale  disturbed  their 
night's  rest,  and  they  were  out  of  all  pa 
tience  with  the  alabaster  fountain  with 
its  eternal  drop-drop  and  splash-splash, 
from  morning  till  night,  and  from  night 
till  morning. 

The  king,  who  was  somewhat  of  a 
testy,  tyrannical  disposition,  took  this  at 
first  in  high  dudgeon ;  but  he  reflected 
that  his  daughters  had  arrived  at  an  age 
when  the  female  mind  expands  and  its 
desires  augment.  "  They  are  no  longer 
children,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  they 
are  women  grown,  and  require  suitable 
objects  to  interest  them."  He  put  in 
requisition,  therefore,  all  the  dress-ma 
kers,  and  the  jewellers,  and  the  arti 
ficers  in  gold  and  silver  throughout  the 


Zacatin  of  Granada,  and  the  princesses 
were  overwhelmed  with  robes  of  silk, 
and  of  tissue,  and  of  brocade,  and  cash 
mere  shawls,  and  necklaces  of  pearls 
and  diamonds,  and  rings,  and  bracelets, 
and  anklets,  and  all  manner  of  precious 
things. 

All,  however,  was  of  no  avail ;  the 
princesses  continued  pale  and  languid  in 
the  midst  of  their  finery,  and  looked  like 
three  blighted  rose-buds,  drooping  from 
one  stalk.  The  king  was  at  his  wits' 
end.  He  had  in  general  a  laudable  con 
fidence  in  his  own  judgment,  and  never 
took  advice.  The  whims  and  caprices 
of  three  marriageable  damsels,  however, 
are  sufficient,  said  he,  to  puzzle  the 
shrewdest  head.  So  for  once  in  his  life 
he  called  in  the  aid  of  counsel. 

The  person  to  whom  he  applied  was 
the  experienced  duenna. 

"  Kadiga,"  said  the  king,  "  I  know 
you  to  be  one  of  the  most  discreet 
women  in  the  whole  world,  as  well  as 
one  of  the  most  trustworthy ;  for  these 
reasons  I  have  always  continued  you 
about  the  persons  of  my  daughters. 
Fathers  cannot  be  too  wary  in  whom  they 
repose  such  confidence ;  I  now  wish  you 
to  find  out  the  secret  malady  that  is 
preying  upon  the  princesses,  and  to 
devise  some  means  of  restoring  them  to 
health  and  cheerfulness." 

Kadiga  promised  implicit  obedience. 
In  fact  she  knew  more  of  the  malady  of 
the  princesses  than  they  did  themselves. 
Shutting  herself  up  with  them,  however, 
she  endeavoured  to  insinuate  herself  into 
their  confidence. 

"  My  dear  children,  what  is  the  reason 
you  are  so  dismal  and  downcast  in  so 
beautiful  a  place,  where  you  have  every 
thing  that  heart  can  wish  ?" 

The  princesses  looked  vacantly  round 
the  apartment,  and  sighed. 

"  What  more,  then,  would  you  have  1 
Shall  I  get  you  the  wonderful  parrot  that 
talks  all  languages  and  is  the  delight  of 
Granada?" 

"  Odious !"  exclaimed  the  Princess 
Zada.  "  A  horrid,  screaming  bird,  that 
chatters  words  without  ideas:  one  must 
be  without  brains  to  tolerate  such  a  pest." 

"  Shall  I  send  for  a  monkey  from  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar,  to  divert  you  with  his 
antics?" 


452 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


"  A  monkey  !  faugh  !"  cried  Zorayda  ; 
"  the  detestable  mimic  of  man.  I  hate 
the  nauseous  animal." 

"  What  say  you  to  the  famous  black 
singer  Casern,  from  the  royal  harem  in 
Morocco  ?  They  say  he  has  a  voice  as 
fine  as  a  woman's." 

"  I  am  terrified  at  the  sight  of  these 
black  slaves,"  said  the  delicate  Zora- 
hayda;  "besides,  I  have  lost  all  relish 
for  music." 

"  Ah !  my  child,  you  would  not  say 
so,"  replied  the  old  woman,  slyly,  "  had 
you  heard  the  music  I  heard  last  evening, 
from  the  three  Spanish  cavaliers,  whom 
we  met  on  our  journey.  But,  bless  me, 
children  !  what  is  the  matter  that  you 
blush  so,  and  are  in  such  a  flutter  ?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  good  mother;  pray 
proceed." 

"  Well ;  as  I  was  passing  by  the  Ver 
milion  Towers  last  evening,  I  saw  the 
three  cavaliers  resting  after  their  day's 
labour.  One  was  playing  on  the  guitar, 
so  gracefully,  and  the  others  sung  by 
turns  ;  and  they  did  it  in  such  style,  that 
the  very  guards  seemed  like  statues,  or 
men  enchanted.  Allah  forgive  me !  I 
could  not  help  being  moved  at  hearing 
the  songs  of  my  native  country.  And 
then  to  see  three  such  noble  and  hand 
some  youths  in  chains  and  slavery  !" 

Here  the  kind-hearted  old  woman 
could  not  restrain  her  tears. 

"  Perhaps,  mother,  you  could  manage 
to  procure  us  a  sight  of  the  cavaliers," 
said  Zayda. 

"  I  think,"  said  Zorayda,  "  a  little 
music  would  be  quite  reviving." 

The  timid  Zorahayda  said  nothing, 
but  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of 
Kadiga. 

"  Mercy  on  me !"  exclaimed  the  dis 
creet  old  woman  :  "  what  are  you  talking 
of,  my  children  ?  Your  father  would  be 
the  death  of  us  all  if  he  heard  of  such  a 
thing.  To  be  sure,  these  cavaliers  are  evi 
dently  well-bred  and  highminded  youths  ; 
but  what  of  that  ?  they  are  the  enemies 
of  our  faith,  and  you  must  not  even  think 
of  them  but  with  abhorrence." 

There  is  an  admirable  intrepidity  in 
the  female  will,  particularly  when  about 
the  marriageable  age,  which  is  not  to  be 
deterred  by  dangers  and  prohibitions. 
The  princesses  hung  round  their  old 


duenna,  and  coaxed,  and  entreated,  and 
declared  that  a  refusal  would  break  their 
hearts. 

What  could  she  do?  She  was  cer 
tainly  the  most  discreet  old  woman  in 
the  whole  world,  and  one  of  the  most 
faithful  servants  to  the  king ;  but  was 
she  to  see  three  beautiful  princesses 
break  their  hearts  for  the  mere  tinkling 
of  a  guitar  ?  Besides,  though  she  had 
been  so  long  among  the  Moors,  and 
changed  her  faith  in  imitation  of  her 
mistress,  like  a  trusty  follower,  yet  she 
was  a  Spaniard  born,  and  had  the  lin- 
gerings  of  Christianity  in  her  heart.  So 
she  set  about  to  contrive  how  the  wish  of 
the  princesses  might  be  gratified. 

The  Christian  captives,  confined  in  the 
Vermilion  Towers,  were  under  the  charge 
of  a  big-whiskered,  broad-shouldered  re- 
negado,  called  Hussein  Baba,  who  was 
reputed  to  have  a  most  itching  palm. 
She  went  to  him  privately,  and  slipping 
a  broad  piece  of  gold  into  his  hand, 
"  Hussein  Baba,"  said  she,  "  my  mis 
tresses,  the  three  princesses,  who  are 
shut  up  in  the  tower,  and  in  sad  want  of 
amusement,  have  heard  of  the  musical 
talents  of  the  three  Spanish  cavaliers, 
and  are  desirous  of  hearing  a  specimen 
of  their  skill.  I  am  sure  you  are  too 
kindhearted,  to  refuse  them  so  innocent 
a  gratification." 

"  What !  and  to  have  my  head  set 
grinning  over  the  gate  of  my  own  tower  ! 
for  that  would  be  the  reward,  if  the  king 
should  discover  it." 

"  No  danger  of  any  thing  of  the  kind  ; 
the  affair  may  be  managed  so  that  the 
whim  of  the  princesses  may  be  gratified, 
and  their  father  be  never  the  wiser. 
You  know  the  deep  ravine  outside  of  the 
walls  that  passes  immediately  below  the 
tower.  Put  the  three  Christians  to  work 
there,  and  at  the  intervals  of  their  labour 
let  them  play  and  sing,  as  if  for  their 
own  recreation.  In  this  way  the  prin 
cesses  will  be  able  to  hear  them  from  the 
windows  of  the  tower,  and  you  may  be 
sure  of  their  paying  well  for  your  com 
pliance." 

As  the  good  old  woman  concluded  her 
harangue,  she  kindly  pressed  the  rough 
hand  of  the  renegado,  and  left  within  it 
another  piece  of  gold. 

Her  eloquence  was  irresistible.     The 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


453 


very  next  day  the  three  cavaliers  were 
put  to  work  in  the  ravine.  During  the 
noontide  heat,  when  their  fellow-labourers 
were  sleeping  in  the  shade,  and  the  guard 
nodding  drowsily  at  his  post,  they  seated 
themselves  among  the  herbage  at  the 
foot  of  the  tower,  and  sang  a  Spanish 
roundelay  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
guitar. 

The  glen  was  deep,  the  tower  was 
high,  but  their  voices  rose  distinctly  in 
the  stillness  of  the  summer  noon.  The 
princesses  listened  from  their  balcony  ; 
they  had  been  taught  the  Spanish  lan 
guage  by  their  duenna,  and  were  moved 
by  the  tenderness  of  the  song.  The 
discreet  Kadiga,  on  the  contrary,  was 
terribly  shocked.  "  Allah  preserve  us  !" 
cried  she,  "  they  are  singing  a  love-ditty, 
adressed  to  yourselves.  Did  ever  mortal 
hear  of  such  audacity  ?  I  will  run  to 
the  slave-master,  and  have  them  soundly 
bastinadoed." 

"  What !  bastinado  such  gallant  ca 
valiers,  and  for  singing  so  charmingly  !" 
The  three  beautiful  princesses  were  filled 
with  horror  at  the  idea.  With  all  her 
virtuous  indignation,  the  good  old  woman 
was  of  a  placable  nature,  and  easily  ap 
peased.  Besides,  the  music  seemed  to 
have  a  beneficial  effect  upon  her  young 
mistresses.  A  rosy  bloom  had  already 
come  to  their  cheeks,  and  their  eyes 
began  to  sparkle.  She  made  no  further 
objection,  therefore,  to  the  amorous  ditty 
of  the  cavaliers. 

When  it  was  finished,  the  princesses 
remained  for  a  time :  at  length  Zorayda 
took  up  a  lute,  and  with  a  sweet,  though 
faint  and  trembling  voice,  warbled  a  little 
Arabian  air,  the  burden  of  which  was, 
"The  rose  is  concealed  among  her  leaves, 
but  she  listens  with  delight  to  the  song  of 
the  nightingale." 

From  this  time  forward  the  cavaliers 
worked  almost  daily  in  the  ravine.  The 
considerate  Hussein  Baba  became  more 
and  more  indulgent,  and  daily  more 
prone  to  sleep  at  his  post.  For  some 
time  a  vague  intercourse  was  kept  up  by 
popular  songs  and  romances,  which,  in 
some  measure,  responded  to  each  other, 
and  breathed  the  feelings  of  the  parties. 
By  degrees,  the  princesses  showed  them 
selves  at  the  balcony,  when  they  could 
do  so  without  being  perceived  by  the 


guards.  They  conversed  with  the  ca 
valiers,  also,  by  means  of  flowers,  with 
the  symbolical  language  of  which  they 
were  mutually  acquainted  :  the  difficulties 
of  their  intercourse  added  to  its  charms, 
and  strengthened  the  passion  they  had  so 
singularly  conceived ;  for  love  delights 
to  struggle  with  difficulties,  and  thrives 
the  most  hardily  on  the  scantiest  soil. 

The  change  effected  in  the  looks  and 
spirits  of  the  princesses  by  this  secret 
intercourse,  surprised  and  gratified  the 
left-handed  king ;  but  no  one  was  more 
elated  than  the  discreet  Kadiga,  who 
considered  it  all  owing  to  her  able  ma 
nagement. 

At  length  there  was  an  interruption  in 
this  telegraphic  correspondence  :  for  se 
veral  days  the  cavaliers  ceased  to  make 
their  appearcfnce  in  the  glen.  The  three 
beautiful  princesses  looked  out  from  the 
tower  in  vain.  In  vain  they  stretched 
their  swanlike  necks  from  the  balcony ; 
in  vain  they  sang  like  captive  nightingales 
in  their  cage  :  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of 
their  Christian  lovers ;  not  a  note  re 
sponded  from  the  groves.  The  discreet 
Kadiga  sallied  forth  in  quest  of  intel 
ligence,  and  soon  returned  with  a  face 
full  of  trouble.  "  Ah,  my  children  !" 
cried  she,  "  I  saw  what  all  this  would 
come  to,  but  you  would  have  your  way  ; 
you  may  now  hang  up  your  lutes  on  the 
willows.  The  Spanish  cavaliers  are  now 
ransomed  by  their,  families ;  they  are 
down  in  Granada,  and  preparing  to 
return  to  their  native  country." 

The  three  beautiful  princesses  were  in 
despair  at  the  tidings.  The  fair  Zayda 
was  indignant  at  the  slight  put  upon 
them,  in  thus  being  deserted  without  a 
parting  word.  Zorayda  wrung  her  hands 
and  cried,  and  looked  in  the  glass,  and 
wiped  away  her  tears  and  cried  afresh. 
The  gentle  Zorahayda  leaned  over  the 
balcony  and  wept  in  silence,  and  her 
tears  fell  drop  by  drop  among  the  flowers 
of  the  bank  where  the  faithless  cavaliers 
had  so  often  been  seated. 

The  discreet  Kadiga  did  all  in  her 
power  to  soothe  their  sorrow.  "  Take 
comfort,  my  children,"  said  she,  "  this 
is  nothing  when  you  are  used  to  it. 
This  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Ah  ! 
when  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  you  will 
know  how  to  value  these  men.  I'll 


454 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


warrant,  these  cavaliers  have  their  loves 
among  the  Spanish  beauties  of  Cordova 
and  Seville,  and  will  soon  be  serenading 
under  their  balconies,  and  thinking  no 
more  of  the  Moorish  beauties  in  the  Al- 
hambra.  Take  comfort,  therefore,  my 
children,  and  drive  them  from  your 
hearts." 

The  comforting  words  of  the  discreet 
Kadiga  only  redoubled  the  distress  of  the 
three  princesses,  and  for  two  days  they 
continued  inconsolable.  On  the  morning 
of  the  third,  the  good  old  woman  en 
tered  their  apartment,  all  ruffling  with 
indignation. 

"  Who  would  have  believed  such  in 
solence  in  mortal  man !"  exclaimed  she, 
as  soon  as  she  could  find  words  to  express 
herself;  "  but  I  am  rightly  served  for 
having  connived  at  this  deception  of  your 
worthy  father.  Never  talk  more  to  me 
of  your  Spanish  cavaliers." 

"  Why,  what  has  happened,  good  Ka 
diga?"  exclaimed  the  princesses  in  breath 
less  anxiety. 

"  What  has  happened  ? — treason  has 
happened ;  or  what  is  almost  as  bad, 
treason  has  been  proposed,  and  to  me, 
the  most  faithful  of  subjects,  the  trustiest 
of  duennas !  Yes,  my  children,  the 
Spanish  cavaliers  have  dared  to  tamper 
with  me,  that  I  should  persuade  you  to 
fly  with  them  to  Cordova,  and  to  become 
their  wives  !" 

Here  the  excellent  old  woman  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  gave  way 
to  a  violent  burst  of  grief  and  indignation. 
The  three  beautiful  princesses  turned 
pale  and  red,  red  and  pale,  and  trembled, 
and  looked  down,  and  cast  shy  looks  at 
each  other,  but  said  nothing.  Meantime 
the  old  woman  sat  rocking  backward  and 
forward  in  violent  agitation,  and  now  and 
then  breaking  out  into  exclamations, — 
"  That  ever  I  should  live  to  be  so  in 
sulted  ! — I,  the  most  faithful  of  servants  !" 

At  length  the  eldest  princess,  who  had 
most  spirit,  and  always  took  the  lead, 
approached  her,  and  laying  her  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  "  Well,  mother,"  said 
she,  "  supposing  we  were  willing  to  fly 
with  these  Christian  cavaliers — is  such  a 
thing  possible  ?" 

The  good  old  woman  paused  suddenly 
in  her  grief,  and  looking  up,  "  Possible  !" 
echoed  she :  "  to  be  sure  it  is  possible. 


Have  not  the  cavaliers  already  bribed 
Hussein  Baba,  the  renegado  captain  of 
the  guard,  and  arranged  the  whole  plan] 
But,  then,  to  think  of  deceiving  your 
father  !  your  father,  who  has  placed  such 
confidence  in  me !"  Here  the  worthy 
woman  gave  way  to  a  fresh  burst  of 
grief,  and  began  again  to  rock  backward 
and  forward,  and  to  wring  her  hands. 

"  But  our  father  has  never  placed  any 
confidence  in  us,"  said  the  eldest  princess, 
"  but  has  trusted  to  bolts  and  bars,  and 
treated  us  as  captives." 

"  Why,  that  is  true  enough,"  replied 
the  old  woman,  again  pausing  in  her 
grief;  "  he  has  indeed  treated  you  most 
unreasonably,  keeping  you  shut  up  here, 
to  waste  your  bloom  in  a  moping  old 
tower,  like  roses  left  to  wither  in  a  flower- 
jar.  But,  then,  to  fly  from  your  native 
land !" 

"  And  is  not  the  land  we  fly  to  the 
native  land  of  our  mother,  where  we  shall 
live  in  freedom  'I  And  shall  we  not  each 
have  a  youthful  husband  in  exchange 
for  a  severe  old  father  ?" 

"  Why,  that  again  is  all  very  true  ; 
and  your  father,  I  must  confess,  is  rather 
tyrannical :  but,  what  then,"  relapsing 
into  her  grief,  "  would  you  leave  me  be 
hind  to  bear  the  brunt  of  his  vengeance  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  my  good  Kadiga ; 
cannot  you  fly  with  us  ?" 

"  Very  true,  my  child ;  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  when  I  talked  the  matter  over  with 
Hussein  Baba,  he  promised  to  take  care 
of  me  if  I  would  accompany  you  in  your 
flight :  but,  then,  bethink  you,  my  chil 
dren,  are  you  willing  to  renounce  the 
faith  of  your  father  ?" 

"  The  Christian  faith  was  the  original 
faith  of  our  mother,"  said  the  eldest 
princess  ;  "  I  am  ready  to  embrace  it, 
and  so,  I  am  sure,  are  my  sisters." 

"Right  again!"  exclaimed  the  old 
woman,  brightening  up;  "it  was  the 
original  faith  of  your  mother,  and  bit 
terly  did  she  lament,  on  her  death-bed, 
that  she  had  renounced  it.  I  promised 
her  then  to  take  care  of  your  souls,  and 
I  rejoice  to  see  that  they  are  now  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  saved.  Yes,  my  children, 
I  too  was  born  a  Christian,  and  have  re 
mained  a  Christian  in  my  heart,  and  am 
resolved  to  return  to  the  faith.  I  have 
talked  on  the  subject  with  Hussein  Baba, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


455 


who  is  a  Spaniard  by  birth,  and  comes 
from  a  place  not  for  from  my  native 
town.  He  is  equally  anxious  to  see  his 
own  country,  and  to  be  reconciled  to  the 
Church ;  and  the  cavaliers  have  pro 
mised,  that  if  we  are  disposed  to  become 
man  and  wife,  on  returning  to  our  na 
tive  land,  they  will  provide  for  us  hand 
somely." 

In  a  word,  it  appeared  that  this 
extremely  discreet  and  provident  old 
woman  had  consulted  with  the  cavaliers 
and  the  renegado,  and  had  concerted 
the  whole  plan  of  escape.  The  eldest 
princess  immediately  assented  to  it :  and 
her  example,  as  usual,  determined  the 
conduct  of  her  sisters.  It  is  true,  the 
youngest  hesitated,  for  she  was  gentle 
and  timid  of  soul,  and  there  was  a  strug 
gle  in  her  bosom  between  filial  feeling 
and  youthful  passion :  the  latter,  how 
ever,  as  usual,  gained  the  victory,  and 
with  silent  tears,  and  stifled  sighs,  she 
prepared  herself  for  flight. 

The  rugged  hill,  on  which  the  Al- 
hambra  is  built,  was,  in  old  times,  per 
forated  with  subterranean  passages,  cut 
through  the  rock,  and  leading  from  the 
fortress  to  various  parts  of  the  city,  and 
to  distant  sally-ports  on  the  banks  of  the 
Darro  and  the  Xenil.  They  had  been 
constructed  at  different  times  by  the 
Moorish  kings,  as  means  of  escape  from 
sudden  insurrections,  or  of  secretly  issu 
ing  forth  on  private  enterprises.  Many 
of  them  are  now  entirely  lost,  while 
others  remain,  partly  choked  up  with 
rubbish,  and  partly  walled  up  ;  monu 
ments  of  the  jealous  precautions  and 
warlike  stratagems  of  the  Moorish  go 
vernment.  By  one  of  these  passages, 
Hussein  Baba  had  undertaken  to  con 
duct  the  Princesses  to  a  sally-port  be 
yond  the  walls  of  the  city,  where  the 
cavaliers  were  to  be  ready  with  fleet 
steeds,  to  bear  the  whole  party  over  the 
borders. 

The  appointed  night  arrived :  the 
tower  of  the  princesses  had  been  locked 
up  as  usual,  and  the  Alhambra  was 
buried  in  deep  sleep.  Towards  mid 
night,  the  discreet  Kadiga  listened  from 
the  balcony  of  a  window  that  looked 
into  the  garden.  Hussein  Baba,  the 
renegado,  was  already  below,  and  gave 
the  appointed  signal.  The  duenna  fas 


tened  the  end  of  a  ladder  of  ropes  to  the 
balcony,  lowered  it  into  the  garden,  and 
descended.  The  two  eldest  princesses 
followed  her  with  beating  hearts ;  but 
when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  youngest 
princess,  Zorahayda,  she  hesitated,  and 
trembled.  Several  times  she  ventured  a 
delicate  little  foot  upon  the  ladder,  and 
as  often  drew  it  back,  while  her  poor 
little  heart  fluttered  more  and  more  the 
longer  she  delayed.  She  cast  a  wistful 
look  back  into  the  silken  chamber ;  she 
had  lived  in  it,  to  be  sure  like  a  bird  in 
a  cage ;  but  within  it  she  was  secure : 
who  could  tell  what  dangers  might  beset 
her,  should  she  flutter  forth  into  the  wide 
world  !  Now  she  bethought  her  of  her 
gallant  Christian  lover,  and  her  little 
foot  was  instantly  upon  the  ladder ;  and 
anon  she  thought  of  her  father,  and 
shrank  back.  But  fruitless  is  the  at 
tempt  to  describe  the  conflict  in  the 
bosom  of  one  so  young  and  tender,  and 
loving,  but  so  timid  and  so  ignorant  of 
the  world. 

In  vain  her  sisters  implored,  the  du 
enna  scolded,  and  the  renegado  blas 
phemed  beneath  the  balcony ;  the  gentle 
little  Moorish  maid  stood  doubting  and 
wavering  on  the  verge  of  elopement; 
tempted  by  the  sweetness  of  the  sin,  but 
terrified  at  its  perils. 

Every  moment  increased  the  danger 
of  discovery.  A  distant  tramp  was 
heard.  "The  patrols  are  walking  the 
rounds,"  cried  the  renegado ;  "  if  we 
linger,  we  perish.  Princess,  descend 
instantly,  or  we  leave  you." 

Zorahayda  was  for  a  moment  in  fear 
ful  agitation ;  then  loosening  the  ladder 
of  ropes,  with  desperate  resolution,  she 
flung  it  from  the  balcony. 

"  It  is  decided!"  cried  she,  "  flight  is 
now  out  of  my  power!  Allah  guide  and 
bless  ye,  my  dear  sisters  !" 

The  two  eldest  princesses  were  shocked 
at  the  thoughts  of  leaving  her  behind, 
and  would  fain  have  lingered,  but  the 
patrol  was  advancing ;  the  renegado  was 
furious,  and  they  were  hurried  away 
to  the  subterraneous  passage.  They 
groped  their  way  through  a  fearful  laby 
rinth,  cut  through  the  heart  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  succeeded  in  reaching,  undis 
covered,  an  iron  gate  that  opened  outside 
of  the  walls.  The  Spanish  cavaliers 


456 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


were  waiting  to  receive  them,  disguised 
as  Moorish  soldiers  of  the  guard,  com 
manded  by  the  renegado. 

The  lover  of  Zorahayda  was  frantic, 
when  he  learnt  that  she  had  refused  to 
leave  the  tower  ;  but  there  was  no  time 
to  waste  in  lamentations.  The  two 
princesses  were  placed  behind  their 
lovers,  the  discreet  Kadiga  mounted  be 
hind  the  renegado,  and  all  set  off  at  a 
round  pace  in  the  direction  of  the  pass 
of  Lope,  which  leads  through  the  moun 
tains  towards  Cordova. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
they  heard  the  noise  of  drums  and 
trumpets  from  the  battlements  of  the 
Alhambra. 

"  Our  flight  is  discovered,"  said  the 
renegado. 

"  We  have  fleet  steeds,  the  night  is 
dark,  and  we  may  distance  all  pursuit," 
replied  the  cavaliers. 

They  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  and 
scoured  across  the  Vega.  They  attained 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  Elvira, 
which  stretches  like  a  promontory  into 
the  plain.  The  renegado  paused  and 
listened.  "  As  yet,"  said  he,  "  there  is 
no  one  on  our  traces,  we  shall  make 
good  our  escape  to  the  mountains." 
While  he  spoke,  a  pale  fire  sprang  up 
in  a  light  blaze  on  the  top  of  the  watch- 
tower  of  the  Alhambra. 

"  Confusion !"  cried  the  renegado, 
"  that  fire  will  put  all  the  guards  of  the 
passes  on  the  alert.  Away !  away ! 
Spur  like  mad, — there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost." 

Away  they  dashed — the  clattering  of 
their  horses'  hoofs  echoed  from  rock  to 
rock,  as  they  swept  along  the  road  that 
skirts  the  rocky  mountain  of  Elvira. 
As  they  galloped  on,  they  beheld  that 
the  pale  fire  of  the  Alhambra  was 
answered  in  every  direction ;  light  after 
light  blazed  on  the  atalayas,  or  watch- 
towers  of  the  mountains. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !"  cried  the  rene 
gado,  with  many  an  oath,  "  to  the 
bridge, — to  the  bridge,  before  the  alarm 
has  reached  there !" 

They  doubled  the  promontory  of  the 
mountains,  and  arrived  in  sight  of  the 
famous  Puente  del  Pinos,  that  crosses  a 
rushing  stream  often  dyed  with  Christian 
and  Moslem  blood.  To  their  confusion, 


the  tower  on  the  bridge  blazed  with 
lights  and  glittered  with  armed  men, 
The  renegado  pulled  up  his  steed,  rose 
in  his  stirrups  and  looked  about  him  for 
a  moment ;  then  beckoning  to  the  ca 
valiers,  he  struck  off  from  the  road, 
skirted  the  river  for  some  distance,  and 
dashed  into  its  waters.  The  cavaliers 
called  upon  the  princesses  to  cling  to 
them,  and  did  the  same.  They  were 
borne  for  some  distance  down  the  rapid 
current,  the  surges  roared  round  them, 
but  the  beautiful  princesses  clung  to  their 
Christian  knights,  and  never  uttered  a 
complaint.  The  cavaliers  attained  the 
opposite  bank  in  safety,  and  were  con 
ducted  by  the  renegado,  by  rude  and  un 
frequented  paths,  and  wild  barrancas, 
through  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  so 
as  to  avoid  all  the  regular  passes.  In  a 
word,  they  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
ancient  city  of  Cordova;  where  their 
restoration  to  their  country  and  friends 
was  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings,  for 
they  were  of  the  noblest  families.  The 
beautiful  princesses  were  forthwith  re 
ceived  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church, 
and,  after  being  in  all  due  form  made 
regular  Christians,  were  rendered  happy 
wives. 

In  our  hurry  to  make  good  the  escape 
of  the  princesses  across  the  river,  and 
up  the  mountains,  we  forgot  to  mention 
the  fate  of  the  discreet  Kadiga.  She 
had  clung  like  a  cat  to  Hussein  Babn  in 
the  scamper  across  the  Vega,  screaming 
at  every  bound,  and  drawing  many  an 
oath  from  the  whiskered  renegado ;  but 
when  he  prepared  to  plunge  his  steed 
into  the  river,  her  terror  knew  no 
bounds.  "  Grasp  me  not  so  tightly," 
cried  Hussein  Baba,  "  hold  on  my  belt 
and  fear  nothing."  She  held  firmly 
with  both  hands  by  the  leathern  belt 
that  girded  the  broad-backed  renegado ; 
but  when  he  halted  with  the  cavaliers 
to  take  breath  on  the  mountain  summit, 
the  duenna  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

"  What  has  become  of  Kadiga?"  cried 
the  princesses  in  alarm. 

"  Allah  alone  knows !"  replied  the 
renegado,  "  my  belt  came  loose  when  in 
the  midst  of  the  river,  and  Kadiga  was 
swept  with  it  down  the  stream.  The 
will  of  Allah  be  done !  but  it  was  an  em 
broidered  belt,  and  of  great  price." 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


457 


There  was  no  time  to  waste  in  idle 
regrets ;  yet  bitterly  did  the  princesses 
bewail  the  loss  of  their  discreet  counsel 
lor.  That  excellent  old  woman,  hoW- 
ever,  did  not  lose  more  than  half  of  her 
nine  lives  in  the  stream ;  a  fisherman, 
who  was  drawing  his  nets  some  distance 
down  the  stream,  brought  her  to  land, 
and  was  not  a  little  astonished  at  his 
miraculous  draught.  What  further  be 
came  of  the  discreet  Kadiga,  the  legend 
does  not  mention ;  certain  it  is  that  she 
evinced  her  discretion  in  never  venturing 
within  the  reach  of  Mohamed  the  Left- 
handed. 

Almost  as  little  is  known  of  the  con 
duct  of  that  sagacious  monarch  when  he 
discovered  the  escape  of  his  daughters, 
and  the  deceit  practised  upon  him  by 
the  most  faithful  of  servants.  It  was 
the  only  instance  in  which  he  had  called 
in  the  aid  of  counsel,  and  he  was  never 
afterwards  known  to  be  guilty  of  a  simi 
lar  weakness.  lie  took  good  care,  how 
ever,  to  guard  his  remaining  daughter, 
who  had  no  disposition  to  elope :  it  is 
thought,  indeed,  that  she  secretly  re 
pented  having  remained  behind:  now  and 
then  she  was  seen  leaning  on  the  battle 
ments  of  the  tower,  and  looking  mourn 
fully  towards  the  mountains  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Cordova,  and  sometimes  the  notes 
of  her  lute  were  heard  accompanying 
plaintive  ditties,  in  which  she  was  said  to 
lament  the  loss  of  her  sisters  and  her 
lover,  and  to  bewail  her  solitary  life. 
She  died  young,  and,  according  to  popu 
lar  rumour,  was  buried  in  a  vault  be 
neath  the  tower,  and  her  untimely  fate 
has  given  rise  to  more  than  one  tradi 
tionary  fable. 


VISITERS  TO  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

IT  is  now  nearly  three  months  since  I 
took  up  my  abode  in  the  Alhambra, 
during  which  time  the  progress  of  the 
season  has  wrought  many  changes. 
When  I  first  arrived  every  thing  was 
in  the  freshness  of  May ;  the  foliage  of 
the  trees  was  still  tender  and  transpa 
rent  ;  the  pomegranate  had  not  yet  shed 
VOL.  ii.  39 


its  brilliant  crimson  blossoms ;  the 
orchards  of  the  Xenil  and  the  Darro 
were  in  full  bloom  ;  the  rocks  were  hung 
with  wild  flowers,  and  Granada  seemed 
completely  surrounded  by  a  wilderness 
of  roses,  among  which  innumerable 
nightingales  sang,  not  merely  in  the 
night,  but  all  day  long. 

The  advance  of  summer  has  withered 
the  rose  and  silenced  the  nightingale, 
and  the  distant  country  begins  to  look 
parched  and  sunburnt ;  though  a  peren 
nial  verdure  reigns  immmediately  round 
the  city,  and  in  the  deep  narrow  valleys 
at  the  foot  of  the  snow-capped  moun 
tains. 

The  Alhambra  possesses  retreats  gra 
duated  to  the  heat  of  the  weather,  among 
which  the  most  peculiar  is  the  almost  sub 
terranean  apartment  of  the  baths.  This 
still  retains  its  ancient  Oriental  character, 
though  stamped  with  the  touching  traces 
of  decline.  At  the  entrance,  opening 
into  a  small  court  formerly  adorned  with 
flowers,  is  a  hall,  moderate  in  size,  but 
light  and  graceful  in  architecture.  It  is 
overlooked  by  a  small  gallery  supported 
by  marble  pillars  and  Moresco  arches. 
An  alabaster  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the 
pavement  still  throws  up  a  jet  of  water  to 
cool  the  place.  On  each  side  are  deep 
alcoves  with  raised  platforms,  where  the 
bathers,  after  their  ablutions,  reclined  on 
luxurious  cushions,  soothed  to  voluptuous 
repose  by  the  fragrance  of  the  perfumed 
air  and  the  notes  of  soft  music  from  the 
gallery.  Beyond  this  hall  are  the  inte 
rior  chambers,  still  more  private  and  re 
tired,  where  no  light  is  admitted  but 
through  small  apertures  in  the  vaulted 
ceilings.  Here  was  the  sanctum  sancto 
rum  of  female  privacy,  where  the  beau 
ties  of  the  harem  indulged  in  the  luxury 
of  the  baths.  A  soft  mysterious  light 
reigns  through  the  place,  the  broken 
baths  are  still  there,  and  traces  of  ancient 
elegance.  The  prevailing  silence  and 
obscurity  have  made  this  a  favourite 
resort  of  bats,  who  nestle  during  the  day 
in  the  dark  nooks  and  corners,  and  on 
being  disturbed,  flit  mysteriously  about 
the  twilight  chambers,  heightening,  in  an 
indescribable  degree,  their  air  of  desertion 
and  decay. 

In  this  cool  and  elegant,  though  dilapi 
dated  retreat,  which  has  the  freshness 


458 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


and  seclusion  of  a  grotto,  I  have  of  late 
passed  the  sultry  hours  of  the  day, 
emerging  towards  sunset;  and  bathing, 
or  rather  swimming,  at  night  in  the  great 
reservoir  of  the  main  court.  In  this  way 
I  have  been  enabled  in  a  measure  to 
counteract  the  relaxing  and  enervating 
influence  of  the  climate. 

My  dream  of  absolute  sovereignty, 
however,  is  at  an  end.  I  was  roused 
from  it  lately  by  the  report  of  fire-arms, 
which  reverberated  among  the  towers  as 
if  the  castle  had  been  taken  by  surprise. 
On  sallying  forth,  I  found  an  old  cavalier 
with  a  number  of  domestics,  in  possession 
of  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors.  He  was  an 
ancient  count  who  had  come  up  from  his 
palace  in  Granada  to  pass  a  short  time 
in  the  Alhambra  for  the  benefit  of  purer 
air ;  and  who,  being  a  veteran  and  inve 
terate  sportsman,  was  endeavouring  to 
get  an  appetite  for  his  breakfast  by  shoot 
ing  at  swallows  from  the  balconies.  It 
was  a  harmless  amusement,  for  though, 
by  the  alertness  of  his  attendants  in  load 
ing  his  pieces,  he  was  enabled  to  keep  up 
a  brisk  fire,  I  could  not  accuse  him  of 
the  death  of  a  single  swallow.  Nay, 
the  birds  themselves  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  sport,  and  to  deride  his  want  of  skill, 
skimming  in  circles  close  to  the  balco 
nies  and  twittering  as  they  darted  by. 

The  arrival  of  this  old  gentleman  has 
in  some  manner  changed  the  aspect  of 
affairs,  but  has  likewise  afforded  matter 
for  agreeable  speculation.  We  have 
tacitly  shared  the  empire  between  us, 
like  the  last  kings  of  Granada,  excepting 
that  we  maintain  a  most  amicable  alli 
ance.  He  reigns  absolute  over  the  Court 
of  the  Lions  and  its  adjacent  halls,  while 
I  maintain  peaceful  possession  of  the 
regions  of  the  baths  and  the  little  garden 
of  Lindaraxa.  We  take  our  meals  toge 
ther  under  the  arcades  of  the  court, 
where  the  fountains  cool  the  air,  and 
bubbling  rills  run  along  the  channels  of 
the  marble  pavement. 

In  the  evening  a  domestic  circle  gathers 
about  the  worthy  old  cavalier.  The 
countess  comes  up  from  the  city,  with  a 
favourite  daughter  about  sixteen  years  of 
age.  Then  there  are  the  official  depen 
dents  of  the  count,  his  chaplain,  lawyer, 
his  secretary,  his  steward,  and  other  offi 
cers  and  agents  of  his  extensive  posses- 
si  •  •  — 


sions.  Thus  he  holds  a  kind  of  domestic 
court,  where  every  person  seeks  to  con 
tribute  to  his  amusement  without  sacri 
ficing  his  own  pleasure  or  self-respect. 
In  fact,  whatever  may  be  said  of  Spanish 
pride,  it  certainly  does  not  enter  into 
social  or  domestic  life.  Among  no  people 
are  the  relations  between  kindred  more 
cordial,  or  between  superior  and  de 
pendent  more  frank  and  genial ;  in  these 
respects  there  still  remains,  in  the  provin 
cial  life  of  Spain,  much  of  the  vaunted 
simplicity  of  the  olden  times. 

The  most  interesting  member  of  this 
family  group,  however,  is  the  daughter  of 
the  count,  the  charming  though  almost 
infantile  little  Carmen.  Her  form  has 
not  yet  attained  its  maturity,  but  has 
already  the  exquisite  symmetry  and 
pliant  grace  so  prevalent  in  this  country. 
Her  blue  eyes,  fair  complexion,  and 
light  hair,  are  unusual  in  Andalusia,  and 
give  a  mildness  and  gentleness  to  her 
demeanour,  in  contrast  to  the  usual  fire 
of  Spanish  beauty,  but  in  perfect  unison 
with  the  guileless  and  confiding  inno 
cence  of  her  manners.  She  has,  how 
ever,  all  the  innate  aptness  and  versa 
tility  of  her  fascinating  countrywomen, 
and  sings,  dances,  and  plays  the  guitar, 
and  other  instruments,  to  admiration. 

A  few  days  after  taking  up  his  resi 
dence  in  the  Alhambra,  the  count  gave 
a  domestic  fete  on  his  Saint's  day,  assem 
bling  round  him  the  members  of  his 
family  and  household,  while  several  old 
servants  came  from  his  distant  posses 
sions  to  pay  their  reverence  to  him,  and 
partake  of  the  good  cheer.  This  patriar 
chal  spirit,  which  characterized  the  Spa 
nish  nobility  in  the  days  of  their  opulence, 
has  declined  with  their  fortunes ;  but 
some  who,  like  the  count,  still  retain 
their  ancient  family  possessions,  keep  up 
a  little  of  the  ancient  system  and  have 
their  estates  overrun  and  almost  eaten  up 
by  generations  of  idle  retainers.  Accord 
ing  to  this  magnificent  old  Spanish 
system,  in  which  the  national  pride  and 
generosity  bore  equal  parts,  a  super 
annuated  servant  was  never  turned  off, 
but  became  a  charge  for  the  rest  of  his 
days ;  nay,  his  children  and  his  chil 
dren's  children,  and  often  their  relatives, 
to  the  right  and  left,  became  gradually 
entailed  upon  the  family.  Hence  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


459 


huge  palaces  of  the  Spanish  nobility, 
which  have  such  an  air  of  empty  osten 
tation  from  the  greatness  of  their  size 
compared  with  the  mediocrity  and  scan 
tiness  of  their  furniture,  were  absolutely 
required  in  the  golden  days  of  Spain,  by 
the  patriarchal  habits  of  their  possessors. 
They  were  little  better  than  vast  bar 
racks  for  the  hereditary  generations  of 
hangers  on,  that  battened  at  the  expense 
of  a  Spanish  noble.  The  worthy  old 
count,  who  has  estates  in  various  parts 
of  the  kingdom,  assures  me  that  some  of 
them  barely  feed  the  hordes  of  dependents 
nestled  upon  them ;  who  consider  them 
selves  entitled  to  be  maintained  upon  the 
place  rent-free,  because  their  forefathers 
have  been  so  for  generations. 

The  domestic  fete  of  the  count  broke 
in  upon  the  usual  still  life  of  the  Alham- 
bra ;  music  and  laughter  resounded 
through  its  late  silent  halls ;  there  were 
groups  of  the  guests  amusing  themselves 
about  the  galleries  and  gardens,  and 
officious  servants  from  town  hurrying 
through  the  courts,  bearing  viands  to  the 
ancient  kitchen,  which  was  again  alive 
with  the  tread  of  cooks  and  scullions,  and 
blazed  with  unwonted  fires. 

The  feast,  for  a  Spanish  set  dinner  is 
literally  a  feast,  was  laid  in  the  beautiful 
Moresco  hall  called  "  La  Sala  de  los  dos 
Hermanas"  (the  saloon  of  the  two  sisters), 
the  table  groaned  with  abundance,  and  a 
joyous  conviviality  prevailed  round  the 
board ;  for  though  the  Spaniards  are 
generally  an  abstemious  people,  they  are 
complete  revellers  at  a  banquet.  For 
my  own  part,  there  was  something  pecu 
liarly  interesting  in  thus  sitting  at  a  feast 
in  the  royal  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  given 
by  the  representative  of  one  of  its  most 
renowned  conquerors ;  for  the  venerable 
count,  though  unwarlike  himself,  is  the 
lineal  descendant  and  representative  of 
the  "Great  Captain,"  the  illustrious  Gon- 
salvo  of  Cordova,  whose  sword  he  guards 
in  the  archives  of  his  palace  at  Granada. 

The  banquet  ended,  the  company  ad 
journed  to  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors. 
Here  every  one  contributed  to  the  general 
amusement  by  exerting  some  peculiar 
talent ;  singing,  improvising,  telling  won 


derful  tales,  or  dancing  to  that  all-per 
vading  talisman  of  Spanish  pleasure,  the 
guitar. 

The  life  and  charm  of  the  whole 
assemblage,  however,  was  the  gifted 
little  Carmen.  She  took  her  part  in  two 
or  three  scenes  from  Spanish  comedies, 
exhibiting  a  charming  dramatic  talent; 
she  gave  imitations  of  the  popular  Italian 
singers  with  singular  and  whimsical  feli 
city,  and  a  rare  quality  of  voice ;  she 
imitated  the  dialects,  dances  and  ballads 
of  the  gipsies  and  the  neighbouring 
peasantry,  but  did  every  thing  with  a 
facility,  a  neatness,  a  grace,  and  an  all- 
pervading  prettiness,  that  were  perfectly 
fascinating. 

The  great  charm  of  her  performances, 
however,  was  their  being  free  from  all 
pretension,  or  ambition  of  display.  She 
seemed  unconscious  of  the  extent  of  her 
own  talents,  and  in  fact  is  accustomed 
only  to  exert  them  casually,  like  a  child, 
for  the  amusement  of  the  domestic  circle. 
Her  observation  and  tact  must  be  re 
markably  quick,  for  her  life  is  passed  in 
the  bosom  of  her  family,  and  she  can 
only  have  had  casual  and  transient 
glances  at  the  various  characters  and 
traits,  brought  out  impromptu  in  mo 
ments  of  domestic  hilarity  like  the  one  in 
question.  It  is  pleasing  to  see  the  fond 
ness  and  admiration  with  which  every 
one  of  the  household  regard  her ;  she  is 
never  spoken  of,  even  by  the  domestics, 
by  any  other  appellation  than  that  of  La 
Nina,  "  the  child,"  an  appellation  which 
thus  applied  has  something  peculiarly 
kind  and  endearing  in  the  Spanish  lan 
guage. 

Never  shall  I  think  of  the  Alhambra 
without  remembering  the  lovely  little 
Carmen  sporting  in  happy  and  innocent 
girlhood  in  its  marble  halls,  dancing  to 
the  sound  of  the  Moorish  castailets,  or 
mingling  the  silver  warbling  of  her  voice 
with  the  music  of  the  fountains. 

On  this  festive  occasion  several  curious 
and  amusing  legends  and  traditions  were 
told;  many  of  which  have  escaped  my 
memory;  but  out  of  those  that  most  struck 
me,  I  will  endeavour  to  shape  forth  some 
entertainment  for  the  reader. 


460 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


LEGEND  OF 

PRINCE  AHMED  AL  KAMEL  ; 

OR, 

THE  PILGRIM  OF  LOVE. 

THERE  was  once  a  Moorish  king  of 
Granada,  who  had  but  one  son,  whom  he 
named  Ahmed,  to  which  his  courtiers 
added  the  surname  of  Al  Kamel  or  the 
perfect,  from  the  indubitable  signs  of 
super-excellence  which  they  perceived  in 
him  in  his  very  infancy.  The  astro 
logers  countenanced  them  in  their  fore 
sight,  predicting  every  thing  in  his  favour 
that  could  make  a  perfect  prince  and  a 
prosperous  sovereign.  One  cloud  only 
rested  upon  his  destiny,  and  even  that 
was  of  a  roseate  hue.  He  would  be  of 
an  amorous  temperament,  and  run  great 
perils  from  the  tender  passion.  If,  how 
ever,  he  could  be  kept  from  the  allure 
ments  of  love,  until  of  mature  age,  these 
dangers  would  be  averted,  and  his  life 
thereafter  be  one  uninterrupted  course  of 
felicity. 

To  prevent  all  danger  of  the  kind,  the 
king  wisely  determined  to  rear  the  prince 
in  a  seclusion  where  he  should  never  see 
a  female  face,  nor  hear  even  the  name  of 
love.  For  this  purpose  he  built  a  beauti 
ful  palace  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  above 
the  Alhambra,  in  the  midst  of  delightful 
gardens,  but  surrounded  by  lofty  walls, 
being,  in  fact,  the  same  palace  known  at 
the  present  day  by  the  name  of  the 
General ife.  In  this  palace  the  youthful 
prince  was  shut  up,  and  entrusted  to  the 
guardianship  and  instruction  of  Eben 
Bonabben,  one  of  the  wisest  and  dryest 
of  Arabian  sages,  who  had  passed  the 
greatest  part  of  his  life  in  Egypt  study 
ing  hieroglyphics,  arid  making  researches 
among  the  tombs  and  pyramids,  and 
who  saw  more  charms  in  an  Egyptian 
mummy,  than  in  the  most  tempting  of 
living  beauties.  The  sage  was  ordered 
to  instruct  the  prince  in  all  kinds  of 
knowledge  but  one — he  was  to  be  kept 
utterly  ignorant  of  love.  u  Use  every 
precaution  for  the  purpose  you  may 
think  proper,"  said  the  king,  "  but 
remember,  O  Eben  Bonabben,  if  my  son 
learns  aught  of  that  forbidden  knowledge 
while  under  your  care,  your  head  shall 
answer  for  it."  A  withered  smile  came 


over  the  dry  visage  of  the  wise  Bonabben 
at  the  menace.  "  Let  your  majesty's 
heart  be  as  easy  about  your  son,  as 
mine  is  about  my  head :  am  I  a  man 
likely  to  give  lessons  in  the  idle  pas 
sion?" 

Under  the  vigilant  care  of  the  philoso 
pher,  the  prince  grew  up,  in  the  seclu 
sion  of  the  palace  and  its  gardens.  He 
had  black  slaves  to  attend  upon  him, — 
hideous  mutes,  who  knew  nothing  of 
love,  or,  if  they  did,  had  not  words  to 
communicate  it.  His  mental  endow 
ments  were  the  peculiar  care  of  Eben 
Bonabben,  who  sought  to  initiate  him 
into  the  abstruse  lore  of  Egypt ;  but  in 
this  the  prince  made  little  progress,  and 
it  was  soon  evident  that  he  had  no  turn 
for  philosophy. 

He  was,  however,  amazingly  ductile 
for  a  youthful  prince,  ready  to  follow 
any  advice,  and  always  guided  by  the 
last  counsellor.  He  suppressed  his 
yawns,  and  listened  patiently  to  the  long 
and  learned  discourses  of  Eben  Bonab 
ben,  from  which  he  imbibed  a  smatter 
ing  of  various  kinds  of  knowledge,  and 
thus  happily  attained  his  twentieth  year, 
a  miracle  of  princely  wisdom — but  to 
tally  ignorant  of  love. 

About  this  time,  however,  a  change 
came  over  the  conduct  of  the  prince. 
He  completely  abandoned  his  studies, 
and  took  to  strolling  about  the  gardens, 
and  musing  by  the  side  of  the  fountains. 
He  had  been  taught  a  little  music  among 
his  various  accomplishments  ;  it  now  en 
grossed  a  great  part  of  his  time,  and  a 
turn  for  poetry  became  apparent.  The 
sage  Eben  Bonabben  took  the  alarm, 
and  endeavoured  to  work  these  idle 
humours  out  of  him  by  a  severe  course 
of  algebra — but  the  prince  turned  from 
it  with  distaste.  "  I  cannot  endure  al 
gebra,"  said  he ;  "  it  is  an  abomination 
to  me.  I  want  something  that  speaks 
more  to  the  heart." 

The  sage  Eben  Bonabben  shook  his 
dry  head  at  the  words.  "  Here  is  an 
end  to  philosophy,"  thought  he.  "  The 
prince  has  discovered  he  has  a  heart !" 
He  now  kept  anxious  watch  upon  his 
pupil,  and  saw  that  the  latent  tenderness 
of  his  nature  was  in  activity,  and  only 
wanted  an  object.  He  wandered  about 
the  gardens  of  the  Generalife  in  an  in- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


461 


toxication  of  feelings  of  which  he  knew 
not  the  cause.  Sometimes  he  would  sit 
plunged  in  a  delicious  revery;  then  he 
would  seize  his  lute  and  draw  from  it  the 
most  touching  notes,  and  then  throw  it 
aside,  and  break  forth  into  sighs  and 
ejaculations. 

By  degrees  this  loving  disposition 
began  to  extend  to  inanimate  objects ;  he 
had  his  favourite  flowers,  which  he  che 
rished  with  tender  assiduity ;  then  he  be 
came  attached  to  various  trees,  and 
there  was  one  in  particular  of  a  graceful 
form  and  drooping  foliage,  on  which  he 
lavished  his  amorous  devotion,  carving 
his  name  on  its  bark,  hanging  garlands 
on  its  branches,  and  singing  couplets  in 
its  praise,  to  the  accompaniment  of  his 
lute. 

The  sage  Eben  Bonabben  was  alarmed 
at  this  excited  state  of  his  pupil.  He 
saw  him  on  the  very  brink  of  forbidden 
knowledge — the  least  hint  might  reveal 
to  him  the  fatal  secret.  Trembling  for 
the  safety  of  the  prince  and  the  security 
of  his  own  head,  he  hastened  to  draw 
him  from  the  seductions  of  the  garden, 
and  shut  him  up  in  the  highest  tower  of 
the  Generalife.  It  contained  beautiful 
apartments,  and  commanded  an  almost 
boundless  prospect,  but  was  elevated  far 
above  that  atmosphere  of  sweets,  and 
those  witching  bowers  so  dangerous  to 
the  feelings  of  the  too  susceptible  Ahmed. 

What  was  to  be  done,  however,  to 
reconcile  him  to  this  restraint,  and  to 
beguile  the  tedious  hours  1  He  had  ex 
hausted  almost  all  kinds  of  agreeable 
knowledge ;  and  algebra  was  not  to  be 
mentioned.  Fortunately  Eben  Bonabben 
had  been  instructed,  when  in  Egypt,  in 
the  language  of  birds,  by  a  Jewish  Rab 
bin,  who  had  received  it  in  lineal  trans 
mission  from  Solomon  the  wise,  who  had 
been  taught  it  by  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 
At  the  very  mention  of  such  a  study, 
the  eyes  of  the  prince  sparkled  with  ani 
mation,  and  he  applied  himself  to  it  with 
such  avidity,  that  he  soon  became  as 
great  an  adept  as  his  master. 

The  tower  of  the  Generalife  was  no 
longer  a  solitude  ;  he  had  companions  at 
hand  with  whom  he  could  converse. 
The  first  acquaintance  he  formed  was 
with  a  hawk,  who  built  his  nest  in  a 
crevice  of  the  lofty  battlements,  from 


whence  he  soared  far  and  wide  in  quest 
of  prey.  The  prince,  however,  found 
little  to  like  or  esteem  in  him.  He  was 
a  mere  pirate  of  the  air,  swaggering  and 
boastful,  whose  talk  was  all  about  rapine 
and  courage  and  desperate  exploits. 

His  next  acquainance  was  an  owl,  a 
mighty  wise-looking  bird,  with  a  huge 
head  and  staring  eyes,  who  sat  blinking 
and  goggling  all  day  in  a  hole  in  the 
wall,  but  roamed  forth  at  night.  He  had 
great  pretensions  to  wisdom,  talked  some 
thing  of  astrology  and  the  moon,  and 
hinted  at  the  dark  sciences ;  but  he  was 
grievously  given  to  metaphysics,  and  the 
prince  found  his  prosings  even  more 
ponderous  than  those  of  the  sage  Eben 
Bonabben. 

Then  there  was  a  bat,  that  hung  all 
day  by  his  heels  in  the  dark  corner  of 
a  vault,  but  sallied  out  in  a  slip-shod 
style  at  twilight.  He,  however,  had  but 
twilight  ideas  on  all  subjects,  derided 
things  of  which  he  had  taken  but  an  im 
perfect  view,  and  seemed  to  take  delight 
in  nothing. 

Besides  these  there  was  a  swallow, 
wifch  whom  the  prince  was  at  first  much 
taken.  He  was  a  smart  talker,  but  rest 
less,  bustling,  and  for  ever  on  the  wing  ; 
seldom  remaining  long  enough  for  any 
continued  conversation.  He  turned  out 
in  the  end  to  be  a  mere  smatterer,  who 
did  but  skim  over  the  surface  of  things, 
pretending  to  know  every  thing,  but 
knowing  nothing  thoroughly. 

These  were  the  only  feathered  asso 
ciates  with  whom  the  prince  had  any 
opportunity  of  exercising  his  newly-ac 
quired  language ;  the  tower  was  too  high 
for  any  other  birds  to  frequent  it.  He 
soon  grew  weary  of  his  new  acquain 
tances,  whose  conversation  spoke  so 
little  to  the  head,  and  nothing  to  the 
heart;  and  gradually  relapsed  into  his 
loneliness.  A  winter  passed  away, 
spring  opened  with  all  its  bloom  and 
verdure  and  breathing  sweetness,  and 
the  happy  time  arrived  for  birds  to  pair 
and  build  their  nests.  Suddenly,  as  it 
were,  a  universal  burst  of  song  and 
melody  broke  forth  from  the  groves  and 
gardens  of  the  Generalife,  and  reached 
the  prince  in  the  solitude  of  his  tower. 
From  every  side  he  heard  the  same  uni 
versal  theme — love — love — love — chant- 
33* 


462 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


ed  forth  and  responded  to  in  every  va 
riety  of  note  and  tone.  The  prince  lis 
tened  in  silence  and  perplexity.  "  What 
can  be  this  love,"  thought  he,  "of  which 
the  world  seems  so  full,  and  of  which  I 
know  nothing !"  He  applied  for  informa 
tion  to  his  friend  the  hawk.  The  ruffian 
bird  answered  in  a  tone  of  scorn  :  "  you 
must  apply,"  said  he,  "to  the  vulgar 
peaceable  birds  of  earth  who  are  made 
for  the  prey  of  us  princes  of  the  air. 
My  trade  is  war,  and  fighting  my  de 
light.  In  a  word,  I  am  a  warrior,  and 
know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

The  prince  turned  from  him  with  dis 
gust,  and  sought  the  owl  in  his  retreat. 
"  This  is  a  bird,"  said  he  "  of  peaceful 
habits,  and  may  be  able  to  solve  my 
question."  So  he  asked  the  owl  to  tell 
him  what  was  this  love  about  which  all 
the  birds  in  the  groves  below  were  sing 
ing. 

Upon  this,  the  owl  put  on  a  look  of 
offended  dignity.  "  My  nights,"  said 
he,  "are  taken  up  in  study  and  re 
search,  and  my  days  in  ruminating  in 
my  cell  upon  all  that  I  have  learnt.  As 
to  these  singing  birds  of  whom  you  talk, 
I  never  listen  to  them — I  despise  them 
and  their  themes.  Allah  be  praised, 
I  cannot  sing ;  I  am  a  philosopher,  and 
know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

The  prince  now  repaired  to  the  vault, 
where  his  friend  the  bat  was  hanging  by 
the  heels,  and  propounded  the  same 
question.  The  bat  wrinkled  up  his  nose 
into  a  most  snappish  expression.  "  Why 
do  you  disturb  me  in  my  morning's  nap 
with  such  an  idle  question?"  said  he 
peevishly.  "  I  only  fly  by  twilight, 
when  all  birds  are  asleep,  and  never 
trouble  myself  with  their  concerns.  I 
am  neither  bird  nor  beast,  and  I  thank 
heaven  for  it.  I  have  found  out  the 
villany  of  the  whole  of  them,  and  hate 
them  one  and  all.  In  a  word,  I  am  a 
misanthrope — and  know  nothing  of  this 
thing  called  love." 

As  a  last  resort,  the  prince  now  sought 
the  swallow,  and  stopped  him  just  as  he 
was  circling  about  the  summit  of  the 
tower.  The  swallow,  as  usual,  was  in 
a  prodigious  hurry,  and  had  scarce  time 
to  make  a  reply.  "  Upon  my  word," 
said  he,  "  I  have  so  much  public  busi 
ness  to  attend  to,  and  so  many  pursuits 


to  follow,  that  I  have  had  no  time  to 
think  on  the  subject.  I  have  every  day 
a  thousand  visits  to  pay ;  a  thousand 
affairs  of  importance  to  examine  into, 
that  leave  me  not  a  moment  of  leisure 
for  these  little  sing-song  matters.  In  a 
word,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  world — I 
know  nothing  of  this  tiling  called  love." 
So  saying  the  swallow  dived  into  the 
valley,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  a  mo 
ment. 

The  prince  remained  disappointed  and 
perplexed,  but  with  his  curiosity  still 
more  piqued  by  the  difficulty  of  gratify 
ing  it.  While  in  this  mood,  his  ancient 
guardian  entered  the  tower.  The  prince 
advanced  eagerly  to  meet  him.  "  O 
sage  Eben  Bonabben,"  cried  he,  "thou 
hast  revealed  to  me  much  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  earth ;  but  there  is  one  thing  of 
which  I  remain  in  utter  ignorance,  and 
would  fain  be  informed." 

"  My  prince  has  but  to  make  the 
inquiry,  and  every  thing  within  the 
limited  range  of  his  servant's  intellect  is 
at  his  command." 

"Tell  me,  O  most  profound  of  sages, 
what  is  the  nature  of  this  thing  called 
love?" 

The  sage  Eben  Bonabben  was  struck 
as  with  a  thunderbolt.  He  trembled  and 
turned  pale,  and  felt  as  if  his  head  sat 
but  loosely  on  his  shoulders. 

"  What  could  suggest  such  a  question 
to  my  prince — where  could  he  have 
learnt  so  idle  a  word  ?" 

The  prince  led  him  to  the  window  of 
the  tower.  "Listen,  O  Eben  Bonabben," 
said  he.  The  sage  listened.  The  night 
ingale  sat  in  a  thicket  below  the  tower, 
singing  to  his  paramour  the  rose ;  from 
every  blossomed  spray  and  tufted  grove 
arose  a  strain  of  melody;  and  love — love 
— love — was  still  the  unvarying  strain. 

"Allah  achbar!  God  is  great!"  ex 
claimed  the  wise  Bonabben.  "  Who 
shall  pretend  to  keep  this  secret  from  the 
heart  of  man,  when  even  the  birds  of  the 
air  conspire  to  betray  it?" 

Then  turning  to  Ahmed — "  O  my 
prince,"  cried  he,  "  shut  thine  ears  to 
these  seductive  strains.  Close  thy  mind 
against  this  dangerous  knowledge.  Know 
that  this  love  is  the  cause  of  half  the  ills 
of  wretched  mortality.  It  is  this  which 
produces  bitterness  and  strife  between 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


463 


brethren  and  friends ;  which  causes 
treacherous  murder  and  desolating  war. 
Care  and  sorrow,  weary  days  and  sleep 
less  nights,  are  its  attendants.  It  withers 
the  bloom  and  blights  the  joys  of  youth, 
and  brings  on  the  ills  and  griefs  of  pre 
mature  old  age.  Allah  preserve  thee, 
my  prince,  in  total  ignorance  of  this 
thing  called  love  !" 

The  sage  Eben  Bonabben  hastily  re 
tired,  leaving  the  prince  plunged  in  still 
deeper  perplexity.  It  was  in  vain  he  at 
tempted  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his 
mind  ;  it  still  continued  uppermost  in  his 
thoughts,  and  teazed  and  exhausted  him 
with  vain  conjectures.  Surely,  said  he 
to  himself,  as  he  listened  to  the  tuneful 
strains  of  the  birds,  there  is  no  sorrow 
in  those  notes  ;  every  thing  seems  ten 
derness  and  joy.  If  love  be  the  cause  of 
such  wretchedness  and  strife,  why  are 
not  these  birds  drooping  in  solitude,  or 
tearing  each  other  in  pieces,  instead  of 
fluttering  cheerfully  about  the  groves, 
or  sporting  with  each  other  among 
flowers  ? 

He  lay  one  morning  on  his  couch 
meditating  on  this  inexplicable  matter. 
The  window  of  his  chamber  was  open  to 
admit  the  soft  morning  breeze  which 
came  laden  with  the  perfume  of  orange 
blossoms  from  the  valley  of  the  Darro. 
The  voice  of  the  nightingale  was  faintly 
heard,  still  chanting  the  wonted  theme. 
As  the  prince  was  listening  and  sighing, 
there  was  a  sudden  rushing  noise  in  the 
air;  a  beautiful  dove,  pursued  by  a  hawk, 
darted  in  at  the  window,  and  fell  panting 
on  the  floor;  while  the  pursuer,  balked 
of  his  prey,  soared  off  to  the  mountains. 

The  prince  took  up  the  gasping  bird, 
smoothed  its  feathers  and  nestled  it  in  his 
bosom.  When  he  had  soothed  it  by  his 
caresses,  he  put  it  in  a  golden  cage,  and 
offered  it  with  his  own  hands,  the 
whitest  and  finest  of  wheat  and  the 
purest  of  water.  The  bird,  however,  re 
fused  food,  and  sat  drooping  and  pining, 
and  uttering  piteous  moans. 

"What  aileth  thee?"  said  Ahmed. 
"  Hast  thou  not  every  thing  thy  heart 
can  wish  ?" 

"  Alas,  no  !"  replied  the  dove  ;  "  am  I 
not  separated  from  the  partner  of  my 
heart,  and  that  too  in  the  happy  spring 
time,  the  very  season  of  love  !" 


"  Of  love  !"  echoed  Ahmed  ;  "  I  pray 
thee,  my  pretty  bird,  canst  thou  then  tell 
me  what  is  love  ?" 

"Too  well  can  I,  my  prince.  It  is 
the  torment  of  one,  the  felicity  of  two, 
the  strife  and  enmity  of  three.  It  is  a 
charm  which  draws  two  beings  together, 
and  unites  them  by  delicious  sympathies, 
making  it  happiness  to  be  with  each 
other,  but  misery  to  be  apart.  Is  there 
no  being  to  whom  you  are  drawn  by  these 
ties  of  tender  affection  ?" 

"  I  like  my  old  teacher  Eben  Bonabben 
better  than  any  other  being  ;  but  he  is 
often  tedious  and  I  occasionally  feel  my 
self  happier  without  his  society." 

"  That  is  not  the  sympathy  I  mean. 
I  speak  of  love,  the  great  mystery  and 
principle  of  life  ;  the  intoxicating  revel 
of  youth ;  the  sober  delight  of  age. 
Look  forth,  my  prince,  and  behold  how  at 
this  blest  season  all  nature  is  full  of  love. 
Every  created  being  has  its  mate ;  the 
most  insignificant  bird  sings  to  its  para 
mour  ;  the  very  beetle  woos  its  lady- 
beetle  in  the  dust,  and  yon  butterflies 
which  you  see  fluttering  high  above  the 
tower  and  toying  in  the  air,  are  happy  in 
each  other's  loves.  Alas,  my  prince  ! 
hast  thou  spent  so  many  of  the  precious 
days  of  youth  without  knowing  any 
thing  of  love  1  Is  there  no  gentle  being 
of  another  sex — no  beautiful  princess  or 
lovely  damsel  who  has  ensnared  your 
heart,  and  filled  your  bosom  with  a  soft 
tumult  of  pleasing  pains  and  tender 
wishes  ?" 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  said  the 
prince,  sighing ;  "  such  a  tumult  I  have 
more  than  once  experienced  without 
knowing  the  cause  ;  and  where  should  I 
seek  for  an  object,  such  as  you  describe, 
in  this  dismal  solitude '/" 

A  little  further  conversation  ensued, 
and  the  first  amatory  lesson  of  the  prince 
was  complete. 

"  Alas  !"  said  he,  "  if  love  be  indeed 
such  a  delight  and  its  interruption  such  a 
misery,  Allah  forbid  that  I  should  mar 
the  joy  of  any  of  its  votaries."  He 
opened  the  cage,  took  out  the  dove,  and 
having  fondly  kissed  it,  carried  it  to  the 
window.  «  Go,  happy  bird,"  said  he, 
"  rejoice  with  the  partner  of  thy  heart  in 
the  days  of  youth  and  springtime.  Why 
should  I  make  thee  a  fellow-prisoner  in 


464 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


this  dreary  tower,  where  love  can  never 
enter  ?" 

The  dove  flapped  its  wings  in  rapture, 
gave  one  vault  in  the  air,  and  then 
swooped  downward  on  whistling  wings  to 
the  blooming  bowers  of  the  Darro. 

The  prince  followed  him  with  his  eyes, 
and  then  gave  way  to  bitter  repining. 
The  singing  of  the  birds,  which  once 
delighted  him,  now  added  to  his  bitter 
ness.  Love  !  love  !  love  !  Alas,  poor 
youth  !  he  now  understood  the  strain. 

His  eyes  flashed  fire  when  next  he  be 
held  the  sage  Bonabben.  "  Why  hast 
thou  kept  me  in  this  abject  ignorance  ?" 
cried  he.  "  Why  has  the  great  mystery 
and  principle  of  life  been  withheld  from 
me,  in  which  I  find  the  meanest  insect  is 
so  learned?  Behold  all  nature  is  in  a 
revel  of  delight.  Every  created  being 
rejoices  with  its  mate.  This — this  is  the 
love  about  which  I  have  sought  instruc 
tion.  Why  am  I  alone  debarred  its 
enjoyment?  Why  has  so  much  of  my 
youth  been  wasted  without  a  knowledge 
of  its  raptures  ?" 

The  sage  Bonabben  saw  that  all  fur 
ther  reserve  was  useless ;  for  the  prince 
had  acquired  the  dangerous  and  forbidden 
knowledge.  He  revealed  to  him,  there 
fore,  the  predictions  of  the  astrologers, 
and  the  precautions  that  had  been  taken 
in  his  education  to  avert  the  threatened 
evils.  "  And  now,  my  prince,"  added 
he,  "  my  life  is  in  your  hands.  Let  the 
king  your  father  discover  that  you  have 
learned  the  passion  of  love  while  under 
my  guardianship,  and  my  head  must 
answer  for  it." 

The  prince  was  as  reasonable  as  most 
young  men  of  his  age,  and  easily  listened 
to  the  remonstrances  of  his  tutor,  since 
nothing  pleaded  against  them.  Besides, 
he  really  was  attached  to  the  sage  Bo 
nabben,  and  being  as  yet  but  theoretically 
acquainted  with  the  passion  of  love,  he 
consented  to  confine  the  knowledge  of  it 
to  his  own  bosom,  rather  than  endanger 
the  head  of  the  philosopher. 

His  discretion  was  doomed,  however, 
to  be  put  to  still  further  proofs.  A  few 
mornings  afterwards,  as  he  was  rumi 
nating  on  the  battlements  of  the  tower, 
the  dove  which  had  been  released  by  him 
came  hovering  in  the  air,  and  alighted 
fearlessly  upon  his  shoulder. 


The  prince   fondled   it  to   his   heart. 
"  Happy  bird,"  said  he,  "  who  can  fly, 
as  it  were,  with  the  wings  of  the  morn 
ing  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth. 
W7here  hast  thou  been  since  we  parted  ?" 
"  In  a  far  country,  my  prince,  from 
'  whence  I  bring  you  tidings  in  reward  for 
my  liberty.     In  the  wild  compass  of  my 
flight,   which    extends   over    plain    and 
j  mountain,  as  I  was  soaring  in  the  air,  I 
beheld   below   me   a   delightful   garden, 
!  with  all  kinds  of  fruits  and  flowers.     It 
I  was  in  a  green  meadow,  on  the  banks  of 
;  a  wandering  stream ;  and  in  the  centre 
!  of  the  garden  was  a  stately  palace.     I 
j  alighted  in  one  of  the  bowers  to  repose 
I  after  my  weary  flight.     On   the  green 
|  bank  below  me  was  a  youthful  princess, 
in  the  very  sweetness  and  bloom  of  her 
years.    She  was  surrounded  by  female  at 
tendants,  young  like  herself,  who  decked 
her  with  garlands  and  coronets  of  flow 
ers  ;   but  no  flower  of  field   or  garden 
could  compare  with  her  for  loveliness. 
Here,  however,  she  bloomed  in  secret, 
for  the  garden  was  surrounded  by  high 
j  walls,  and  no  mortal  man  was  permitted 
!  to  enter.     When  I  beheld  this  beauteous 
;  maid,  thus  young  and  innocent  and  un- 
|  spotted  by  the  world,  I  thought,  here  is 
j  the  being  formed  by  heaven  to  inspire  my 
|  prince  with  love." 

The  description  was  a  spark  of  fire  to 
the  combustible  heart  of  Ahmed  :  all  the 
!  latent  amorousness  of  his  temperament 
!  had  at  once  found  an  object,  and  he  con- 
j  ceived  an  immeasurable  passion  for  the 
princess.  He  wrote  a  letter,  couched  in 
the  most  impassioned  language,  breathing 
his  fervent  devotion,  but  bewailing  the 
unhappy  thraldom  of  his  person,  which 
prevented  him  from  seeking  her  out  and 
throwing  himself  at  her  feet.  He  added 
couplets  of  the  most  tender  and  moving 
eloquence,  for  he  was  a  poet  by  nature 
and  inspired  by  love.  He  addressed  his 
letter — "  To  the  unknown  beauty,  from 
the  captive  Prince  Ahmed ;"  then  per 
fuming  it  with  musk  and  roses,  he  gave 
it  to  the  dove. 

"  Away,  trustiest  of  messengers  !"  said 
he.  "  Fly  over  mountain  and  valley  and 
river  and  plain  ;  rest  not  in  bower  nor  set 
foot  on  earth,  until  thou  hast  given  this 
letter  to  the  mistress  of  my  heart." 
The  dove  soared  high  in  air,  and 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


465 


taking  his  course,  darted  away  in  one 
undeviating  direction.  The  prince  fol 
lowed  him  with  his  eye  until  he  was  a 
mere  speck  on  a  cloud,  and  gradually 
disappeared  behind  a  mountain. 

Day  after  day  he  watched  for  the 
return  of  the  messenger  of  love,  but  he 
watched  in  vain.  He  began  to  accuse 
him  of  forgetfulness,  when  towards  sun 
set  one  evening  the  faithful  bird  fluttered 
into  his  apartment,  and  falling  at  his  feet, 
expired.  The  arrow  of  some  wanton 
archer  had  pierced  his  breast,  yet  he  had 
struggled  with  the  lingering  of  life  to 
execute  his  mission.  As  the  prince  bent 
with  grief  over  this  gentle  martyr  to 
fidelity,  he  beheld  a  chain  of  pearls 
round  his  neck,  attached  to  which,  be 
neath  his  wing,  was  a  small  enamelled 
picture.  It  represented  a  lovely  princess 
in  the  very  flower  of  her  years.  It  was 
doubtless  the  unknown  beauty  of  the 
garden ;  but  who  and  where  was  she — 
how  had  she  received  his  letter,  and  was 
this  picture  sent  as  a  token  of  her 
approval  of  his  passion  ?  Unfortunately 
the  death  of  the  faithful  dove  left  every 
thing  in  mystery  and  doubt. 

The  prince  gazed  on  the  picture  till  his 
eyes  swam  with  tears.  He  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  and  to  his  heart,  he  sat  for  hours 
contemplating  it  almost  in  an  agony  of 
tenderness.  "  Beautiful  image  !"  said  he, 
"  alas,  thou  art  but  an  image !  Yet  thy 
dewy  eyes  beam  tenderly  upon  me;  those 
rosy  lips  look  as  though  they  would  speak 
encouragement :  vain  fancies !  Have 
they  not  looked  the  same  on  some  more 
happy  rival  ?  But  where  in  this  wide 
world  shall  I  hope  to  find  the  original  ? 
Who  knows  what  mountains,  what  realms 
may  separate  us — what  adverse  chances 
may  intervene?  Perhaps  now,  even 
now,  lovers  may  be  crowding  around  her, 
while  I  sit  here  a  prisoner  in  a  tower, 
wasting  my  time  in  adoration  of  a  paint 
ed  shadow." 

The  resolution  of  Prince  Ahmed  was 
taken.  "  I  will  fly  from  this  palace," 
said  he,  "  which  has  become  an  odious 
prison,  and,  a  pilgrim  of  love,  will  seek 
this  unknown  princess  throughout  the 
world."  To  escape  from  the  tower  in 
the  day,  when  every  one  was  awake, 
might  be  a  difficult  matter  ;  but  at  night 
the  palace  was  slightly  guarded  ;  for  no 


one  apprehended  any  attempt  of  the  kind 
from  the  prince  who  had  always  been  so 
passive  in  his  captivity.  How  was  he  to 
guide  himself,  however,  in  his  darkling 
flight,  being  ignorant  of  the  country? 
He  bethought  him  of  the  owl,  who  was 
accustomed  to  roam  at  night,  and  must 
know  every  by-lane  and  secret  pass. 
Seeking  him  in  his  hermitage,  he  ques 
tioned  him  touching  his  knowledge  of  the 
land.  Upon  this  the  owl  put  on  a  mighty 
self-important  look.  "  You  must  know, 
O  prince,"  said  he,  "  that  we  owls  are  of 
a  very  ancient  and  extensive  family, 
though  rather  fallen  to  decay,  and  pos 
sess  ruinous  castles  and  palaces  in  all 
parts  of  Spain.  There  is  scarcely  a 
tower  of  the  mountains,  or  a  fortress  of 
the  plains,  or  an  old  citadel  of  a  city,  but 
has  some  brother,  or  uncle,  or  cousin 
quartered  in  it ;  and  in  going  the  rounds 
to  visit  my  numerous  kindred,  I  have 
pryed  into  every  nook  and  corner,  and 
made  myself  acquainted  with  every  secret 
of  the  land."  The  prince  was  overjoyed 
to  find  the  owl  so  deeply  versed  in  topo 
graphy,  and  now  informed  him,  in  confi 
dence,  of  his  tender  passion  and  his  in 
tended  elopement,  urging  him  to  be  his 
companion  and  counsellor. 

"  Go  to  !"  said  the  owl  with  a  look  of 
displeasure,  "  am  I  a  bird  to  engage  in  a 
love  affair  ?  I  whose  whole  time  is  de 
voted  to  meditation  and  the  moon  ?" 

"  Be  not  offended,  most  solemn  owl," 
replied  the  prince  ;  "  abstract  thyself  for 
a  time  from  meditation  and  the  moon,  and 
aid  me  in  my  flight,  and  thou  shall  have 
whatever  heart  can  wish." 

"  I  have  that  already,"  said  the  owl : 
"  a  few  mice  are  sufficient  for  my  frugal 
table,  and  this  hole  in  the  wall  is  spacious 
enough  for  my  studies :  and  what  more 
does  a  philosopher  like  myself  desire  ?" 

"  Bethink  thee,  most  wise  owl,  that 
while  moping  in  thy  cell  and  gazing  at 
the  moon,  all  thy  talents  are  lost  to  the 
world.  I  shall  one  day  be  a  sovereign 
prince,  and  may  advance  thee  to  some 
post  of  honour  and  dignity." 

The  owl  though  a  philosopher  and 
above  the  ordinary  wants  of  life,  was 
not  above  ambition ;  so  he  was  finally 
prevailed  on  to  elope  with  the  prince, 
and  be  his  guide  and  Mentor  in  his  pil 
grimage. 


466 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  plans  of  a  lover  are  promptly  ex 
ecuted.  The  prince  collected  ali  his 
jewels,  and  concealed  them  about  his 
person  as  travelling  funds.  Thnt  very 
night  he  lowered  himself  by  his  scarf 
from  a  balcony  of  the  tower,  clambered 
over  the  outer  walls  of  the  Generalife, 
and,  guided  by  the  owl,  made  good  his 
escape  before  morning  to  the  mountains. 

He  now  held  a  council  with  his  Men 
tor  as  to  his  future  course. 

"  Might  I  advise,"  said  the  owl,  "  I 
would  recommend  you  to  repair  to  Se 
ville.  You  must  know,  that  many  years 
since  I  was  on  a  visit  to  an  uncle,  an 
owl  of  great  dignity  and  power,  who 
lived  in  a  ruined  wing  of  the  alcazar  of 
that  place.  In  my  hovermgs  at  night 
over  the  city  I  frequently  remarked  a 
light  burning  in  a  lonely  tower.  At 
length  I  alighted  on  the  battlements, 
and  found  it  to  proceed  from  the  lamp 
of  an  Arabian  magician :  he  was  sur 
rounded  by  his  magic  books,  and  on  his 
shoulder  was  perched  his  familiar,  an 
ancient  raven,  who  had  come  with  him 
from  Egypt.  I  am  acquainted  with  that 
raven,  and  owe  to  him  a  great  part  of 
the  knowledge  I  possess.  The  magician 
is  since  dead,  but  the  raven  still  inhabits 
the  tower,  for  these  birds  are  of  wonder 
ful  long  life.  I  would  advise  you,  O 
prince,  to  seek  that  raven,  for  he  is  a 
soothsayer  and  a  conjurer,  and  deals  in 
the  black  art,  for  which  all  ravens, 
and  especially  those  of  Egypt,  are  re 
nowned." 

The  prince  was  struck  with  the  wis 
dom  of  this  advice,  and  accordingly  bent 
his  course  towards  Seville.  He  travel 
led  only  in  the  night,  to  accommodate 
his  companion,  and  lay  by  during  the 
day  in  some  dark  cavern  or  mouldering 
watchtower,  for  the  owl  knew  every 
hiding-hole  of  the  kind,  and  had  a  most 
antiquarian  taste  for  ruins. 

At  length  one  morning  at  daybreak 
they  reached  the  city  of  Seville,  where 
the  owl,  who  hated  the  glare  and  bustle 
of  crowded  streets,  halted  without  the 
gate  and  took  up  his  quarters  in  a  hol 
low  tree. 

The  prince  entered  the  gate  and  rea 
dily  found  the  magic  tower,  which  rose 
above  the  houses  of  the  city,  as  a  palm- 
tree  rises  above  the  shrubs  of  the  desert  ; 


it  was  in  fact  the  same  tower  that  is 
standing  at  the  present  day,  and  known 
as  the  Giralda,  the  famous  Moorish 
tower  of  Seville. 

The  prince  ascended  by  a  great  wind 
ing  staircase  to  the  summit  of  the  tower, 
where  he  found  the  cabalistic  raven,  an 
old,  mysterious,  grayheaded  bird,  rag 
ged  in  feather,  with  a  film  over  one  eye 
that  gave  him  the  glare  of  a  spectre. 
He  was  perched  on  one  leg,  with  his 
head  turned  on  one  side,  poring  with  his 
remaining  eye  on  a  diagram  described 
on  the  pavement. 

The  prince  approached  him  with  the 
awe  and  reverence  naturally  inspired 
by  his  venerable  appearance  and  super 
natural  wisdom.  "  Pardon  me,  most 
ancient  and  darkly  wise  *raven,"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  if  for  a  moment  I  inter 
rupt  those  studies  which  are  the  wonder 
of  the  world.  You  behold  before  you  a 
votary  of  love,  who  would  fain  seek  your 
counsel  how  to  obtain  the  object  of  his 
passion." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  raven, 
with  a  significant  look,  "  you  seek  to  try 
my  skill  in  palmistry.  Come,  show  me 
your  hand,  and  let  me  decipher  the 
mysterious  lines  of  fortune." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  prince,  "  I 
come  not  to  pry  into  the  decrees  of  fate, 
which  are  hidden  by  Allah  from  the  eyes 
of  mortals ;  I  am  a  pilgrim  of  love,  and 
seek  but  to  find  a  clue  to  the  object  of 
my  pilgrimage." 

"  And  can  you  be  at  any  loss  for  an 
object  in  amorous  Andalusia  ?"  said  the 
old  raven,  leering  upon  him  with  his 
single  eye  ;  "  above  all,  can  you  be  at  a 
loss  in  wanton  Seville,  where  blackeyed 
damsels  dance  the  zambra  under  every 
orange  grove !" 

The  prince  blushed,  and  was  some 
what  shocked  at  hearing  an  old  bird, 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  talk  thus 
loosely.  "  Believe  me,"  said  he  gravely, 
"  I  am  on  none  such  light  and  vagrant 
errand  as  thou  dost  insinuate.  The 
blackeyed  damsels  of  Andalusia  who 
dance  among  the  orange  groves  of 
the  Guadalquivir  are  as  nought  to  me. 
I  seek  one  unknown  but  immaculate 
beauty,  the  original  of  this  picture ;  and 
I  beseech  thee,  most  potent  raven,  if  it 
be  within  the  scope  of  thy  knowledge  or 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


467 


the  reach  of  thy  art,  inform  me  where 
she  may  be  found." 

The  grayheaded  raven  was  rebuked 
by  the  gravity  of  the  prince. 

"What  know  I,"  replied  he  drily,  "of 
youth  and  beauty  7  my  visits  are  to  the 
old  and  withered,  not  the  fresh  and  fair : 
the  harbinger  of  fate  am  I ;  who  croak 
bodings  of  death  from  the  chimney-top, 
and  flap  my  wings  at  the  sick  man's 
window.  You  must  seek  elsewhere  for 
tidings  of  your  unknown  beauty." 

"  And  where  can  I  seek,  if  not  among 
the  sons  of  wisdom,  versed  in  the  book 
of  destiny  1  A  royal  prince  am  I,  fated 
by  the  stars,  and  sent  on  a  mysterious 
enterprise  on  which  may  hang  the  des 
tiny  of  empires." 

When  the  raven  heard  that  it  was  a 
matter  of  vast  moment  in  which  the 
stars  took  interest,  he  changed  his  tone 
and  manner,  and  listened  with  profound 
attention  to  the  story  of  the  prince. 
When  it  was  concluded,  he  replied, 
"  Touching  this  princess  I  can  give  thee 
no  information  of  myself,  for  my  flight  is 
not  among  gardens,  or  around  ladies 
bowers :  but  hie  thee  to  Cordova,  seek 
the  palm-tree  of  the  great  Abderahman, 
which  stands  in  the  court  of  the  princi 
pal  mosque :  at  the  foot  of  it  thou  wilt 
find  a  great  traveller  who  has  visited  all 
countries  and  courts,  and  been  a  favour 
ite  with  queens  and  princesses.  He  will 
give  thee  tidings  of  the  object  of  thy 
search." 

"  Many  thanks  for  this  precious  in 
formation,"  said  the  prince.  "  Farewell, 
most  venerable  conjuror." 

"Farewell,  pilgrim  of  love,"  said  the 
raven  drily,  and  again  fell  to  pondering 
on  the  diagram. 

The  prince  sallied  forth  from  Seville, 
sought  his  fellow-traveller  the  owl,  who 
was  still  dozing  in  the  hollow  tree,  and 
set  off  for  Cordova. 

He  approached  it  along  hanging  gar 
dens,  and  orange  and  citron  groves, 
overlooking  the  fair  valley  of  the  Gua 
dalquivir.  When  arrived  at  its  gates, 
the  owl  flew  up  to  a  dark  hole  in  the 
wall,  and  the  prince  proceeded  in  quest 
of  the  palm  tree  planted  in  days  of  yore 
by  the  great  Abderahman.  It  stood  in 
the  midst  of  the  great  court  of  the 
mosque,  towering  from  amidst  orange 


and  cypress  trees.  Der vises  and  faquirs 
were  seated  in  groups  under  the  cloisters 
of  the  court,  and  many  of  the  faithful 
were  performing  their  ablutions  at  the 
fountains  before  entering  the  mosque. 

At  the  foot  of  the  palm  tree  was  a 
crowd  listening  to  the  words  of  one  who 
appeared  to  be  talking  with  great  volu 
bility.  "  This,"  said  the  prince  to  him 
self,  "  must  be  the  great  traveller  who 
is  to  give  me  tidings  of  the  unknown 
princess."  He  mingled  in  the  crowd, 
but  was  astonished  to  perceive  that  they 
were  all  listening  to  a  parrot,  who  with 
his  bright  green  coat,  pragmatical  eye, 
and  consequential  topknot,  had  the  air 
of  a  bird  on  excellent  terms  with  himself. 

"  How  is  this,"  said  the  prince  to  one 
of  the  bystanders,  "  that  so  many  grave 
persons  can  be  delighted  with  the  gar 
rulity  of  a  chattering  bird  ?" 

"  You  know  not  whom  you  speak  of," 
said  the  other  ;  "  this  parrot  is  a  de 
scendant  of  the  famous  parrot  of  Persia, 
renowned  for  his  story-telling  talent, 
He  has  all  the  learning  of  the  East  at 
the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and  can  quote 
poetry  as  fast  as  he  can  talk.  He  has 
visited  various  foreign  courts,  and  where 
he  has  been  considered  an  oracle  of 
erudition.  He  has  been  a  universal  fa 
vourite  also  with  the  fair  sex,  who  have 
a  vast  admiration  for  erudite  parrots  that 
can  quote  poetry." 

"  Enough,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  will 
have  some  private  talk  with  this  distin 
guished  traveller." 

He  sought  a  private  interview,  and 
expounded  the  nature  of  his  errand.  He 
had  scarcely  mentioned  it,  when  the 
parrot  burst  into  a  fit  of  dry  rickety 
laughter  that  absolutely  brought  tears  in 
his  eyes.  "  Excuse  my  merriment," 
said  he,  "  but  the  mere  mention  of  love 
always  sets  me  laughing." 

The  prince  was  shocked  at  this  ill- 
timed  merriment.  "  Is  not  love,"  said 
he,  "  the  great  mystery  of  nature,  the 
secret  principle  of  life,  the  universal 
bond  of  sympathy  ?" 

"  A  fig's  end !"  cried  the  parrot,  in 
terrupting  him  ;  "  pr'ythee  where  hast 
thou  learnt  this  sentimental  jargon?  trust 
me,  love  is  quite  out  of  vogue ;  one  never 
hears  of  it  in  the  company  of  wits  and 
people  of  refinement." 


468 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  prince  sighed  as  he  recalled  the 
different  language  of  his  friend  the  dove. 
But  this  parrot,  thought  he,  has  lived 
about  the  court,  he  affects  the  wit  and 
the  fine  gentleman,  he  knows  nothing  of 
the  thing  called  love.  Unwilling  to  pro 
voke  any  more  ridicule  of  the  sentiment 
which  filled  his  heart,  he  now  directed 
his  inquiries  to  the  immediate  purport  of 
his  visit. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  most  accom 
plished  parrot,  thou  who  hast  every 
where  been  admitted  to  the  most  secret 
bowers  of  beauty,  hast  thou  in  the  course 
of  thy  travels  met  with  the  original  of 
this  portrait!" 

The  parrot  took  the  picture  in  his 
claw,  turned  his  head  from  side  to  side, 
and  examined  it  curiously  with  either 
eye.  "  Upon  my  honour,"  said  he,  "  a 
very  pretty  face ;  very  pretty  :  but  then 
one  sees  so  many  pretty  women  in  one's 
travels  that  one  can  hardly — but  hold — 
bless  me !  now  I  look  at  it  again — sure 
enough  this  is  the  Princess  Aldegonda : 
how  could  I  forget  one  that  is  so  prodi 
gious  a  favourite  with  me  ?" 

"  The  Princess  Aldegonda !"  echoed 
the  prince,  "  and  where  is  she  to  be 
found  I" 

"  Softly,  softly,"  said  the  parrot, 
"  easier  to  be  found  than  gained.  She  is 
the  only  daughter  of  the  Christian  king 
who  reigns  at  Toledo,  and  is  shut  up 
from  the  world  until  her  seventeenth 
birthday,  on  account  of  some  prediction 
of  those  meddlesome  fellows  the  astrolo 
gers.  You'll  not  get  a  sight  of  her — no 
mortal  man  can  see  her.  I  was  admit 
ted  to  her  presence  to  entertain  her,  and 
I  assure  you,  on  the  word  of  a  parrot 
who  has  seen  the  world,  I  have  con 
versed  with  much  sillier  princesses  in 
my  time." 

"  A  word  in  confidence,  my  dear  par 
rot,"  said  the  prince.  "I  am  heir  to  a 
kingdom,  and  shall  one  day  sit  upon  a 
throne.  I  see  that  you  are  a  bird  of 
parts,  and  understand  the  world.  Help 
me  to  gain  possession  of  this  princess, 
and  I  will  advance  you  to  some  distin 
guished  place  about  court." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  parrot; 
"  but  let  it  be  a  sinecure  if  possible,  for 
we  wits  have  a  great  dislike  to  labour." 

Arrangements  were   promptly   made  ; 


the  prince  sallied  forth  from  Cordova 
through  the  same  gate  by  which  he  had 
entered;  called  the  owl  down  from  the 
hole  in  the  wall,  introduced  him  to  his 
new  travelling  companion  as  a  brother 
savant,  and  away  they  set  off  on  their 
journey. 

They  travelled  much  more  slowly 
than  accorded  with  the  impatience  of  the 
prince,  but  the  parrot  was  accustomed 
to  high  life,  and  did  not  like  to  be  dis 
turbed  early  in  the  morning.  The  owl 
on  the  other  hand  was  for  sleeping  at 
mid-day,  and  lost  a  great  deal  of  time  by 
his  long  siestas.  His  antiquarian  taste 
also  was  in  the  way ;  for  he  insisted  on 
pausing  and  inspecting  every  ruin,  and 
had  long  legendary  tales  to  tell  about 
every  old  tower  and  castle  in  the 
country.  The  prince  had  supposed  that 
he  and  the  parrot,  being  both  birds  of 
learning,  would  delight  in  each  other's 
society,  but  never  had  he  been  more 
mistaken.  They  were  eternally  bicker 
ing.  The  one  was  a  wit,  the  other  a 
philosopher.  The  parrot  quoted  poetry, 
was  critical  on  new  readings,  and  elo 
quent  on  small  points  of  erudition  ;  the 
owl  treated  all  such  knowledge  as 
trifling,  and  relished  nothing  but  meta 
physics.  Then  the  parrot  would  sing 
songs  and  repeat  bon  mots  and  crack 
jokes  upon  his  solemn  neighbour,  and 
laugh  outrageously  at  his  own  wit ;  all 
which  proceedings  the  owl  considered  as 
a  grievous  invasion  of  his  dignity,  and 
would  scowl  and  sulk  and  swell,  and  be 
silent  for  a  whole  day  together. 

The  prince  heeded  not  the  wranglings 
of  his  companions,  being  wrapped  up  in 
the  dreams  of  his  own  fancy,  and  the 
contemplation  of  the  portrait  of  the  beau- 
!  tiful  princess.      In  this  way  they  jour 
neyed  through   the  stern  passes  of  the 
Sierra  Morena,  across  the  sunburnt  plains 
!  of  La  Mancha  and  Castile,  and  along  the 
|  banks  of  the  "  Golden  Tagus,"  which 
i  winds  its  wizard  mazes  over  one  half  of 
Spain  and    Portugal.      At   length    they 
came  in  sight  of  a  strong  city  with  walls 
and  towers  built  on  a  rocky  promontory 
round  the  foot  of  which  the  Tagus  circled 
|  with  brawling  violence. 

"  Behold,"  exclaimed  the  owl,  "  the 
ancient  and  renowned  city  of  Toledo ;  a 
city  famous  for  its  antiquities.  Behold 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


469 


those  venerable  domes  and  towers,  hoary 
with  time  and  clothed  with  legendary 
grandeur,  in  which  so  many  of  my  ances 
tors  have  meditated." 

"  Pish  !"  cried  the  parrot,  interrupting 
his  solemn  antiquarian  rapture,  "  what 
have  we  to  do  with  antiquities,  and  le 
gends,  and  your  ancestry  '?  Behold  what 
is  more  to  the  purpose — behold  the  abode 
of  youth  and  beauty — behold  at  length, 
O  prince,  the  abode  of  your  long-sought 
princess." 

The  prince  looked  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  parrot,  and  beheld,  in  a 
delightful  green  meadow  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tagus,  a  stately  palace  rising  from 
amidst  the  bowers  of  a  delicious  garden. 
It  was  just  such  a  place  as  had  been  de 
scribed  by  the  dove  as  the  residence  of 
the  original  of  the  picture.  He  gazed  at 
it  with  a  throbbing  heart ;  "  Perhaps  at 
this  moment,"  thought  he,  "  the  beautiful 
princess  is  sporting  beneath  those  shady 
bowers,  or  pacing  with  delicate  step  those 
stately  terraces,  or  reposing  beneath  those 
lofty  roofs !"  As  he  looked  more  nar 
rowly,  he  perceived  that  the  walls  of  the 
garden  were  of  great  height,  so  as  to 
defy  access,  while  numbers  of  armed 
guards  patrolled  around  them. 

The  prince  turned  to  the  parrot.  "  O 
most  accomplished  of  birds,"  said  he, 
"  thou  hast  the  gift  of  human  speech. 
Hie  thee  to  yon  garden  ;  seek  the  idol  of 
my  soul,  and  tell  her  that  Prince  Ahmed, 
a  pilgrim  of  love,  and  guided  by  the 
stars,  has  arrived  in  quest  of  her  on  the 
flowery  banks  of  the  Tagus." 

The  parrot,  proud  of  his  embassy, 
flew  away  to  the  garden  ;  mounted  above 
its  lofty  walls,  and  after  soaring  for  a 
time  over  the  lawns  and  groves,  alighted 
on  the  balcony  of  a  pavilion  that  over 
hung  the  river.  Here,  looking  in  at  the 
casement,  he  beheld  the  princess  re 
clining  on  a  couch,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  a  paper,  while  tears  gently  stole  after 
each  other  down  her  pallid  cheek. 

Pluming  his  wings  for  a  moment,  ad 
justing  his  bright  green  coat,  and  ele 
vating  his  top-knot,  the  parrot  perched 
himself  beside  her  with  a  gallant  air: 
then  assuming  a  tenderness  of  tone, 
"  Dry  thy  tears,  most  beautiful  of  prin 
cesses,"  said  he, "  I  come  to  bring  solace 
to  thy  heart." 

VOL.  ii.  40 


The  princess  was  startled  on  hearing  a 
voice,  but  turning  and  seeing  nothing  but 
a  little  green-coated  bird  bobbing  and 
bowing  before  her  ;  "  Alas  !  what  solace 
canst  thou  yield,"  said  she,  "  seeing  thou 
art  but  a  parrot !" 

The  parrot  was  nettled  at  the  question. 
"  I  have  consoled  many  beautiful  ladies 
in  my  time,"  said  he ;  "  but  let  that  pass. 
At  present  I  come  ambassador  from  a 
royal  prince.  Know  that  Ahmed,  the 
Prince  of  Granada,  has  arrived  in  quest 
of  thee,  and  is  encamped  even  now  on 
the  flowery  banks  of  the  Tagus." 

The  eyes  of  the  beautiful  princess 
sparkled  at  these  words  even  brighter 
than  the  diamonds  in  her  coronet.  "  O 
sweetest  of  parrots,"  cried  she,  "  joyful 
indeed  are  thy  tidings,  for  I  was  faint  and 
weary,  and  sick  almost  unto  death  with 
doubt  of  the  constancy  of  Ahmed.  Hie 
thee  back,  and  tell  him  that  the  words  of 
his  letter  are  engraven  in  my  heart,  and 
his  poetry  has  been  food  to  my  soul. 
Tell  him,  however,  that  he  must  prepare 
to  prove  his  love  by  force  of  arms ;  to 
morrow  is  my  seventeenth  birth-day, 
when  the  king  my  father  holds  a  great 
tournament ;  several  princes  are  to  enter 
the  lists,  and  my  hand  is  to  be  the  prize 
of  the  victor." 

The  parrot  again  took  wing,  and  rus 
tling  through  the  groves,  flew  back  to 
where  the  prince  awaited  his  return. 
The  rapture  of  Ahmed  on  finding  the 
original  of  his  adored  portrait,  and  find 
ing  her  kind  and  true,  can  only  be  con 
ceived  by  those  favoured  mortals  who 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  realize  day 
dreams  and  turn  a  shadow  into  substance : 
still  there  was  one  thing  that  alloyed  his 
transport — this  impending  tournament. 
In  fact,  the  banks  of  the  Tagus  were 
already  glittering  with  arms,  and  re 
sounding  with  trumpets  of  the  various 
knights,  who,  with  proud  retinues,  were 
prancing  on  towards  Toledo  to  attend  the 
ceremonial.  The  same  star  that  had 
controlled  the  destiny  of  the  prince,  had 
governed  that  of  the  princess,  and  until 
her  seventeenth  birth-day  she  had  been 
shut  up  from  the  world,  to  guard  her 
from  the  tender  passion.  The  fame  of 
her  charms,  however,  had  been  enhanced 
rather  than  obscured  by  this  seclusion. 
Several  powerful  princes  had  contended 


470 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


for  her  alliance ;  and  her  father,  who 
was  a  king  of  wondrous  shrewdness,  to 
avoid  making  enemies  by  showing  par 
tiality,  had  referred  them  to  the  arbitre- 
ment  of  arms.  Among  the  rival  candi 
dates  were  several  renowned  for  strength 
and  prowess.  What  a  predicament  for 
the  unfortunate  Ahmed,  unprovided  as 
he  was  with  weapons,  and  unskilled  in 
the  exercises  of  chivalry  !  "  Luckless 
prince  that  I  am  !"  said  he,  "  to  have 
been  brought  up  in  seclusion  under  the 
eye  of  a  philosopher  !  Of  what  avail  are 
algebra  and  philosophy  in  affairs  of  love  ? 
Alas,  Eben  Bonabben  !  why  hast  thou 
neglected  to  instruct  me  in  the  manage 
ment  of  arms  ?"  Upon  this  the  owl 
broke  silence,  preluding  his  harangue 
with  a  pious  ejaculation,  for  he  was  a 
devout  Mussulman. 

"  Allah  achbar !  God  is  great !"  ex 
claimed  he,  "  in  his  hands  are  all  secret 
things — he  alone  governs  the  destiny  of 
princes  !  Know,  O  prince,  that  this  land 
is  full  of  mysteries,  hidden  from  all  but 
those  who,  like  myself,  can  grope  after 
knowledge  in  the  dark.  Know  that  in 
the  neighbouring  mountains  there  is  a 
cave,  and  in  that  cave  there  is  an  iron 
table,  and  on  that  table  there  lies  a  suit 
of  magic  armour,  and  beside  that  table 
there  stands  a  spellbound  steed,  which 
have  been  shut  up  there  for  many  gene 
rations." 

The  prince  stared  with  wonder,  while 
the  owl,  blinking  his  huge  round  eyes, 
and  erecting  his  horns,  proceeded  : 

"  Many  years  since,  I  accompanied 
my  father  to  these  parts  on  a  tour  of  his 
estates,  and  we  sojourned  in  that  cave ; 
and  thus  became  I  acquainted  with  the 
mystery.  It  is  a  tradition  in  our  family 
which  I  have  heard  from  my  grandfather, 
when  I  was  yet  but  a  very  little  owlet, 
that  this  armour  belonged  to  a  Moorish 
magician,  who  took  refuge  in  this  cavern 
when  Toledo  was  captured  by  the  Chris 
tians,  and  died  here,  leaving  his  steed 
and  weapons  under  a  mystic  spell,  never 
to  be  used  but  by  a  Moslem,  and  by  him 
only  from  sunrise  to  mid-day.  In  that 
interval,  whoever  uses  them  will  over 
throw  every  opponent." 

"  Enough  :  let  us  seek  this  cave  !"  ex 
claimed  Ahmed. 

Guided  by  his  legendary  Mentor,  the 


prince  found  the  cavern,  which  was  in 
one  of  the  wildest  recesses  of  those 
rocky  cliffs  which  rise  around  Toledo ; 
none  but  the  mousing  eye  of  an  owl  or  an 
antiquary  could  have  discovered  the  en 
trance  to  it.  A  sepulchral  lamp  of  ever 
lasting  oil  shed  a  solemn  light  through 
the  place.  On  an  iron  table  in  the  centre 
of  the  cavern  lay  the  magic  armour, 
against  it  leaned  the  lance,  and  beside  it 
stood  an  Arabian  steed,  caparisoned  for 
the  field,  but  motionless  as  a  statue.  The 
armour  was  bright  and  unsullied  as  it 
had  gleamed  in  days  of  old  ;  the  steed  in 
as  good  condition  as  if  just  from  the  pas 
ture;  and  when  Ahmed  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  neck,  he  pawed  the  ground  and 
gave  a  loud  neigh  of  joy  that  shook  the 
walls  of  the  cavern.  Thus  amply  pro 
vided  with  "  horse  to  ride  and  weapon  to 
wear,"  the  prince  determined  to  defy  the 
field  in  the  impending  tourney. 

The  eventful  morning  arrived.  The 
lists  for  the  combat  were  prepared  in  the 
vega,  or  plain,  just  below  the  cliff-built 
walls  of  Toledo,  where  stages  and  gal 
leries  were  erected  for  the  spectators, 
covered  with  rich  tapestry,  and  sheltered 
from  the  sun  by  silken  awnings.  All  the 
beauties  of  the  land  were  assembled  in 
those  galleries,  while  below  them  pranced 
plumed  knights  with  their  pages  and 
esquires,  among  whom  figured  conspi 
cuously  the  princes  who  were  to  contend 
in  the  tourney.  All  the  beauties  of  the 
land,  however,  were  eclipsed  when  the 
Princess  Aldegonda  appeared  in  the  royal 
pavilion,  and  for  the  first  time  broke 
forth  upon  the  gaze  of  an  admiring 
world.  A  murmur  of  wonder  ran  through 
the  crowd  at  her  transcendent  loveliness ; 
and  the  princes  who  were  candidates  for 
her  hand,  merely  on  the  faith  of  her  re 
ported  charms,  now  felt  tenfold  ardour  for 
the  conflict. 

The  princess,  however,  had  a  troubled 
look.  The  colour  came  and  went  from 
her  cheek,  and  her  eye  wandered  with  a 
restless  and  unsatisfied  expression  over 
the  plumed  throng  of  knights.  The 
trumpets  were  about  sounding  for  the 
encounter,  when  the  herald  announced 
the  arrival  of  a  stranger  knight ;  and 
Ahmed  rode  into  the  field.  A  steel 
helmet  studded  with  gems  rose  above  his 
turban  ;  his  cuirass  was  embossed  with 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


471 


gold  ;  his  cimeter  and  dagger  were  of  the 
workmanship  of  Fez,  and  flamed  with 
precious  stones.  A  round  shield  was  at 
his  shoulder,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  the 
lance  of  charmed  virtue.  The  caparison 
of  his  Arabian  steed  was  richly  em 
broidered  and  swept  the  ground,  and  the 
proud  animal  pranced  and  snuffed  the  air, 
and  neighed  with  joy  at  once  more  be 
holding  the  array  of  arms.  The  lofty 
and  graceful  demeanour  of  the  prince 
struck  every  eye,  and  when  his  appella 
tion  was  announced,  "  The  Pilgrim  of 
Love,"  an  universal  flutter  and  agitation 
prevailed  among  the  fair  dames  in  the 
galleries. 

When  Ahmed  presented  himself  at  the 
lists,  however,  they  were  closed  against 
him  ;  none  but  princes,  he  was  told,  were 
admitted  to  the  contest.  He  declared  his 
name  and  rank.  "  Still  worse  !" — he 
was  a  Moslem,  and  could  not  engage  in  a 
tourney  where  the  hand  of  a  Christian 
princess  was  the  prize. 

The  rival  princes  surrounded  him  with 
haughty  and  menacing  aspects;  and  one 
of  insolent  demeanour  and  herculean 
frame  sneered  at  his  light  and  youthful 
form,  and  scoffed  at  his  amorous  appella- 
I  tion.  The  ire  of  the  prince  was  roused. 
He  defied  his  rival  to  the  encoun 
ter.  They  took  distance,  wheeled,  and 
charged ;  and  at  the  first  touch  of  the 
I  magic  lance,  the  brawny  scoffer  was 
'  tilted  from  his  saddle.  Here  the  prince 
would  have  paused,  but,  alas !  he  had  to 
deal  with  a  demoniac  horse  and  armour 
— once  in  action  nothing  could  control 
them.  The  Arabian  steed  charged  into 
the  thickest  of  the  throng ;  the  lance  over 
turned  every  thing  that  presented;  the 
gentle  prince  was  carried  pell-mell  about 
the  field,  strewing  it  with  high  and  low, 
gentle  and  simple,  and  grieving  at  his 
own  involuntary  exploits.  The  king 
stormed  and  raged  at  this  outrage  on  his 
subjects  and  his  guests.  He  ordered  out 
all  his  guards — they  were  unhorsed  as 
fast  as  they  came  up.  The  king  threw 
off  his  robes,  grasped  buckler  and  lance, 
and  rode  forth  to  awe  the  stranger  with 
the  presence  of  majesty  itself.  Alas  ! 
majesty  fared  no  better  than  the  vulgar 
— the  steed  and  lance  were  no  respecters 
of  persons  ;  to  the  dismay  of  Ahmed,  he 
was  borne  full  tilt  against  the  king,  and 


in  a  moment  the  royal  heels  were  in  the 
air,  and  the  crown  was   rolling  in  the  i 
dust. 

At  this  moment  the  sun  reached  the 
meridian ;  the  magic  spell  resumed  its 
power  ;  the  Arabian  steed  scoured  across 
the  plain,  leaped  the  barrier,  plunged 
into  the  Tagus,  swam  its  raging  current, 
bore  the  prince  breathless  and  amazed 
to  the  cavern,  and  resumed  his  station 
like  a  statue,  beside  the  iron  table.  The 
prince  dismounted  right  gladly,  and  re 
placed  the  armour,  to  abide  further  de 
crees  of  fate.  Then  seating  himself  in 
the  cavern,  he  ruminated  on  the  des 
perate  state  to  which  this  demoniac  steed 
and  armour  had  reduced  him.  Never 
should  he  dare  to  show  his  face  at  To 
ledo  after  inflicting  such  disgrace  upon 
its  chivalry,  and  such  an  outrage  on  its 
king.  What  too  would  the  princess 
think  of  so  rude  and  riotous  an  achieve 
ment  ?  Full  of  anxiety,  he  sent  forth  his 
winged  messengers  to  gather  tidings. 
The  parrot  resorted  to  all  the  public 
places  and  crowded  resorts  of  the  city, 
and  soon  returned  with  a  world  of  gossip. 
All  Toledo  was  in  consternation.  The 
princess  had  been  borne  off  senseless  to 
the  palace ;  the  tournament  had  ended  in 
confusion  ;  every  one  was  talking  of  the 
sudden  apparition,  prodigious  exploits, 
and  strange  disappearance  of  the  Mos 
lem  knight.  Some  pronounced  him  a 
Moorish  magician  ;  others  thought  him  a 
demon  who  had  assumed  a  human  shape, 
while  others  related  traditions  of  en 
chanted  warriors  hidden  in  the  caves  of 
the  mountains,  and  thought  it  might  be 
one  of  these  who  had  made  a  sudden 
irruption  from  his  den.  All  agreed  that 
no  mere  ordinary  mortal  could  have 
wrought  such  wonders,  or  unhorsed 
such  accomplished  and  stalwart  Chris 
tian  warriors. 

The  owl  flew  forth  at  night  and  ho 
vered  about  the  dusky  city,  perching 
on  the  roofs  and  chimneys.  He  then 
wheeled  his  flight  up  to  the  royal  palace, 
which  stood  on  the  rocky  summit  of 
Toledo,  and  went  prowling  about  its 
terraces  and  battlements,  eaves-dropping 
at  every  cranny,  and  glaring  in  with 
his  big  goggling  eyes  at  every  window 
where  there  was  a  light,  so  as  to  throw 
two  or  three  maids  of  honour  into  fits. 


472 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


It  was  not  until  the  gray  dawn  began  to 
peer  above  the  mountains  that  he  re 
turned  from  his  mousing  expedition,  and 
related  to  the  prince  what  he  had  seen. 

"  As  I  was  prying  about  one  of  the 
loftiest  towers  of  the  palace,"  said  he, 
"I  beheld  through  a  casement  a  beautiful 
princess.  She  was  reclining  on  a  couch 
with  attendants  and  physicians  around 
her,  but  she  would  none  of  their  minis 
try  and  relief.  When  they  retired  I  be 
held  her  draw  forth  a  letter  from  her 
bosom,  and  read  and  kiss  it,  and  give 
way  to  loud  lamentations;  at  which, 
philosopher  as  I  am,  I  could  not  but  be 
greatly  moved." 

The  tender  heart  of  Ahmed  was  dis 
tressed  at  these  tidings.  "  Too  true 
were  thy  words,  O  sage  Eben  Bonab- 
ben,"  cried  he ;  "  care  and  sorrow  and 
sleepless  nights  are  the  lot  of  lovers. 
Allah  preserve  the  princess  from  the 
blighting  influence  of  this  thing  called 
love !" 

Further  intelligence  from  Toledo  cor 
roborated  the  report  of  the  owl.  The 
city  was  a  prey  to  uneasiness  and  alarm. 
The  princess  was  conveyed  to  the  high 
est  tower  of  the  palace,  every  avenue  to 
which  was  strongly  guarded.  In  the 
mean  time  a  devouring  melancholy  had 
seized  upon  her,  of  which  no  one  could 
divine  the  cause — she  refused  food  and 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  every  consolation. 
The  most  skilful  physicians  had  essayed 
their  art  in  vain ;  it  was  thought  some 
magic  spell  had  been  practised  upon  her, 
and  the  king  made  proclamation,  de 
claring  that  whoever  should  effect  her 
cure  should  receive  the  richest  jewel  in 
the  royal  treasury. 

When  the  owl,  who  was  dozing  in  a 
corner,  heard  of  this  proclamation,  he 
rolled  his  large  eyes,  and  looked  more 
mysterious  than  ever. 

"Allah  achbar !"  exclaimed  he, "  happy 
the  man  that  shall  effect  that  cure,  should 
he  but  know  what  to  choose  from  the 
royal  treasury." 

"  What  mean  you,  most  reverend 
owl  ?"  said  Ahmed. 

"Hearken,  O  prince,  to  what  I  shall 
relate.  We  owls,  you  must  know,  are 
a  learned  body,  and  much  given  to  dark 
and  dusty  research.  During  my  late 
prowling  at  night  about  the  domes  and 


turrets  of  Toledo,  I  discovered  a  college 
of  antiquarian  owls,  who  hold  their 
meeting  in  a  great  vaulted  tower  where 
the  royal  treasury  is  deposited.  Here 
they  were  discussing  the  forms  and  in 
scriptions  and  designs  of  ancient  gems 
and  jewels,  and  of  golden  and  silver  ves 
sels,  heaped  up  in  the  treasury,  the 
fashion  of  every  country  and  age ;  but 
mostly  they  were  interested  about  cer 
tain  relics  and  talismans  that  have 
remained  in  the  treasury  since  the  time 
of  Roderick  the  Goth.  Among  these 
was  a  box  of  sandal  wood  secured  by 
bands  of  steel  of  Oriental  workmanship, 
and  inscribed  with  mystic  characters 
known  only  to  the  learned  few.  This 
box  and  its  inscription  had  occupied  the 
college  for  several  sessions,  and  had 
caused  much  long  and  grave  dispute. 
At  the  time  of  my  visit  a  very  ancient 
owl,  who  had  recently  arrived  from 
Egypt,  was  seated  on  the  lid  of  the  box 
lecturing  upon  the  inscription,  and  he 
proved  from  it  that  the  coffer  contained 
the  silken  carpet  of  the  throne  of  Solo 
mon  the  wise ;  which  doubtless  had  been 
brought  to  Toledo  by  the  Jews  who  took 
refuge  there  after  the  downfall  of  Je 
rusalem." 

When  the  owl  had  concluded  his  anti 
quarian  harangue,  the  prince  remained 
for  a  time  absorbed  in  thought.  «*  I  have 
heard,"  said  he,  "  from  the  sage  Eben 
Bonabben,  of  the  wonderful  properties  of 
that  talisman,  which  disappeared  at  the 
fall  of  Jerusalem,  and  was  supposed  to 
be  lost  to  mankind.  Doubtless  it  re 
mains  a  sealed  mystery  to  the  Christians 
of  Toledo.  If  I  can  get  possession  of 
that  carpet  my  fortune  is  secure." 

The  next  day  the  prince  laid  aside  his 
rich  attire,  and  arrayed  himself  in  the 
simple  garb  of  an  Arab  of  the  desert. 
He  dyed  his  complexion  to  a  tawny  hue, 
and  no  one  could  have  recognised  in  him 
the  splendid  warrior  who  had  caused 
such  admiration  and  dismay  at  the  tour 
nament.  With  staff  in  hand  and  scrip 
by  his  side  and  a  small  pastoral  reed,  he 
repaired  to  Toledo,  and  presenting  him 
self  at  the  gate  of  the  royal  palace,  an 
nounced  himself  as  a  candidate  for  the 
reward  offered  for  the  cure  of  the  prin 
cess.  The  guards  would  have  driven 
him  away  with  blows.  "  What  can  a 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


473 


vagrant  Arab  like  thyself  pretend  to  do," 
said  they,  "  in  a  case  where  the  most 
learned  of  the  land  have  failed?"  The 
king,  however,  overheard  the  tumult,  j 
and  ordered  the  Arab  to  be  brought  into 
his  presence. 

"  Most  potent  king,"  said  Ahmed, 
uyou  behold  before  you  a  Bedouin  Arab, 
the  greater  part  of  whose  life  has  been 
passed  in  the  solitudes  of  the  desert. 
These  solitudes,  it  is  well  known,  are 
the  haunts  of  demons  and  evil  spirits, 
who  beset  us  poor  shepherds  in  our 
lonely  watchings,  enter  into  and  pos 
sess  our  flocks  and  herds,  and  sometimes 
render  even  the  patient  camel  furious ; 
against  these  our  counter-charm  is 
music ;  and  we  have  legendary  airs 
handed  down  from  generation  to  genera 
tion,  that  we  chant  and  pipe,  to  cast 
j  forth  these  evil  spirits.  I  am  of  a  gifted 
I  line,  and  possess  this  power  in  its  fullest 
1  force.  If  it  be  any  evil  influence  of  the 
kind  that  holds  a  spell  over  thy 
daughter,  I  pledge  my  head  to  free  her 
from  its  sway." 

The  king,  who  was  a  man  of  under 
standing,  and  knew  the  wonderful  secrets 
possessed  by  the  Arabs,  was  inspired 
with  hope  by  the  confident  language 
of  the  prince.  He  conducted  him  im 
mediately  to  the  lofty  tower,  secured 
by  several  doors,  in  the  summit  of  which 
was  the  chamber  of  the  princess. 
The  windows  opened  upon  a  terrace 
with  balustrades,  commanding  a  view 
over  Toledo  and  all  the  surrounding 
country.  The  windows  were  darkened, 
for  the  princess  lay  within,  a  prey  to 
a  devouring  grief  that  refused  all  alle 
viation. 

The  prince  seated  himself  on  the  ter 
race,  and  performed  several  wild  Ara 
bian  airs  on  his  pastoral  pipe,  which  he 
had  learnt  from  his  attendants  in  the 
Generalife  at  Granada.  The  princess 
continued  insensible,  and  the  doctors 
who  were  present  shook  their  heads  and 
smiled  with  incredulity  and  contempt : 
at  length  the  prince  laid  aside  the  reed 
and,  to  a  simple  melody,  chanted  the 
amatory  verses  of  the  letter  which  had 
declared  his  passion. 

The  princess  recognised  the  strain — a 
fluttering  joy  stole  to  her  heart :  she 
raised  her  head  and  listened;  tears 


rushed  to  her  eyes  and  streamed  down 
her  cheeks ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
with  a  tumult  of  emotions.  She  would 
have  asked  for  the  minstrel  to  be  brought 
into  her  presence,  but  maiden  coyness 
held  her  silent.  The  king  read  her 
wishes,  and  at  his  command  Ahmed 
was  conducted  into  the  chamber.  The 
lovers  were  discreet ;  they  but  exchanged 
glances,  yet  those  glances  spoke  vo 
lumes.  Never  was  triumph  of  music 
more  complete,  The  rose  had  returned 
to  the  soft  cheek  of  the  princess,  the 
freshness  to  her  lip,  and  the  dewy  light 
to  her  languishing  eyes. 

All  the  physicians  present  stared  at 
each  other  with  astonishment.  The 
king  regarded  the  Arab  minstrel  with 
admiration  mixed  with  awe.  "  Wonder 
ful  youth !"  exclaimed  he,  "  thou  shalt 
henceforth  be  the  first  physician  of  my 
court,  and  no  other  prescription  will  I 
take  but  thy  melody.  For  the  present 
receive  thy  reward,  the  most  precious 
jewel  in  my  treasury." 

"  O  king,"  replied  Ahmed,  "  I  care 
not  for  silver  or  gold  or  precious  stones. 
One  relic  hast  thou  in  thy  treasury, 
handed  down  from  the  Moslems  who 
once  owned  Toledo — a  box  of  sandal 
wood  containing  a  silken  carpet:  give 
me  that  box,  and  I  am  content." 

"All  present  were  surprised  at  the 
moderation  of  the  Arab  ;  and  still  more 
when  the  box  of  sandal  wood  was 
brought  and  the  carpet  drawn  forth.  It 
was  of  fine  green  silk,  covered  with 
Hebrew  and  Chaldaic  characters.  The 
court  physicians  looked  at  each  other, 
and  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
smiled  at  the  simplicity  of  this  new  prac 
titioner,  who  could  be  content  with  so 
paltry  a  fee. 

"  This  carpet,"  said  the  prince,  "  once 
covered  the  throne  of  Solomon  the  wise ; 
it  is  worthy  of  being  placed  beneath  the 
feet  of  beauty." 

So  saying,  he  spread  it  on  the  terrace 
beneath  an  ottoman  that  had  been 
brought  forth  for  the  princess ;  then 
seating  himself  at  her  feet — 

"  Who,"  said  he,  "  shall  counteract 
what  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate  ?  Be 
hold  the  prediction  of  the  astrologers 
verified.  Know,  O  king,  that  your 
daughter  and  I  have  long  loved  each 

40* 


474 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


other  in  secret.  Behold  in  me  the  Pil 
grim  of  Love!" 

These  words  were  scarcely  from  his 
lips,  when  the  carpet  rose  in  the  air, 
bearing  off  the  prince  and  princess. 
The  king  and  the  physicians  gazed  after 
it  with  open  mouths  and  straining  eyes, 
until  it  became  a  little  speck  on  the 
white  bosom  of  a  cloud,  and  then  disap 
peared  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

The  king  in  a  rage  summoned  his 
treasurer.  "  How  is  this,"  said  he, 
"  that  thou  hast  suffered  an  infidel  to 
get  possession  of  such  a  talisman?" 

"  Alas,  sir,  we  knew  not  its  nature, 
nor  could  we  decipher  the  inscription  of 
the  box.  If  it  be  indeed  the  carpet  of 
the  throne  of  the  wise  Solomon,  it  is 
possessed  of  magic  power,  and  can 
transport  its  owner  from  place  to  place 
through  the  air." 

The  king  assembled  a  mighty  army, 
and  set  off  for  Granada  in  pursuit  of  the 
fugitives.  His  march  was  long  and 
toilsome.  Encamping  in  the  Vega,  he 
sent  a  herald  to  demand  restitution  of 
his  daughter.  The  king  himself  came 
forth  with  all  his  court  to  meet  him.  In 
the  king  he  beheld  the  real  minstrel,  for 
Ahmed  had  succeeded  to  the  throne  on 
the  death  of  his  father,  and  the  beautiful 
Aldegonda  was  his  sultana. 

The  Christian  king  was  easily  pacified 

when   he  found  that   his  daughter  was 

suffered  to  continue  in  her  faith;  not  that 

he  was  particularly  pious  ;  but  religion  is 

always  a  point  of  pride  and  etiquette  with 

princes.     Instead  of  bloody  battles,  there 

j  was  a  succession  of  feasts  and  rejoicings, 

after  which  the  king  returned  well  pleased 

to  Toledo,  and  the  youthful  couple  con- 

I  tinued  to  reign  as  happily  as  wisely  in 

'  the  Alhambra. 

It  is  proper  to  add,  that  the  owl  and 
the  parrot  had  severally  followed  the 
prince  by  easy  stages  to  Granada  ;  the 
former  travelling  by  night,  and  stopping 
at  the  various  hereditary  possessions  of 
his  family,  the  latter  figuring  in  gay 
circles  of  every  town  and  city  on  his 
route. 

Ahmed  gratefully  requited  the  services 
which  they  had  rendered  on  his  pilgrim 
age,  He  appointed  the  owl  his  prime 
minister,  the  parrot  his  master  of  cere 
monies.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  never 


was  a  realm  more  sagely  administered, 
or  a  court  conducted  with  more  exact 
punctilio. 


LEGEND  OF 

THE  MOOR'S  LEGACY. 

JUST  within  the  fortress  of  the  Alham 
bra,  in  front  of  the  royal  palace,  is  a 
broad  open  esplanade,  called  the  Place 
or  Square  of  the  Cisterns  (la  Plaza  de 
los  Algibes),  so  called  from  being  under 
mined  by  reservoirs  of  water,  hidden 
from  sight,  and  which  have  existed  from 
the  time  of  the  Moors.  At  one  corner 
of  this  esplanade  is  a  Moorish  well,  cut 
through  the  living  rock  to  a  great  depth, 
the  water  of  which  is  cold  as  ice  and 
clear  as  crystal.  The  wells  made  by 
the  Moors  are  always  in  repute,  for  it 
is  well  known  what  pains  they  took 
to  penetrate  to  the  purest  and  sweet 
est  springs  and  fountains.  The  one  of 
which  we  now  speak  is  famous  through 
out  Granada,  insomuch  that  the  water- 
carriers,  some  bearing  great  water-jars 
on  their  shoulders,  others  driving  asses 
before  them  laden  with  earthen  vessels, 
are  ascending  and  descending  the  steep 
woody  avenues  of  the  Alhambra,  from 
early  dawn  until  a  late  hour  of  the  night. 

Fountains  and  wells,  ever  since  the 
scriptural  days,  have  been  noted  gossip 
ing  places  in  hot  climates ;  and  at  the 
well  in  question  there  is  a  kind  of  per 
petual  club  kept  up  during  the  livelong 
day,  by  the  invalids,  old  women,  and 
other  curious  do-nothing  folk  of  the  for 
tress,  who  sit  here  on  the  stone  benches, 
under  an  awning  spread  over  the  well  to 
shelter  the  toll -gatherer  from  the  sun, 
and  dawdle  over  the  gossip  of  the  for 
tress,  and  question  every  water-carrier 
that  arrives  about  the  news  of  the  city, 
and  make  long  comments  on  every  thing 
they  hear  and  see.  Not  an  hour  of  the 
day  but  loitering  housewives  and  idle 
maid-servants  may  be  seen,  lingering 
with  pitcher  on  head  or  in  hand,  to  hear 
the  last  of  the  endless  tattle  of  these  wor 
thies. 

Among  the  water-carriers  who  once 
resorted  to  this  well,  there  was  a  sturdy, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


475 


strong-backed,  bandy-legged  little  fellow, 
named  Pedro  Gil,  but  called  Peregil  for 
shortness.  Being  a  water-carrier,  -  he 
was  a  Gallego,  or  native  of  Gallicia,  of 
course.  Nature  seerns  to  have  formed 
races  of  men,  as  she  has  of  animals,  for 
different  kinds  of  drudgery.  In  France 
the  shoe-blacks  are  all  Savoyards,  the 
porters  of  hotels  all  Swiss,  and  in  the 
days  of  hoops  and  hair-powder  in  Eng 
land,  no  man  could  give  the  regular 
swing  to  a  sedan  chair  but  a  bog-trotting 
Irishman.  So  in  Spain,  the  carriers  of 
water  and  bearers  of  burdens  are  all 
sturdy  little  natives  of  Gallicia.  No  man 
says,  "  Get  me  a  porter,"  but,  "  Call  a 
Gallego." 

To  return  from  this  digression,  Pere 
gil  the  Gallego  had  begun  business  with 
merely  a  great  earthen  jar  which  he 
carried  upon  his  shoulder  ;  by  degrees  he 
rose  in  the  world,  and  was  enabled  to 
purchase  an  assistant  of  a  correspondent 
class  of  animals,  being  a  stout  shaggy- 
haired  donkey.  On  each  side  of  this  his 
long-eared  aide-de-camp,  in  a  kind  of 
pannier,  were  slung  his  water-jars,  co 
vered  with  fig-leaves  to  protect  them  from 
the  sun.  There  was  not  a  more  indus 
trious  water-carrier  in  all  Granada,  nor 
one  more  merry  withal.  The  streets 
rang  with  his  cheerful  voice  as  he  trudged 
after  his  donkey,  singing  forth  the  usual 
summer  note  that  resounds  through  the 
Spanish  town  ;  "  Quien  quiere  agua — 
agua  mas  fria  que  la  nieve  ?" — "  who 
wants  water — water  colder  than  snow? 
Who  wants  water  from  the  well  of  the 
Alhambra,  cold  as  ice  and  clear  as 
crystal  ?"  When  he  served  a  customer 
with  a  sparkling  glass,  it  was  always 
with  a  pleasant  word  that  caused  a  smile; 
and  if,  perchance,  it  was  a  comely  dame 
or  dimpling  damsel,  it  was  always  with  a 
sly  leer  and  a  compliment  to  her  beauty 
that  was  irresistible.  Thus  Peregil  the 
Gallego  was  noted  throughout  all  Gra 
nada  for  being  one  of  the  civilest,  plea- 
santest,  and  happiest  of  mortals.  Yet  it 
is  not  he  who  sings  loudest  and  jokes 
most  that  has  the  lightest  heart.  Under 
all  this  air  of  merriment,  honest  Peregil 
had  his  cares  and  trouble.  He  had  a 
large  family  of  ragged  children  to  sup 
port,  who  were  hungry  and  clamorous  as 
a  nest  of  young  swallows,  and  beset  him 


with  their  outcries  for  food  whenever  he 
came  home  of  an  evening.  He  had  a 
helpmate  too,  who  was  any  thing  but  a 
help  to  him.  She  had  been  a  village 
beauty  before  marriage,  noted  for  her 
skill  at  dancing  the  bolero  and  rattling 
the  castanets ;  and  she  still  retained  her 
early  propensities,  spending  the  hard 
earnings  of  honest.  Peregil  in  frippery, 
and  laying  the  very  donkey  under  re 
quisition  for  junketing  parties  into  the 
country  on  Sundays,  and  Saint's  days, 
and  those  innumerable  holidays  which 
are  rather  more  numerous  in  Spain  ihan 
the  days  of  the  week.  With  all  this  she 
was  a  little  of  a  slattern,  something  more 
of  a  lie-a-bed,  and,  above  all,  a  gossip  of 
the  first  water ;  neglecting  house,  house 
hold,  and  every  thing  else,  to  loiter  slip 
shod  in  the  houses  of  her  gossip  neigh 
bours. 

He,  however,  who  tempers  the  wind  to 
the  shorn  lamb,  accommodates  the  yoke 
of  matrimony  to  the  submissive  neck. 
Peregil  bore  all  the  heavy  dispensations 
of  wife  and  children  with  as  meek  a 
spirit  as  his  donkey  bore  the  water-jars ; 
and,  however  he  might  shake  his  ears  in 
private,  never  ventured  to  question  the 
household  virtues  of  his  slattern  spouse. 

He  loved  his  children  too  even  as  an 
owl  loves  its  owlets,  seeing  in  them  his 
own  image  multiplied  and  perpetuated; 
for  they  were  a  sturdy,  long-backed, 
bandy-legged  little  brood.  The  great 
pleasure  of  honest  Peregil  was,  whenever 
he  could  afford  himself  a  scanty  holiday, 
and  had  a  handful  of  maravedies  to  spare, 
to  take  the  whole  litter  forth  with  him, 
some  in  his  arms,  some  tugging  at  his 
skirts,  and  some  trudging  at  his  heels, 
and  to  treat  them  to  a  gambol  among  the 
orchards  of  the  Vega,  while  his  wife  was 
dancing  with  her  holiday  friends  in  the 
Angosturas  of  the  Darro. 

It  was  a  late  hour  one  summer  night, 
and  most  of  the  water-carriers  had  de 
sisted  from  their  toils.  The  day  had 
been  uncommonly  sultry ;  the  night  was 
one  of  those  delicious  moonlights,  which 
tempt  the  inhabitants  of  those  southern 
climes  to  indemnify  themselves  for  the  j 
heat  and  inaction  of  the  day,  by  linger 
ing  in  the  open  air  and  enjoying  its 
tempered  sweetness  until  after  midnight. 
Customers  for  water  were,  therefore, 


476 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


still  abroad.  Peregil,  like  a  considerate 
painstaking  little  father,  thought  of  his 
hungry  children.  "  One  more  journey 
to  the  well,"  said  he  to  himself,  "to  earn 
a  Sunday's  puchero  for  the  little  ones." 
So  saying,  he  trudged  manfully  up  the 
steep  avenue  of  the  Alhambra,  singing 
as  he  went,  and  now  and  then  bestowing 
a  hearty  thwack  with  a  cudgel  on  the 
flanks  of  his  donkey,  either  by  way  of 
cadence  to  the  song,  or  refreshment  to 
the  animal ;  for  dry  blows  serve  in  lieu 
of  provender  in  Spain  for  all  beasts  of 
burden. 

When  arrived  at  the  well,  he  found  it 
deserted  by  every  one  except  a  solitary 
stranger  in  Moorish  garb,  seated  on  the 
stone  bench  in  the  moonlight.  Peregil 
paused  at  first  and  regarded  him  with 
surprise,  not  unmixed  with  awe,  but  the 
Moor  feebly  beckoned  him  to  approach. 
"  I  am  faint  and  ill,"  said  he ;  "  aid  me 
to  return  to  the  city,  and  I  will  pay  thee 
double  what  thou  couldst  gain  by  thy  jars 
of  water." 

The  honest  heart  of  the  little  water- 
carrier  was  touched  with  compassion  at 
the  appeal  of  the  stranger.  «  God  forbid," 
said  he,  "  that  I  should  ask  fee  or  reward 
for  doing  a  common  act  of  humanity." 
He  accordingly  helped  the  Moor  on  his 
donkey,  and  set  off  slowly  for  Granada, 
the  poor  Moslem  being  so  weak  that  it 
was  necessary  to  hold  him  on  the  animal 
to  keep  him  from  falling  to  the  earth. 

When  they  entered  the  city,  the  water- 
carrier  demanded  whither  he  should  con 
duct  him.  "  Alas !"  said  the  Moor 
faintly,  "  I  have  neither  home  nor  habi 
tation,  I  am  a  stranger  in  the  land. 
Suffer  me  to  lay  my  head  this  night  be 
neath  thy  roof,  and  thou  shalt  be  amply 
repaid," 

Honest  Peregil  thus  saw  himself  unex 
pectedly  saddled  with  an  infidel  guest, 
but  he  was  too  humane  to  refuse  a  night's 
shelter  to  a  fellow-being  in  so  forlorn  a 
plight,  so  he  conducted  the  Moor  to  his 
dwelling.  The  children,  who  had  sallied 
forth  open-mouthed  as  usual  on  hearing 
the  tramp  of  the  donkey,  ran  back  with 
affright,  when  they  beheld  the  turbaned 
stranger,  and  hid  themselves  behind  their 
mother.  The  latter  stepped  forth  intre 
pidly,  like  a  ruffling  hen  before  her  brood 
when  a  vagrant  dog  approaches. 


"  What  infidel  companion,"  cried  she, 
"  is  this  you  have  brought  home  at  this 
late  hour,  to  draw  upon  us  the  eyes  of 
the  Inquisition  ?" 

"  Be  quiet,  wife,"  replied  the  Gallego, 
"  here  is  a  poor  sick  stranger,  without 
friend  or  home  ;  wouldst  thou  turn  him 
forth  to  perish  in  the  street  ?" 

The  wife  would  still  have  remonstrated, 
for  although  she  lived  in  a  hovel,  she 
was  a  furious  stickler  for  the  credit  of 
her  house :  the  little  water-carrier,  how 
ever,  for  once  was  stiff-necked,  and  re 
fused  to  bend  beneath  the  yoke.  He 
assisted  the  poor  Moslem  to  alight,  and 
spread  a  mat  and  a  sheepskin  for  him 
on  the  ground,  in  the  coole-st  part  of  the 
house ;  being  the  only  kind  of  bed  that 
his  poverty  afforded. 

In  a  little  while  the  Moor  was  seized 
with  violent  convulsions,  which  defied  all 
the  ministering  skill  of  the  simple  water- 
carrier.  The  eye  of  the  poor  patient 
acknowledged  his  kindness.  During  an 
interval  of  his  fits  he  called  him  to  his 
side,  and  addressing  him  in  a  low  voice, 
"  My  end,"  said  he,  "  I  fear  is  at  hand. 
If  I  die  I  bequeath  you  this  box  as  a  re 
ward  for  your  charity  :"  so  saying,  he 
opened  his  albornoz,  or  cloak,  and  showed 
a  small  box  of  sandal  wood,  strapped 
round  his  body.  "  God  grant,  my  friend," 
replied  the  worthy  little  Gallego,  "  that 
you  may  live  many  years  to  enjoy  your 
treasure,  whatever  it  may  be."  The 
Moor  shook  his  head ;  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  box,  and  would  have  said  some 
thing  more  concerning  it,  but  his  convul 
sions  returned  with  increased  violence, 
and  in  a  little  while  he  expired. 

The  water-carrier's  wife  was  now  as 
one  distracted.  "  This  comes,"  said  she, 
"  of  your  foolish  good  nature,  always 
running  into  scrapes  to  oblige  others. 
What  will  become  of  us  when  this  corpse 
is  found  in  our  house  ?  We  shall  be  sent 
to  prison  as  murderers;  and  if  we  escape 
with  our  lives,  shall  be  ruined  by  notaries 
and  alguazils." 

Poor  Peregil  was  in  equal  tribulation, 
and  almost  repented  himself  of  having 
done  a  good  deed.  At  length  a  thought 
struck  him.  "  It  is  not  yet  day,"  said 
he ;  "I  can  convey  the  dead  body  out  of 
the  city,  and  bury  it  in  the  sands  on  the 
banks  of  the  Xenil.  No  one  saw  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


477 


Moor  enter  our  dwelling,  and  no  one  will 
know  any  thing  of  his  death." 

So  said,  so  done.  The  wife  aided 
him  ;  they  rolled  the  body  of  the  unfortu 
nate  Moslem  in  the  mat  on  which  he 
had  expired,  laid  it  across  the  ass,  and 
Peregil  set  out  with  it  for  the  banks  of 
the  river. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  there  lived 
opposite  to  the  water-carrier  a  barber 
named  Pedrillo  Pedrugo,  one  of  the  most 
prying,  tattling,  and  mischief-making  of 
his  gossip  tribe.  He  was  a  weasel-faced, 
spider-legged  varlet,  supple  and  insinu 
ating  ;  the  famous  barber  of  Seville  could 
not  surpass  him  for  his  universal  know 
ledge  of  the  affairs  of  others,  and  he  had 
no  more  power  of  retention  than  a  sieve. 
It  was  said  that  he  slept  with  but  one 
eye  at  a  time,  and  kept  one  ear  unco 
vered,  so  that,  even  in  his  sleep,  he 
might  see  and  hear  all  that  was  going 
on.  Certain  it  is,  he  was  a  sort  of 
scandalous  chronicle  for  the  quid-nuncs 
of  Granada,  and  had  more  customers 
than  all  the  rest  of  his  fraternity. 

This  meddlesome  barber  heard  Peregil 
arrive  at  an  unusual  hour  at  night,  and 
the  exclamations  of  his  wife  and  children. 
His  head  was  instantly  popped  out  of  a 
little  window  which  served  him  as  a 
look-out,  and  he  saw  his  neighbour  as 
sist  a  man  in  Moorish  garb  into  his 
dwelling.  This  was  so  strange  an  oc 
currence,  that  Pedrillo  Pedrugo  slept  not 
a  wink  that  night.  Every  five  minutes 
he  was  at  his  loop-hole,  watching  the 
lights  that  gleamed  through  the  chinks 
of  his  neighbour's  door,  and  before  day 
light  he  beheld  Peregil  sally  forth  with 
his  donkey  unusually  laden. 

The  inquisitive  barber  was  in  a  fidget; 
he  slipped  on  his  clothes,  and,  stealing 
forth  silently,  followed  the  water-carrier 
at  a  distance,  until  he  saw  him  dig  a 
hole  in  the  sandy  bank  of  the  Xenil,  and 
bury  something  that  had  the  appearance 
of  a  dead  body. 

The  barber  hied  him  home,  and 
fidgeted  about  his  shop,  setting  every 
thing  upside  down,  until  sunrise.  He 
then  took  a  basin  under  his  arm,  and 
sallied  forth  to  the  house  of  his  daily 
customer  the  alcalde. 

The  alcalde  was  just  risen.  Pedrillo 
Pedrugo  seated  him  in  a  chair,  threw  a 


napkin  round  his  neck,  put  a  basin  of 
hot  water  under  his  chin,  and  began  to 
mollify  his  beard  with  his  fingers. 

"  Strange  doings  !"  said  Pedrugo,  who 
played  barber  and  newsmonger  at  the 
same  time — "  Strange  doings  !  Robbery, 
and  murder,  and  burial,  all  in  one 
night!" 

"  Hey  ! — how  ! — what  is  that  you 
say  ?"  cried  the  alcalde. 

"  I  say,"  replied  the  barber,  rubbing  a 
piece  of  soap  over  the  nose  and  mouth  of 
the  dignitary,  for  a  Spanish  barber  dis 
dains  to  employ  a  brush — "  I  say  that 
Peregil  the  Gallego  has  robbed  and  mur 
dered  a  Moorish  Mussulman,  and  buried 
him,  this  blessed  night.  Maldita  sea  la 
noche — accursed  be  the  night  for  the 
same  !" 

"  But  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?"  de 
manded  the  alcalde. 

"  Be  patient,  senor,  and  you  shall 
hear  all  about  it,"  replied  Pedrillo, 
taking  him  by  the  nose  and  sliding  a 
razor  over  his  cheek.  He  then  re 
counted  all  that  he  had  seen,  going 
through  both  operations  at  the  same 
time,  shaving  his  beard,  washing  his 
chin,  and  wiping  him  dry  with  a  dirty 
napkin,  while  he  was  robbing,  murder 
ing,  and  burying  the  Moslem. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  this  alcalde 
was  one  of  the  most  overbearing,  and  at 
the  same  time  most  griping  and  corrupt 
curmudgeons  in  all  Granada.  It  could 
not  be  denied,  however,  that  he  set  a 
high  value  upon  justice,  for  he  sold  it  at 
its  weight  in  gold.  He  presumed  the 
case  in  point  to  be  one  of  murder  and 
robbery ;  doubtless  there  must  be  rich 
spoil  ;  how  was  it  to  be  secured  into  the 
legitimate  hands  of  the  law  1  for  as  to 
merely  entrapping  the  delinquent — that 
would  be  feeding  the  gallows ;  but  en 
trapping  the  booty — that  would  be  en 
riching  the  judge,  and  such,  according 
to  his  creed,  was  the  great  end  of  justice. 
So  thinking,  he  summoned  to  his  pre 
sence  his  trustiest  alguazil — a  gaunt, 
hungry-looking  varlet,  clad  according  to 
the  custom  of  his  order,  in  the  ancient 
Spanish  garb,  a  broad  black  beaver 
turned  up  at  the  sides;  a  quaint  ruff;  a 
small  black  cloak  dangling  from  his 
shoulders;  rusty  black  under-clothes 
that  set  off  his  spare  wiry  frame,  while 


478 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


in  his  hand  he  bore  a  slender  white 
wand,  the  dreaded  insignia  of  his  office. 
Such  was  the  legal  blood-hound  of  the 
ancient  Spanish  breed,  that  he  put  upon 
the  traces  of  the  unlucky  water-carrier, 
and  such  was  his  speed  and  certainty, 
that  he  was  upon  the  haunches  of  poor 
Peregil  before  he  had  returned  to  his 
dwelling,  and  brought  both  him  and  his 
donkey  before  the  dispenser  of  justice. 

The  alcalde  bent  upon  him  one  of  his 
most  terrific  frowns.  "  Hark  ye,  cul 
prit  !"  roared  he,  in  a  voice  that  made 
the  knees  of  the  little  Gallego  smite  to 
gether — "hark  ye,  culprit!  there  is  no 
need  of  denying  thy  guilt,  every  thing  is 
known  to  me.  A  gallows  is  the  proper 
reward  for  the  crime  thou  hast  commit 
ted,  but  I  am  merciful,  and  readily  listen 
to  reason.  The  man  that  has  been 
murdered  in  thy  house  was  a  Moor,  an 
infidel,  the  enemy  of  our  faith.  It  was 
doubtless  in  a  fit  of  religious  zeal  that 
thou  hast  slain  him.  I  will  be  indulgent, 
therefore ;  render  up  the  property  of 
which  thou  hast  robbed  him,  and  we  will 
hush  the  matter  up." 

The  poor  water-carrier  called  upon  all 
the  saints  to  witness  his  innocence;  alas  ! 
not  one  of  them  appeared ;  and  if  they 
had,  the  alcalde  would  have  disbelieved 
the  whole  calendar.  The  water-carrier 
related  the  whole  story  of  the  dying 
Moor  with  the  straight-forward  sim 
plicity  of  truth,  but  it  was  all  in  vain. 
"  Wilt  thou  persist  in  saying,"  demanded 
the  judge,  "  that  this  Moslem  had  neither 
gold  nor  jewels,  which  were  the  object 
of  thy  cupidity?" 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  your  wor 
ship,"  replied  the  water-carrier,  "  he  had 
nothing  but  a  small  box  of  sandal  wood, 
which  he  bequeathed  to  me  in  reward 
for  my  services." 

"  A  box  of  sandal  wood !  a  box  of 
sandal  wood !"  exclaimed  the  alcalde, 
his  eyes  sparkling  at  the  idea  of  precious 
jewels.  "And  where  is  this  box?  where 
have  you  concealed  it  ?" 

"  An'  it  please  your  grace,"  replied 
the  water-carrier,  "  it  is  in  one  of  the 
panniers  of  my  mule,  and  heartily  at  the 
service  of  your  worship." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  the  words, 
when  the  keen  alguazil  darted  off  and 
re-appeared  in  an  instant  with  the  mys 


terious  box  of  sandal  wood.  The  alcalde 
opened  it  with  an  eager  and  trembling 
hand ;  all  pressed  forward  to  gaze  upon 
the  treasures  it  was  expected  to  contain ; 
when,  to  their  disappointment,  nothing 
appeared  within,  but  a  parchment  scroll, 
covered  with  Arabic  characters,  and  an 
end  of  a  waxen  taper. 

When  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
the  conviction  of  a  prisoner,  justice  even 
in  Spain,  is  apt  to  be  impartial.  The 
alcalde  having  recovered  from  his  disap-  I 
pointment,  and  found  that  there  was 
really  no  booty  in  the  case,  now  listened 
dispassionately  to  the  explanation  of  the  j 
water-carrier,  which  was  corroborated  | 
by  the  testimony  of  his  wife.  Being 
convinced,  therefore,  of  his  innocence, 
he  discharged  him  from  arrest ;  nay 
more,  he  permitted  him  to  carry  off  the 
Moor's  legacy,  the  box  of  sandal  wood 
and  its  contents,  as  the  well-merited  re 
ward  of  his  humanity ;  but  he  retained 
his  donkey  in  payment  of  costs  and 
charges. 

Behold  the  unfortunate  little  Gallego 
reduced  once  more  to  the  necessity  of 
being  his  own  water-carrier,  and  trudg 
ing  up  to  the  well  of  the  Alhambra  with 
a  great  earthen  jar  upon  his  shoulder. 

As  he  toiled  up  the  hill  in  the  heat  of 
a  summer  noon,  his  usual  good  humour 
forsook  him.  "  Dog  of  an  alcalde !" 
would  he  cry,  "  to  rob  a  poor  man  of 
his  means  of  subsistence,  of  the  best 
friend  he  had  in  the  world  !"  And  then 
at  the  remembrance  of  the  beloved  com 
panion  of  his  labours,  all  the  kindness  of 
his  nature  would  break  forth.  "  Ah 
donkey  of  my  heart!"  would  he  exclaim, 
resting  his  burden  on  a  stone,  and  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  brow — "  Ah  donkey 
of  my  heart !  I  warrant  me  thou  thinkest 
of  thy  old  master !  I  warrant  me  thou 
missest  the  water-jars — poor  beast !" 

To  add  to  his  afflictions,  his  wife  re 
ceived  him,  on  his  return  home,  with 
whimperings  and  repinings;  she  had 
clearly  the  vantage  ground  of  him, 
having  warned  him  not  to  commit  the 
egregious  act  of  hospitality  that  had 
brought  on  him  all  these  misfortunes ; 
and,  like  a  knowing  woman,  she  took 
every  occasion  to  throw  her  superior  sa 
gacity  in  his  teeth.  If  ever  her  children 
lacked  food,  or  needed  a  new  garment, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


479 


she  could  answer  with  a  sneer — "  Go  to 
your  father — he  is  heir  to  King  Chico 
of  the  Alhambra :  ask  him  to  help  you 
out  of  the  Moor's  strong  box." 

Was  ever  poor  mortal  so  soundly 
punished  for  having  done  a  good  action? 
The  unlucky  Peregil  was  grieved  in 
flesh  and  spirit,  but  still  he  bore  meekly 
with  the  railings  of  his  spouse.  At 
length,  one  evening,  when,  after  a  hot 
day's  toil,  she  taunted  him  in  the  usual 
manner,  he  lost  all  patience.  He  did 
not  venture  to  retort  upon  her,  but  his 
eye  rested  upon  the  box  of  sandal  wood, 
which  lay  on  a  shelf  with  lid  half  open, 
as  if  laughing  in  mockery  at  his  vexa 
tion.  Seizing  it  up,  he  dashed  it  with 
indignation  to  the  floor : — "  Unlucky 
was  the  day  that  I  ever  set  eyes  on 
thee,"  he  cried,  "  or  sheltered  thy  master 
beneath  my  roof!" 

As  the  box  struck  the  floor,  the  lid 
flew  wide  open,  and  the  parchment  scroll 
rolled  forth.  Peregil  sat  regarding  the 
scroll  for  some  time  in  moody  silence. 
At  length  rallying  his  ideas — "  Who 
knows,"  thought  he,  "but  this  writing 
may  be  of  some  importance,  as  the  Moor 
seems  to  have  guarded  it  with  such 
care?"  Picking  it  up,  therefore,  he  put  it 
in  his  bosom,  and  the  next  morning,  as 
he  was  crying  water  through  the  streets, 
he  stopped  at  the  shop  of  a  Moor,  a 
native  of  Tangiers,  who  sold  trinkets 
and  perfumery  in  the  Zacatin,  and  asked 
him  to  explain  the  contents. 

The  Moor  read  the  scroll  attentively, 
then  stroked  his  beard  and  smiled. 
"  This  manuscript,"  said  he,  "  is  a  form 
of  incantation  for  the  recovery  of  hidden 
treasure,  that  is  under  the  power  of  en 
chantment.  It  is  said  to  have  such 
virtue,  that  the  strongest  bolts  and  bars, 
nay,  the  adamantine  rock  itself,  will 
yield  before  it !" 

"Bah!"  cried  the  little  Gallego,  "what 
is  all  that  to  me  ?  I  am  no  enchanter, 
and  know  nothing  of  buried  treasure." 
So  saying,  he  shouldered  his  water-jar, 
left  the  scroll  in  the  hands  of  the  Moor, 
and  trudged  forward  on  his  daily  rounds. 

That  evening,  however,  as  he  rested 
himself  about  twilight  at  the  well  of  the 
Alhambra,  he  found  a  number  of  gossips 
assembled  at  the  place,  and  their  con 
versation,  as  is  not  unusual  in  that 


shadowy  hour,  turned  upon  old  tales 
and  traditions  of  a  supernatural  nature. 
Being  all  poor  as  rats,  they  dwelt  with 
peculiar  fondness  upon  the  popular 
theme  of  enchanted  riches  left  by  the 
Moors  in  various  parts  of  the  Alhambra. 
Above  all,  they  concurred  in  the  belief 
that  there  were  great  treasures  buried 
deep  in  the  earth  under  the  tower  of  the 
seven  floors. 

These  stories  made  an  unusual  im 
pression  on  the  mind  of  honest  Peregil, 
and  they  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into 
his  thoughts  as  he  returned  alone  down 
the  darkling  avenues.  "  If,  after  all, 
there  should  be  treasure  hid  beneath  that 
tower — and  if  the  scroll  I  left  with  the 
Moor  should  enable  me  to  get  at  it !" 
In  the  sudden  ecstasy  of  the  thought  he 
had  well  nigh  let  fall  his  water-jar. 

That  night  he  tumbled  and  tossed,  and 
could  scarcely  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for 
the  thoughts  that  were  bewildering  his 
brain.  Bright  and  early,  he  repaired  to 
the  shop  of  the  Moor,  and  told  him  all 
that  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "You 
can  read  Arabic,"  said  he  ;  "  suppose  we 
go  together  to  the  tower,  and  try  the 
effect  of  the  charm ;  if  it  fails  we  are  no 
worse  off  than  before,  but  if  it  succeeds 
we  will  share  equally  all  the  treasure 
we  may  discover." 

"Hold,"  replied  the  Moslem;  "this 
writing  is  not  sufficient  of  itself;  it  must 
be  read  at  midnight,  by  the  light  of  a 
taper  singularly  compounded  and  pre 
pared,  the  ingredients  of  which  are  not 
within  my  reach.  Without  such  taper 
the  scroll  is  of  no  avail." 

"  Say  no  more !"  cried  the  little  Gal- 
lego,  "  I  have  such  a  taper  at  hand,  and 
will  bring  it  here  in  a  moment."  So 
saying,  he  hastened  home,  and  soon  re 
turned  with  the  end  of  a  yellow  wax 
taper  that  he  had  found  in  the  box  of 
sandal  wood. 

The  Moor  felt  it  and  smelt  to  it. 
"  Here  are  rare  and  costly  perfumes," 
said  he,  "  combined  with  this  yellow 
wax.  This  is  the  kind  of  taper  specified 
in  the  scroll.  While  this  burns,  the 
strongest  walls  and  most  secret  caverns 
will  remain  open.  Wo  to  him,  how 
ever,  who  lingers  within  until  it  be  ex 
tinguished.  He  will  remain  enchanted 
with  the  treasure." 


480 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


It  was  now  agreed  between  them  to 
try  the  charm  that  very  night.  At  a  late 
hour,  therefore,  when  nothing  was  stir 
ring  but  bats  and  owls,  they  ascended 
the  woody  hill  of  the  Alhambra,  and  ap 
proached  that  awful  tower,  shrouded  by 
trees  and  rendered  formidable  by  so 
many  traditionary  tales.  By  the  light 
of  a  lanthorn,  they  groped  their  way 
through  bushes,  and  over  fallen  stones, 
to  the  door  of  a  vault  beneath  the  tower. 
With  fear  and  trembling  they  descended 
a  flight  of  steps  cut  into  the  rock.  It  led 
to  an  empty  chamber,  damp  and  drear, 
from  which  another  flight  of  steps  led  to 
a  deeper  vault.  In  this  way  they  de 
scended  four  several  flights,  leading  into 
as  many  vaults,  one  below  the  other,  but 
the  floor  of  the  fourth  was  solid ;  and 
though,  according  to  tradition,  there  re 
mained  three  vaults  still  below,  it  was 
said  to  be  impossible  to  penetrate  further, 
the  residue  being  shut  up  by  strong  en 
chantment.  The  air  of  this  vault  was 
damp  and  chilly,  and  had  an  earthy 
smell,  and  the  light  scarce  cast  forth 
any  rays.  They  paused  here  for  a  time 
in  breathless  suspense,  until  they  faintly 
heard  the  clock  of  the  watchtower  strike 
midnight ;  upon  this  they  lit  the  waxen 
taper,  which  diffused  an  odour  of  myrrh, 
frankincense,  and  storax. 

The  Moor  began  to  read  in  a  hurried 
voice.  He  had  scarce  finished  when 
there  was  a  noise  of  subterraneous 
thunder.  The  earth  shook,  and  the  floor 
yawning  open,  disclosed  a  flight  of  steps. 
Trembling  with  awe  they  descended, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  lanthorn  found 
themselves  in  another  vault,  covered 
with  Arabic  inscriptions.  In  the  centre 
stood  a  great  chest,  secured  with  seven 
bands  of  steel,  at  each  end  of  which  sat 
an  enchanted  Moor  in  armour,  but  mo 
tionless  as  a  statue,  being  controlled  by 
the  power  of  the  incantation.  Before 
the  chest  were  several  jars  filled  with 
gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones.  In 
the  largest  of  these  they  thrust  their 
arms  up  to  the  elbow,  and  at  every  dip 
hauled  forth  handfuls  of  broad  yellow 
pieces  of  Moorish  gold,  or  bracelets  and 
ornaments  of  the  same  precious  metal, 
while  occasionally  a  necklace  of  Oriental 
pearls  would  stick  to  their  fingers.  Still 
they  trembled  and  breathed  short  while 


cramming  their  pockets  with  the  spoils ; 
and  cast  many  a  fearful  glance  at  the 
two  enchanted  Moors,  who  sat  grim  and 
motionless,  glaring  upon  them  with  un 
winking  eyes.  At  length,  struck  with  a 
sudden  panic  at  some  fancied  noise,  they 
both  rushed  up  the  staircase,  tumbled 
one  over  another  into  the  upper  apart 
ment,  overturned  and  extinguished  the 
waxen  taper,  and  the  pavement  again 
closed  with  a  thundering  sound. 

Filled  with  dismay,  they  did  not  pause 
until  they  had  groped  their  way  out  of 
the  tower,  and  beheld  the  stars  shining 
through  the  trees.  Then  seating  them 
selves  upon  the  grass,  they  divided  the 
spoil,  determined  to  content  themselves 
for  the  present  with  the  mere  skimming 
of  the  jars,  but  to  return  on  some  future 
night  and  drain  them  to  the  bottom.  To 
make  sure  of  each  other's  good  faith, 
also,  they  divided  the  talismans  between 
them,  one  retaining  the  scroll  and  the 
other  the  taper  ;  this  done,  they  set  off 
with  light  hearts  and  well-lined  pockets 
for  Granada. 

As  they  wended  their  way  down  the 
hill,  the  shrewd  Moor  whispered  a  word 
of  counsel  in  the  ear  of  the  simple  little 
water-carrier. 

"Friend  Peregil,"  said  he,  "all  this 
affair  must  be  kept  a  profound  secret 
until  we  have  secured  the  treasure  and 
conveyed  it  out  of  harm's  way.  If  a 
whisper  of  it  gets  to  the  ear  of  the  al 
calde  we  are  undone !" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  Gallego, 
"  nothing  can  be  more  true." 

"Friend  Peregil,"  said  the  Moor, 
"  you  are  a  discreet  man,  and  I  make 
no  doubt  can  keep  a  secret:  but  you 
have  a  wife." 

"  She  shall  not  know  a  word  of  it," 
replied  the  little  water-carrier  sturdily. 

"Enough,"  said  the  Moor,  "I  depend 
upon  thy  discretion  and  thy  promise." 

Never  was  promise  more  positive  and 
sincere ;  but,  alas !  what  man  can  keep 
a  secret  from  his  wife?  Certainly  not 
such  a  one  as  Peregil  the  water-carrier, 
who  was  one  of  the  most  loving  and 
tractable  of  husbands.  On  his  return 
home,  he  found  his  wife  moping  in  a 
corner.  "  Mighty  well,"  cried  she  as  he 
entered,  "  you've  come  at  last ;  after 
rambling  about  until  this  hour  of  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


481 


night.  I  wonder  you  have  not  brought 
home  another  Moor  as  a  housemate." 
The^i  bursting  into  tears,  she  began  to 
wring  her  hands  and  smite  her  breast : 
;' Unhappy  woman  that  I  am!"  exclaimed 
she,  "  what  will  become  of  me !  My 
house  stripped  and  plundered  by  lawyers 
and  alguazils;  my  husband  a  do-no-good, 
that  no  longer  brings  home  bread  for 
his  family,  but  goes  rambling  about  day 
and  night,  with  infidel  Moors !  O  my 
children !  my  children !  what  will  be 
come  of  us?  we  shall  all  have  to  beg  in 
the  streets  !" 

Honest  Peregil  was  so  moved  by  the 
distress  of  his  spouse,  that  he  could  not 
help  whimpering  also.  His  heart  was 
as  full  as  his  pocket,  and  not  to  be  re 
strained.  Thrusting  his  hand  into  the 
latter,  he  hauled  forth  three  or  four  broad 
gold  pieces,  and  slipped  them  into  her 
bosom.  The  poor  woman  stared  with 
astonishment,  and  could  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  this  golden  shower.  Be 
fore  she  could  recover  her  surprise,  the 
little  Gallego  drew  forth  a  chain  of  gold 
and  dangled  it  before  her,  capering  with 
exultation,  his  mouth  distended  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"  Holy  Virgin  protect  us  !"  exclaimed 
the  wife.  "  What  hast  thou  been  doing, 
Peregil  1  surely  thou  hast  not  been  com 
mitting  murder  and  robbery  !" 

The  idea  scarce  entered  the  brain  of 
the  poor  woman,  when  it  became  a  cer 
tainty  with  her.  She  saw  a  prison  and 
a  gallows  in  the  distance,  and  a  little 
bandy-legged  Gallego  hanging  pendant 
from  it ;  and,  overcome  by  the  horrors 
conjured  up  by  her  imagination,  fell  into 
violent  hysterics. 

What  could  the  poor  man  do?  He 
had  no  other  means  of  pacifying  his 
wife  and  dispelling  the  phantoms  of  her 
fancy,  than  by  relating  the  whole  story 
of  his  good  fortune.  This,  however,  he 
did  not  do  until  he  had  exacted  from  her 
the  most  solemn  promise  to  keep  it  a 
profound  secret  from  every  living  being. 

To  describe  her  joy  would  be  impos 
sible.  She  flung  her  arms  round  the 
neck  of  her  husband,  and  almost  stran 
gled  him  with  her  caresses.  "  Now, 
wife,"  exclaimed  the  little  man  with 
honest  exultation,  "  what  say  you  now 
to  the  Moor's  legacy  ?  Henceforth  never 

VOL.  II.  41 


abuse  me  for  helping  a   fellow-creature 
in  distress." 

The  honest  little  Gallego  retired  to  his 
sheepskin  mat,  and  slept  as  soundly  as 
if  on  a  bed  of  down.  Not  so  his  wife ; 
she  emptied  the  whole  contents  of  his 
pockets  upon  the  mat,  and  sat  all  night 
counting  gold  pieces  of  Arabic  coin,  try 
ing  on  necklaces  and  ear-rings,  and  fan 
cying  the  figure  she  should  one  day 
make  when  permitted  to  enjoy  her 
riches. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  honest 
Galtego  took  a  broad  golden  coin,  and 
repaired  with  it  to  a  jeweller's  shop  in 
the  Zacatin  to  offer  it  for  sale,  pretend 
ing  to  have  found  it  among  the  ruins  of 
the  Alhambra.  The  jeweller  saw  that 
it  had  an  Arabic  inscription,  and  was 
of  the  purest  gold ;  he  offered  however, 
but  a  third  of  its  value,  with  which 
the  water-carrier  was  perfectly  content. 
Peregil  now  bought  new  clothes  for  his 
little  flock,  and  all  kinds  of  toys,  together 
with  ample  provisions  for  a  hearty  meal, 
and,  returning  to  his  dwelling,  set  all  his 
children  dancing  around  him,  while  he 
capered  in  the  midst,  the  happiest  of 
fathers. 

The  wife  of  the  water-carrier  kept  her 
promise  of  secrecy  with  surprising  strict 
ness.  For  a  whole  day  and  a  half  she 
went  about  with  a  look  of  mystery  and 
a  heart  swelling  almost  to  bursting,  yet 
she  held  her  peace,  though  surrounded 
by  her  gossips.  It  is  true,  she  could  not 
help  giving  herself  a  few  airs,  apologized 
for  her  ragged  dress,  and  talked  of  or 
dering  a  new  basquina  all  trimmed  with 
gold  lace  and  bugles,  and  a  new  lace 
mantilla.  She  threw  out  hints  of  her 
husband's  intention  of  leaving  off  his 
trade  of  water-carrying,  as  it  did  not  al 
together  agree  with  his  health.  In  fact 
she  thought  they  should  all  retire  to  the 
country  for  the  summer,  that  the  children 
might  have  the  benefit  of  the  mountain 
air,  for  there  was  no  living  in  the  city  in 
this  sultry  season. 

The  neighbours  stared  at  each  other, 
and  thought  the  poor  woman  had  lost 
her  wits ;  and  her  airs  and  graces  and 
elegant  pretensions  were  the  theme  of 
universal  scoffing  and  merriment  among 
her  friends,  the  moment  her  back  was 
turned. 


i-  .*• 


482 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


If  she  restrained  herself  abroad,  how 
ever,  she  indemnified  herself  at  home, 
and  putting  a  string  of  rich  Oriental 
pearls  round  her  neck,  Moorish  bracelets 
on  her  arms,  and  an  aigrette  of  diamonds 
on  her  head,  sailed  backwards  and  for 
wards  in  her  slattern  rags  about  the 
room,  now  and  then  stopping  to  admire 
herself  in  a  piece  of  broken  mirror.  Nay, 
in  the  impulse  of  her  simple  vanity,  she 
could  not  resist,  on  one  occasion,  show 
ing  herself  at  the  window,  to  enjoy  the 
effect  of  her  finery  on  the  passers  by. 

As  the  fates  would  have  it,  Pedrillo 
Pedrugo,  the  meddlesome  barber,  was  at 
this  moment  sitting  idly  in  his  shop  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  when  his 
ever-watchful  eye  caught  the  sparkle  of 
a  diamond.  In  an  instant  he  was  at 
his  loop-hole,  reconnoitring  the  slattern 
spouse  of  the  water-carrier,  decorated 
with  the  splendour  of  an  eastern  bride. 
No  sooner  had  he  taken  an  accurate  in 
ventory  of  her  ornaments,  than  he  posted 
off  with  all  speed  to  the  alcalde.  In  a 
little  while  the  hungry  alguazil  was 
again  on  the  scent,  and  before  the  day 
was  over  the  unfortunate  Peregil  was 
again  dragged  into  the  presence  of  the 
judge. 

"  How  is  this,  villain !"  cried  the  al 
calde  in  a  furious  voice.  "  You  told  me 
that  the  infidel  who  died  in  your  house 
left  nothing  behind  but  an  empty  coffer, 
and  now  I  hear  of  your  wife  flaunting  in 
her  rags  decked  out  with  pearls,  and 
diamonds.  Wretch  that  thou  art !  pve- 
pare  to  render  up  the  spoils  of  thy  mi 
serable  victim,  and  to  swing  on  the  gal 
lows  that  is  already  tired  of  waiting  for 
thee." 

The  terrified  water-carrier  fell  on  his 
knees  and  made  a  full  relation  of  the 
marvellous  manner  in  which  he  had 
gained  his  wealth.  The  alcalde,  the  al 
guazil,  and  the  inquisitive  barber,  lis 
tened  with  greedy  ears  to  this  Arabian 
tale  of  enchanted  treasure.  The  algua 
zil  was  despatched  to  bring  the  Moor 
who  had  assisted  in  the  incantation. 
The  Moslem  entered  half  frightened  out 
of  his  wits  at  finding  himself  in  the 
hands  of  the  harpies  of  the  law.  When 
he  beheld  the  water-carrier  standing 
with  sheepish  looks  and  downcast  coun 
tenance,  he  comprehended  the  whole 


matter.  "  Miserable  animal,"  said  he, 
as  he  passed  near  him,  "  did  I  not  warn 
thee  against  babbling  to  thy  wife  ?" 

The  story  of  the  Moor  coincided  ex 
actly  with  that  of  his  colleague  ;  but  the 
alcalde  affected  to  be  slow  of  belief,  and 
threw  out  menaces  of  imprisonment  and 
rigorous  investigation. 

"Softly,  good  Senor  Alcalde,"  said 
the  Mussulman,  who  by  this  time  had 
recovered  his  usual  shrewdness  and  self- 
possession.  "  Let  us  not  mar  Fortune's 
favours  in  the  scramble  for  them.  No 
body  knows  any  thing  of  this  matter  but 
ourselves — let  us  keep  the  secret.  There 
is  wealth  enough  in  the  cave  to  enrich 
us  all.  Promise  a  fair  division,  and  all 
shall  be  produced — refuse,  and  the  cave 
shall  remain  for  ever  closed." 

The  alcalde  consulted  apart  with  the 
alguazil.  The  latter  was  an  old  fox  in 
his  profession.  "  Promise  any  thing," 
said  he,  "  until  you  get  possession  of  the 
treasure.  You  may  then  seize  upon  the 
whole,  and  if  he  and  his  accomplice 
dare  to  murmur,  threaten  them  with  the 
fagot  and  the  stake  as  infidels  and  sor 
cerers." 

The  alcalde  relished  the  advice. 
Smoothing  his  brow  and  turning  to  the 
Moor,  "  This  is  a  strange  story,"  said 
he,  "  and  may  be  true,  but  I  must  have 
ocular  proof  of  it.  This  very  night  you 
must  repeat  the  incantation  in  my  pre 
sence.  If  there  be  really  such  treasure, 
we  will  share  it  amicably  between  us, 
and  say  nothing  further  of  the  matter;  if 
ye  have  deceived  me,  expect  no  mercy  at 
my  hands.  In  the  mean  time  you  must 
remain  in  custody." 

The  Moor  and  the  water-carrier  cheer 
fully  agreed  to  these  conditions,  satisfied 
that  the  event  would  prove  the  truth  of 
their  words. 

Towards  midnight  the -alcalde  sallied 
forth  secretly,  attended  by  the  alguazil 
and  the  meddlesome  barber,  all  strongly 
armed.  They  conducted  the  Moor  and 
the  water-carrier  as  prisoners,  and  were 
provided  with  the  stout  donkey  of  the 
latter  to  bear  off  the  expected  treasure. 
They  arrived  at  the  tower  without  being 
observed  ;  and  tying  the  donkey  to  a  fig 
tree,  descended  into  the  fourth  vault  of 
the  tower. 

The   scroll   was    produced,   and    the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


483 


yellow  waxen  taper  lighted,  and  the 
Moor  read  the  form  of  incantation. 
The  earth  trembled  as  before,  and  the 
pavement  opened  with  a  thundering 
sound,  disclosing  the  narrow  flight  of 
steps.  The  alcalde,  the  alguazil,  and 
the  barber  were  struck  aghast,  and  could 
not  summon  courage  to  descend.  The 
Moor  and  the  water-carrier  entered  the 
lower  vault,  and  found  the  two  Moors 
seated  as  before,  silent  and  motionless. 
They  removed  two  of  the  great  jars,  filled 
with  golden  coin  and  precious  stones. 
The  water-carrier  bore  them  up  one  by 
one  upon  his  shoulders,  but  though  a 
strong-backed  little  man,  and  accustomed 
to  carry  burdens,  he  staggered  beneath 
their  weight,  and  found  when  slung  on 
each  side  of  his  donkey,  they  were  as 
much  as  the  animal  could  bear. 

"  Let  us  be  content  for  the  present," 
said  the  Moor,  "  here  is  as  much  treasure 
as  we  can  carry  off  without  being  per 
ceived,  and  enough  to  make  us  all  wealthy 
to  our  heart's  desire." 

"  Is  there  more  treasure  remaining 
behind  ?"  demanded  the  alcalde. 

"  The  greatest  prize  of  all,"  said  the 
Moor,  "  a  huge  coffer  bound  with  bands 
of  steel,  and  filled  with  pearls  and  pre 
cious  stones," 

"  Let  us  have  up  the  coffer  by  all 
means,"  cried  the  grasping  alcalde. 

"  I  will  descend  for  no  more,"  said 
the  Moor  doggedly  ;  "  enough  is  enough 
for  a  reasonable  man — more  is  super 
fluous." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  water-carrier,  "  will 
bring  up  no  further  burden  to  break  the 
back  of  my  poor  donkey." 

Finding  commands,  threats,   and  en 
treaties  equally  vain,  the  alcalde  turned 
to  his  two  adherents.     "  Aid  me,"  said  | 
he,  "  to  bring  up  the  coffer,  and  its  con-  j 
tents  shall  be  divided  between  us."     So  j 
saying  he  descended  the  steps,  followed 
with  trembling  reluctance  by  the  alguazil ! 
and  the  barber. 

No  sooner  did  the  Moor  behold  them  | 
fairly  earthed  than  he  extinguished  the  i 
yellow  taper ;  the  pavement  closed  with 
its  usual  crash,  and  the  three  worthies  | 
remained  buried  in  its  womb. 

He  then  hastened  up  the  different 
flights  of  steps,  nor  stopped  until  in  the 
open  air.  The  little  water-carrier  fol 


lowed  him  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  would 
permit. 

"  What  hast  thou  done?"  cried  Peregil, 
as  soon  as  he  could  recover  breath.  "  The 
alcalde  and  the  other  two  are  shut  up  in 
the  vault." 

"  It  is  the  will  of  Allah  !"  said  the  Moor 
devoutly. 

"  And  will  you  not  release  them  ?"  de 
manded  the  Gallego. 

"  Allah  forbid !"  replied  the  Moor, 
smoothing  his  beard.  «*  It  is  written  in 
the  book  of  fate  that  they  shall  remain 
enchanted  until  some  future  adventurer 
arrive  to  break  the  charm.  The  will  of 
God  be  done !"  So  saying,  he  hurled 
the  end  of  the  waxen  taper  far  among  the 
gloomy  thickets  of  the  glen. 

There  was  now  no  remedy,  so  the 
Moor  and  the  water-carrier  proceeded 
with  the  richly  laden  donkey  towards 
the  city,  nor  could  honest  Peregil  refrain 
from  hugging  and  kissing  his  long-eared 
fellow-labourer,  thus  restored  to  him 
from  the  clutches  of  the  law;  and  in  fact, 
it  is  doubtful  which  gave  the  simple- 
hearted  little  man  most  joy  at  the  moment, 
the  gaining  of  the  treasure,  or  the  re 
covery  of  the  donkey. 

The  two  partners  in  good  luck  divided 
their  spoil  amicably  and  fairly,  except 
that  the  Moor,  who  had  a  little  taste  for 
trinketry,  made  out  to  get  into  his  heap 
most  of  the  pearls  and  precious  stones  and 
other  baubles,  but  then  he  always  gave 
the  water-carrier  in  lieu  magnificent 
jewels  of  massy  gold,  of  five  times  the 
size,  with  which  the  latter  was  heartily 
content.  They  took  care  not  to  linger 
within  reach  of  accidents,  but  made  off 
to  enjoy  their  wealth  undisturbed  in  other 
countries.  The  Moor  returned  to  Africa, 
to  his  native  city  of  Tetuan,  and  the 
Gallego,  with  his  wife,  his  children,  and 
his  donkey,  made  the  best  of  his  way  to 
Portugal.  Here,  under  the  admonition 
and  tuition  of  his  wife,  he  became  a  per 
sonage  of  some  consequence,  for  she 
made  the  worthy  little  man  array  his 
long  body  and  short  legs  in  doublet  and 
hose,  with  a  feather  in  his  hat  and  a 
sword  by  his  side  ;  and  laying  aside  his 
familiar  appellation  of  Peregil,  assumed 
the  more  sonorous  title  of  Don  Pedro 
Gil :  his  progeny  grew  up  a  thriving  and 
merry-hearted,  though  short  and  bandy- 


484 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


legged  generation,  while  Senora  Gil,  be 
fringed,  belaced  and  betasselled  from  her 
head  to  her  heels,  with  glittering  rings  on 
every  finger,  became  a  model  of  slattern 
fashion  and  finery. 

As  to  the  alcalde  and  his  adjuncts, 
they  remained  shut  up  under  the  great 
tower  of  the  seven  floors,  and  there  they 
remain  spellbound  at  the  present  day. 
Whenever  there  shall  be  a  lack  in  Spain 
of  pimping  barbers,  sharking  alguazils, 
and  corrupt  alcaldes,  they  may  be  sought 
after ;  but  if  they  have  to  wait  until  such 
time  for  their  deliverance,  there  is  dan 
ger  of  their  enchantment  enduring  until 
doomsday. 


THE  LEGEND  OF 

THE  ROSE  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA; 

OR, 

THE  PAGE  AND  THE  GER-FALCON. 

FOR  some  time  after  the  surrender  of 
Granada  by  the  Moors,  that  delightful 
city  was  a  frequent  and  favourite  resi 
dence  of  the  Spanish  sovereigns,  until 
they  were  frightened  away  by  successive 
shocks  of  earthquakes,  which  toppled 
down  various  houses,  and  made  the  old 
Moslem  towers  rock  to  their  foundation. 

Many  many  years  then  rolled  away 
during  which  Granada  was  rarely  ho 
noured  by  a  royal  guest.  The  palaces 
of  the  nobility  remained  silent  and  shut 
up;  and  the  Alhambra,  like  a  slighted 
beauty,  sat  in  mournful  desolation  among 
her  neglected  gardens.  The  tower  of 
Infantas,  once  the  residence  of  the  three 
beautiful  Moorish  princesses,  partook  of 
the  general  desolation,  and  the  spider 
spun  her  web  athwart  the  gilded  vault, 
and  bats  and  owls  nestled  in  those  cham 
bers  that  had  been  graced  by  the  pre 
sence  of  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and  Zora- 
hayda.  The  neglect  of  this  tower  may 
partly  have  been  owing  to  some  super 
stitious  notions  of  the  neighbours.  It  was 
rumoured  that  the  spirit  of  the  youthful 
Zorahayda,  who  had  perished  in  that 
tower,  was  often  seen  by  moonlight 
seated  beside  the  fountain  in  the  hall,  or 


moaning  about  the  battlements,  and  that 
the  notes  of  her  silver  lute  would  be 
heard  at  midnight  by  wayfarers  passing 
along  the  glen. 

At  length  the  city  of  Granada  was 
once  more  welcomed  by  the  royal  pre 
sence.  All  the  world  knows  that  Philip  V. 
was  the  first  Bourbon  that  swayed  the 
Spanish  sceptre.  All  the  world  knows 
that  he  married,  in  second  nuptials,  Eli- 
zabetta  or  Isabella  (for  they  are  the 
same),  the  beautiful  princess  of  Parma ; 
and  all  the  world  knows  that  by  this 
chain  of  contingencies  a  French  prince 
and  an  Italian  princess  were  seated  toge 
ther  on  the  Spanish  throne.  For  the  re 
ception  of  this  illustrious  pair,  the  Alham 
bra  was  repaired  and  fitted  up  with  all 
possible  expedition.  The  arrival  of  the 
court  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
lately  deserted  palace.  The  clangour  of 
drum  and  trumpet ;  the  tramp  of  steed 
about  the  avenues  and  outer  court ;  the 
glitter  of  arms  and  display  of  banners 
about  barbacan  and  battlement,  recalled 
the  ancient  and  warlike  glories  of  the 
fortress.  A  softer  spirit,  however,  reigned 
within  the  royal  palace.  There  was  the 
rustling  of  robes  and  the  cautious  tread 
and  murmuring  voice  of  reverential  cour 
tiers  about  the  antechambers  ;  a  loitering 
of  pages  and  maids  of  honour  about  the 
gardens,  and  the  sound  of  music  stealing 
from  open  casements. 

Among  those  who  attended  in  the 
train  of  the  monarchs  was  a  favourite 
page  of  the  queen,  named  Ruyz  de  Alar- 
con.  To  say  that  he  was  a  favourite 
page  of  the  queen  was  at  once  to  speak 
his  eulogium ;  for  every  one  in  the  suite 
of  the  stately  Eliza  betta  was  chosen  for 
grace,  and  beauty,  and  accomplishments. 
He  was  just  turned  of  eighteen,  light  and 
lithe  of  form,  and  graceful  as  a  young 
Antinous.  To  the  queen  he  was  all  de 
ference  and  respect,  yet  he  was  at  heart 
a  roguish  stripling,  petted  and  spoiled  by 
the  ladies  about  the  court,  and  expe 
rienced  in  the  ways  of  women  far  be 
yond  his  years. 

This  loitering  page  was  one  morning 
rambling  about  the  groves  of  the  Gene- 
ralife,  which  overlook  the  grounds  of  the 
Alhambra.  He  had  taken  with  him  for 
his  amusement  a  favourite  ger-falcon  of 
the  queen.  In  the  course  of  his  rambles, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


485 


seeing  a  bird  rising  from  a  thicket,  he 
unhoodcd  the  hawk  and  let  him  fly.  The 
falcon  towered  high  in  the  air,  made  a 
swoop  at  his  quarry,  but  missing  it, 
soared  away  regardless  of  the  calls  of 
the  page.  The  latter  followed  the  truant 
bird  with  his  eye,  in  its  capricious  flight, 
until  he  saw  it  alight  upon  the  battle 
ments  of  a  remote  and  lonely  tower,  in 
the  outer  wall  of  the  Alhambra,  built  on 
the  edge  of  a  ravine  that ,  separated  the 
royal  fortress  from  the  grounds  of  the 
Generalife.  It  was  in  fact  the  "  Tower 
of  the  Princesses." 

The  page  descended  into  the  ravine 
and  approached  the  tower,  but  it  had  no 
entrance  from  the  glen,  and  its  lofty 
height  rendered  any  attempt  to  scale  it 
fruitless.  Seeking  one  of  the  gates  of 
the  fortress,  therefore,  he  made  a  wide 
circuit  to  that  side  of  the  tower  facing 
within  the  walls. 

A  small  garden  enclosed  by  a  trellis- 
work  of  reeds  overhung  with  myrtle,  lay 
before  the  tower.  Opening  a  wicket,  the 
page  passed  between  beds  of  flowers  and 
thickets  of  roses  to  the  door.  It  was 
closed  and  bolted.  A  crevice  in  the  door 
gave  him  a  peep  into  the  interior.  There 
was  a  small  Moorish  hall  with  fretted 
walls,  light  marble  columns,  and  an  ala 
baster  fountain  surrounded  with  flowers. 
In  the  centre  hung  a  gilt  cage,  contain 
ing  a  singing  bird  ;  beneath  it,  on  a  chair, 
lay  a  tortoise-shell  cat  among  reels  of 
silk  and  other  articles  of  female  labour, 
and  a  guitar  decorated  with  ribands 
leaned  against  the  fountain. 

Ruyz  de  Alarcon  was  struck  with 
these  traces  of  female  taste  and  elegance 
in  a  lonely,  and,  as  he  had  supposed,  de 
serted  tower.  They  reminded  him  of 
the  tales  of  enchanted  halls  current  in 
the  Alhambra  ;  and  the  tortoise-shell  cat 
might  be  some  spell-bound  princess. 

He  knocked  gently  at  the  door.  A 
beautiful  face  peeped  out  from  a  little 
window  above,  but  was  instantly  with 
drawn.  He  waited,  expecting  that  the 
door  would  be  opened,  but  he  waited  in 
vain  ;  no  footstep  was  to  be  heard  within 
— all  was  silent.  Had  his  senses  de 
ceived  him,  or  was  this  beautiful  appari 
tion  the  fairy  of  the  tower  1  He  knocked 
again,  and  more  loudly.  After  a  little 
while  the  beaming  face  once  more  peeped 


forth ;  it  was  that  of  a  blooming  damsel 
of  fifteen. 

The  page  immediately  doffed  his  plumed 
bonnet,  and  entreated  in  the  most  cour 
teous  accents  to  be  permitted  to  ascend 
the  tower  in  pursuit  of  his  falcon. 

"  I  dare  not  open  the  door,  seiior,"  re 
plied  the  little  damsel,  blushing,  "  my 
aunt  has  forbidden  it." 

"  I  do  beseech  you,  fair  maid — it  is 
the  favourite  falcon  of  the  queen  :  I  dare 
not  return  to  the  palace  without  it." 

"  Are  you  then  one  of  the  cavaliers  of 
the  court  ?" 

"  I  am,  fair  maid  ;  but  I  shall  lose  the 
queen's  favour  and  my  place,  if  I  lose 
this  hawk." 

"  Santa  Maria !  it  is  against  you  cava 
liers  of  the  court  my  aunt  has  charged 
me  especially  to  bar  the  door." 

"  Against  wicked  cavaliers  doubtless, 
but  I  am  none  of  these,  but  a  simple 
harmless  page,  who  will  be  ruined  and 
undone  if  you  deny  me  this  small  re 
quest." 

The  heart  of  the  little  damsel  was 
touched  by  the  distress  of  the  page.  It 
was  a  thousand  pities  he  should  be  ruined 
for  the  want  of  so  trifling  a  boon.  Surely 
too  he  could  not  be  one  of  those  danger 
ous  beings  whom  her  aunt  had  described 
as  a  species  of  cannibal,  ever  on  the 
prowl  to  make  prey  of  thoughtless  dam 
sels  ;  he  was  gentle  and  modest,  and 
stood  so  entreatingly  with  cap  in  hand, 
and  looked  so  charming. 

The  sly  page  saw  that  the  garrison 
began  to  waver,  and  redoubled  his  en 
treaties  in  such  moving  terms,  that  it  was 
not  in  the  nature  of  mortal  maiden  to 
deny  him ;  so  the  blushing  little  warden 
of  the  tower  descended  and  opened  the 
door  with  a  trembling  hand ;  and  if  the 
page  had  been  charmed  by  a  mere 
glimpse  of  her  countenance  from  the 
window,  he  was  ravished  by  the  full 
length  portrait  now  revealed  to  him. 

Her  Andalusian  bodice  and  trim  bas- 
quina  set  off  the  round  but  delicate  sym 
metry  of  her  form,  which  was  as  yet 
scarce  verging  into  womanhood.  Her 
glossy  hair  was  parted  on  her  forehead, 
with  scrupulous  exactness,  and  decorated 
with  a  fresh-plucked  rose,  according  to 
the  universal  custom  of  the  country.  It 
is  true  her  complexion  was  tinged  by  the 

41* 


486 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


ardour  of  a  southern  sun,  but  it  served 
to  give  richness  to  the  mantling  bloom  of 
her  cheek,  and  to  heighten  the  lustre  of 
her  melting  eyes. 

Ruyz  de  Alarcon  beheld  all  this  with 
a  single  glance,  for  it  became  him  not  to 
tarry  ;  he  merely  murmured  his  acknow 
ledgments,  and  then  bounded  lightly  up 
the  spiral  staircase  in  quest  of  his  falcon. 

He  soon  returned  with  the  truant  bird 
upon  his  fist.  The  damsel,  in  the  mean 
time,  had  seated  herself  by  the  fountain 
in  the  hall,  and  was  winding  silk ;  but  in 
her  agitation  she  let  fall  the  reel  upon 
the  pavement.  The  page  sprang  and 
I  picked  it  up,  then  dropping  gracefully  on 
one  knee  presented  it  to  her ;  but,  seizing 
the  hand  extended  to  receive  it,  imprinted 
on  it  a  kiss  more  fervent  and  devout  than 
he  had  ever  imprinted  on  the  fair  hand 
of  his  sovereign. 

"  Ave  Maria,  seiior !"  exclaimed  the 
damsel,  blushing  still  deeper  with  confu 
sion  and  surprise,  for  never  before  had 
she  received  such  a  salutation. 

The  modest  page  made  a  thousand 
apologies,  assuring  her  it  was  the  way, 
at  court,  of  expressing  the  most  profound 
homage  and  respect. 

Her  anger,  if  anger  she  felt,  was  easily 
pacified,  but  her  agitation  and  embarrass 
ment  continued,  and  she  sat  blushing 
deeper  and  deeper,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down  upon  her  work,  entangling  the  silk 
which  she  attempted  to  wind. 

The  cunning  page  saw  the  confusion 
in  the  opposite  camp,  and  would  fain 
have  profited  by  it,  but  the  fine  speeches 
he  would  have  uttered  died  upon  his 
lips ;  his  attempt  at  gallantry  were  awk 
ward  and  ineffectual,  and  to  his  surprise, 
the  adroit  page,  who  had  figured  with 
such  grace  and  effrontery  among  the 
most  knowing  and  experienced  ladies  of 
the  court,  found  himself  awed  and  abash 
ed  in  the  presence  of  a  simple  damsel  of 
fifteen. 

In  fact,  the  artless  maiden,  in  her  own 
modesty  and  innocence,  had  guardians 
more  effectual  than  the  bolts  and  bars 
prescribed  by  her  vigilant  aunt.  Still, 
where  is  the  female  bosom  proof  against 
the  first  whisperings  of  love  ?  The  little 
damsel,  with  all  her  artlessness,  instinc 
tively  comprehended  all  that  the  falter 
ing  tongue  of  the  page  failed  to  express, 


and  her  heart  was  fluttered  at  beholding, 
for  the  first  time,  a  lover  at  her  feet — 
and  such  a  lover  ! 

The  diffidence  of  the  page,  though 
genuine,  was  short-lived,  and  he  was  re 
covering  his  usual  ease  and  confidence, 
when  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  at  a  dis 
tance. 

"  My  aunt  is  returning  from  mass !" 
cried  the  damsel  in  affright:  "I  pray 
you,  seiior,  depart." 

"  Not  until  you  grant  me  that  rose 
from  your  hair  as  a  remembrance." 

She  hastily  untwisted  the  rose  from 
her  raven  locks.  "  Take  it,"  cried  she, 
agitated  and  blushing,  "  but  pray  be 
gone." 

The  page  took  the  rose,  and  at  the 
same  time  covered  with  kisses  the  fair 
hand  that  gave  it.  Then,  placing  the 
flower  in  his  bonnet,  and  taking  -the  fal 
con  upon  his  fist,  he  bounded  off  through 
the  garden,  bearing  away  with  him  the 
heart  of  the  gentle  Jacinta. 

When  the  vigilant  aunt  arrived  at  the 
tower,  she  remarked  the  agitation  of  her 
niece,  and  an  air  of  confusion  in  the 
hall ;  but  a  word  of  explanation  sufficed. 
"  A  ger-falcon  had  pursued  his  prey  into 
the  hall." 

"  Mercy  on  us !  to  think  of  a  falcon 
flying  into  the  tower.  Did  ever  one  hear 
of  so  saucy  a  hawk !  Why,  the  very 
bird  in  the  cage  is  not  safe !" 

The  vigilant  Fredegonda  was  one  of 
the  most  wary  of  ancient  spinsters.  She 
had  a  becoming  terror  and  distrust  of 
what  she  denominated  the  "opposite  sex," 
which  had  gradually  increased  through 
a  long  life  of  celibacy.  Not  that  the 
good  lady  had  ever  suffered  from  their 
wiles,  nature  having  set  up  a  safeguard 
in  her  face  that  forbade  all  trespass  upon 
her  premises ;  but  ladies  who  have  least 
cause  to  fear  for  themselves,  are  most 
ready  to  keep  a  watch  over  their  more 
tempting  neighbours. 

The  niece  was  the  'orphan  of  an  officer 
who  had  fallen  in  the  wars.  She  had 
been  educated  in  a  convent,  and  had  re 
cently  been  transferred  from  her  sacred 
asylum  to  the  immediate  guardianship  of 
her  aunt,  under  whose  overshadowing 
care  she  vegetated  in  obscurity,  like  an 
opening  rose  blooming  beneath  a  brier. 
Nor  indeed  is  this  comparison  entirely 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


487 


accidental ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  her 
fresh  and  dawning  beauty  had  caught 
the  public  eye,  even  in  her  seclusion, 
and,  with  that  poetical  turn  common  to 
the  people  of  Andalusia,  the  peasantry 
of  the  neighbourhood  had  given  her  the 
appellation  of  "  the  Rose  of  the  Alham- 
bra." 

The  wary  aunt  continued  to  keep  a 
faithful  watch  over  her  tempting  little 
niece  as  long  as  the  court  continued  at 
Granada,  and  flattered  herself  that  her 
vigilance  had  been  successful.  It  is  true, 
the  good  lady  was  now  and  then  dis 
composed  by  the  tinkling  of  guitars  and 
chanting  of  love  ditties  from  the  moonlit 
groves  beneath  the  tower  ;  but  she  would 
exhort  her  niece  to  shut  her  ears  against 
such  idle  minstrelsy,  assuring  her  that  it 
was  one  of  the  arts  of  the  opposite  sex, 
by  which  simple  maids  were  often  lured 
to  their  undoing.  Alas  !  what  chance 
with  a  simple  maid  has  a  dry  lecture 
against  a  moonlight  serenade? 

At  length  King  Philip  cut  short  his  so 
journ  at  Granada,  and  suddenly  departed 
with  all  his  train.  The  vigilant  Frede- 
gonda  watched  the  royal  pageant  as  it 
issued  forth  from  the  Gate  of  Justice  and 
descended  the  great  avenue  leading  to 
the  city.  When  the  last  banner  disap 
peared  from  her  sight,  she  returned  ex 
ulting  to  her  tower,  for  all  her  cares  were 
over.  To  her  surprise,  a  light  Arabian 
steed  pawed  the  ground  at  the  wicket- 
gate  of  the  garden  : — to  her  horror,  she 
saw  through  the  thickets  of  roses  a  youth, 
in  gaily  embroidered  dress,  at  the  feet  of 
her  niece.  At  the  sound-  of  her  footsteps 
he  gave  a  tender  adieu,  bounded  lightly 
over  the  barrier  of  reeds  and  myrtles, 
sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  was  out  of 
sight  in  an  instant. 

The  tender  Jacinta,  in  the  agony  of 
her  grief,  lost  all  thought  of  her  aunt's 
displeasure.  Throwing  herself  into  her 
arms,  she  broke  forth  into  sobs  and 
tears. 

"  Ay  de  mi !"  cried  she ;  "  he's  gone  ! 
— he's  gone ! — he's  gone !  and  I  shall 
never  see  him  more  !" 

"  Gone  ! — who  is  gone  ? — what  youth 
is  that  I  saw  at  your  feet  ?" 

"  A  queen's  page,  aunt,  who  came  to 
bid  me  farewell." 

"  A  queen's  page,  child  !"  echoed  the 


vigilant  Fredegonda,  faintly  ;  "  and  when 
did  you  become  acquainted  with  a  queen's 
page?" 

"  The  morning  that  the  ger-falcon 
came  into  the  tower.  It  was  the  queen's 
ger-falcon,  and  he  came  in  pursuit  of  it." 

"  Ah  silly,  silly  girl !  know  that  there 
are  no  ger-falcons  half  so  dangerous  as 
these  young  pranking  pages,  and  it  is 
precisely  such  simple  birds  as  thee  that 
they  pounce  upon." 

The  aunt  was  at  first  indignant  at 
learning,  that  in  despite  of  her  boasted 
vigilance,  a  tender  intercourse  had  been 
carried  on  by  the  youthful  lovers,  almost 
beneath  her  eye ;  but  when  she  found 
that  her  simple-hearted  niece,  though  thus 
exposed,  without  the  protection  of  bolt  or 
bar,  to  all  the  machinations  of  the  oppo 
site  sex,  had  come  forth  unsinged  from 
the  fiery  ordeal,  she  consoled  herself 
with  the  persuasion  that  it  was  owing  to 
the  chaste  and  cautious  maxims  in  which 
she  had,  as  it  were,  steeped  her  to  the 
very  lips. 

While  the  aunt  laid  this  soothing  unc 
tion  to  her  pride,  the  niece  treasured  up 
the  oft-repeated  vows  of  fidelity  of  the 
page.  But  what  is  the  love  of  restless, 
roving  man?  A  vagrant  stream  that 
dallies  for  a  time  with  each  flower  upon 
its  bank,  then  passes  on,  and  leaves  them 
all  in  tears. 

Days,  weeks,  months  elapsed,  and 
nothing  more  was  heard  of  the  page. 
The  pomegranate  ripened,  the  vine 
yielded  up  its  fruit,  the  autumnal  rains 
descended  in  torrents  from  the  moun 
tains  ;  the  Sierra  Nevada  became  covered 
with  a  snowy  mantle,  and  wintry  blasts 
howled  through  the  halls  of  the  Alham- 
bra — still  he  came  not.  The  winter 
passed  away.  Again  the  genial  spring 
burst  forth  with  song  and  blossom  and 
balmy  zephyr;  the  snows  melted  from 
the  mountains,  until  none  remained  but 
on  the  lofty  summit  of  Nevada,  glisten 
ing  through  the  sultry  summer  air.  Still 
nothing  was  heard  of  the  forgetful  page. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  poor  little  Ja 
cinta  grew  pale  and  thoughtful.  Her 
former  occupations  and  amusements  were 
abandoned,  her  silk  lay  entangled,  her 
guitar  unstrung,  her  flowers  were  neglect 
ed,  the  notes  of  her  bird  unheeded,  and 
her  eyes,  once  so  bright,  were  dimmed 


488 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


with  secret  weeping.  If  any  solitude 
could  be  devised  to  foster  the  passion  of 
a  love-lorn  damsel,  it  would  be  such  a 
place  as  the  Alhambra,  where  every 
thing  seems  disposed  to  produce  tender 
and  romantic  reveries.  It  is  a  very  para 
dise  for  lovers :  how  hard  then  to  be 
alone  in  such  a  paradise — and  not  merely 
alone,  but  forsaken  ! 

"  Alas,  silly  child !"  would  the  staid 
and  immaculate  Fredegonda  say,  when 
she  found  her  niece  in  one  of  her  de 
sponding  moods — "  did  I  not  warn  thee 
against  the  wiles  and  deceptions  of  these 
men?  What  couldst  thou  expect,  too, 
from  one  of  a  haughty  and  aspiring 
|  family — thou  an  orphan,  the  descendant 
of  a  fallen  and  impoverished  line?  Be 
assured,  if  the  youth  were  true,  his  father, 
who  is  one  of  the  proudest  nobles  about 
the  court,  would  prohibit  his  union  with 
one  so  humble  and  portionless  as  thou. 
Pluck  up  thy  resolution,  therefore,  and 
drive  these  idle  notions  from  thy  mind." 

The  words  of  the  immaculate  Frede 
gonda  only  served  to  increase  the  me 
lancholy  of  her  niece,  but  she  sought  to 
indulge  it  in  private.  At  a  late  hour  one 
midsummer  night,  after  her  aunt  had 
retired  to  rest,  she  remained  alone  in  the 
hall  of  the  tower,  seated  beside  the  ala 
baster  fountain.  It  was  here  that  the 
faithless  page  had  first  knelt  and  kissed 
her  hand ;  it  was  here  that  he  had  often 
vowed  eternal  fidelity.  The  poor  little 
damsel's  heart  was  overladen  with  sad 
and  tender  recollections,  her  tears  began 
to  flow,  and  slowly  fell  drop  by  drop  into 
the  fountain.  By  degrees  the  crystal 
water  became  agitated,  and — bubble — 
bubble — bubble — boiled  up  and  was  tossed 
about,  until  a  female  figure,  richly  clad 
in  Moorish  robes,  slowly  rose  to  view. 

Jacinta  was  so  frightened  that  she  fled 
from  the  hall,  and  did  not  venture  to 
return.  The  next  morning  she  related 
what  she  had  seen  to  her  aunt,  but  the 
good  lady  treated  it  as  a  fantasy  of  her 
troubled  mind,  or  supposed  she  had  fallen 
asleep  and  dreamt  beside  the  fountain. 
"  Thou  hast  been  thinking  of  the  story 
of  the  three  Moorish  princesses  that  once 
inhabited  this  tower,"  continued  she,  "  and 
it  has  entered  into  thy  dreams." 

"  What  story,  aunt  ?  I  know  nothing 
of  it." 


"  Thou  hast  certainly  heard  of  the 
three  princesses,  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and 
Zorahayda,  who  were  confined  in  this 
tower  by  the  king  their  father,  and  agreed 
to  fly  with  three  Christian  cavaliers. 
The  two  first  accomplished  their  escape, 
but  the  third  failed  in  her  resolution,  and 
it  is  said,  died  in  this  tower." 

"  I  now  recollect  to  have  heard  of  it," 
said  Jacinta,  "and  to  have  wept  over  the 
fate  of  the  gentle  Zorahayda." 

"  Thou  mayest  well  weep  over  her 
fate,"  continued  the  aunt,  "  for  the  lover 
of  Zorahayda  was  thy  ancestor.  He 
long  bemoaned  his  Moorish  love,  but 
time  cured  him  of  his  grief,  and  he  mar 
ried  a  Spanish  lady,  from  whom  thou  art 
descended." 

Jacinta  ruminated  upon  these  words. 
"  That  what  I  have  seen  is  no  fantasy 
of  the  brain,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  I  am 
confident.  If  indeed  it  be  the  spirit  of 
the  gentle  Zorahayda,  which  I  have  heard 
lingers  about  this  tower,  of  what  should 
I  be  afraid  ?  I'll  watch  by  the  fountain 
to-night — perhaps  the  visit  will  be  re 
peated." 

Towards  midnight,  when  every  thing 
was  quiet,  she  again  took  her  seat  in 
the  hall.  As  the  bell  in  the  distant 
watchtower  of  the  Alhambra  struck  the 
midnight  hour,  the  fountain  was  again 
agitated  ;  and — bubble — bubble — bubble 
— it  tossed  about  the  waters  until  the 
Moorish  female  again  rose  to  view.  She 
was  young  and  beautiful  ;  her  dress  was 
rich  with  jewels,  and  in  her  hand  she 
held  a  silver  lute.  Jacinta  trembled  and 
was  faint,  but  was  reassured  by  the  soft 
and  plaintive  voice  of  the  apparition,  and 
the  sweet  expression  of  her  pale,  me 
lancholy  countenance. 

"  Daughter  of  mortality,"  said  she, 
"  what  aileth  thee  ?  Why  do  thy  tears 
trouble  my  fountain,  and  thy  sighs  and 
plaints  disturb  the  quiet  watches  of  the 
night?" 

"  I  weep  because  of  the  faithlessness 
of  man,  and  I  bemoan  my  solitary  and 
forsaken  state." 

"  Take  comfort ;  thy  sorrows  may  yet 
have  an  end.  Thou  beholdest  a  Moorish 
princess,  who,  like  thee,  was  unhappy  in 
her  love.  A  Christian  knight,  thy  an 
cestor,  won  my  heart,  and  would  have 
borne  me  to  his  native  land  and  to  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


bosom  of  his  church.  I  was  a  convert 
in  my  heart,  but  I  lacked  courage  equal 
to  my  faith,  and  lingered  till  too  late. 
For  this  the  evil  genii  are  permitted  to 
have  power  over  me,  and  I  remain  en 
chanted  in  this  tower  until  some  pure 
Christian  will  deign  to  break  the  magic 
spell.  Wilt  thou  undertake  the  task  ? 

"  I  will,"  replied  the  damsel  trembling. 

"  Come  hither  then,  and  fear  not ;  dip 
thy  hand  in  the  fountain,  sprinkle  the 
water  over  me,  and  baptize  me  after  the 
manner  of  thy  faith ;  so  shall  the  en 
chantment  be  dispelled,  and  my  troubled 
spirit  have  repose." 

The  damsel  advanced  with  faltering 
steps,  dipped  her  hand  in  the  fountain, 
collected  water  in  the  palm,  and  sprinkled 
it  over  the  pale  face  of  the  phantom. 

The  latter  smiled  with  ineffable  be 
nignity.  She  dropped  her  silver  lute  at 
the  feet  of  Jacinta,  crossed  her  white  arms 
upon  her  bosom  and  melted  from  sight, 
so  that  it  seemed  merely  as  if  a  shower 
of  dew  drops  had  fallen  into  the  foun 
tain. 

Jacinta  retired  from  the  hall  filled  with 
awe  and  wonder.  She  scarcely  closed 
her  eyes  that  night,  but  when  she  awoke 
at  daybreak  out  of  a  troubled  slumber, 
the  whole  appeared  to  her  like  a  distem 
pered  dream.  On  descending  into  the 
hall,  however,  the  truth  of  the  vision  was 
established,  for,  beside  the  fountain,  she 
beheld  the  silver  lute  glittering  in  the 
morning  sunshine. 

She  hastened  to  her  aunt,  to  relate  all 
that  had  befallen  her,  and  called  her  to 
behold  the  lute  as  a  testimonial  of  the 
reality  of  her  story.  If  the  good  lady 
had  any  lingering  doubts,  they  were  re 
moved  when  Jacinta  touched  the  instru 
ment,  for  she  drew  forth  such  ravishing 
tones  as  to  thaw  even  the  frigid  bosom  of 
the  immaculate  Fredegonda,  that  region 
of  eternal  winter,  into  a  genial  flow. 
Nothing  but  supernatural  melody  could 
have  produced  such  an  effect. 

The  extraordinary  p<5wer  of  the  lute 
became  every  day  more  and  more  ap 
parent.  The  wayfarer  passing  by  the 
tower  was  detained,  and,  as  it  were, 
spellbound,  in  breathless  ecstasy.  The 
very  birds  gathered  in  the  neighbouring 
trees,  and  hushing  their  own  strains, 
listened  in  charmed  silence. 


Rumour  soon  spread  the  nqws  abroad. 
The  inhabitants  of  Granada  thronged  to 
the  Alhambra  to  catch  a  few  notes  of  the 
transcendent  music  that  floated  about  the 
tower  of  Las  Infantas. 

The  lovely  little  minstrel  was  at  length 
drawn  forth  from  her  retreat.  The  rich 
and  powerful  of  the  land  contended  who 
should  entertain  and  do  honour  to  her ; 
or  rather,  who  should  secure  the  charms 
of  her  lute  to  draw  fashionable  throngs 
to  their  saloons.  Wherever  she  went 
her  vigilant  aunt  kept  a  dragon  watch  at 
her  elbow,  awing  the  throngs  of  impas 
sioned  admirers,  who  hung  in  raptures 
on  her  strains.  The  report  of  her  won 
derful  powers  spread  from  city  to  city. 
Malaga,  Seville,  Cordova,  all  became 
successively  mad  on  the  theme ;  nothing 
was  talked  of  throughout  Andalusia  but 
the  beautiful  minstrel  of  the  Alhambra. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  among  a 
people  so  musical  and  gallant  as  the  An- 
dalusians,  when  the  lute  was  magical  in 
its  powers,  and  the  minstrel  inspired  by 
love? 

While  all  Andalusia  was  thus  music- 
mad,  a  different  mood  prevailed  at  the 
court  of  Spain*  Philip  V.,  as  is  well 
known,  was  a  miserable  hypochondriac, 
and  subject  to  all  kinds  of  fancies.  Some 
times  he  would  keep  to  his  bed  for  weeks 
together,  groaning  under  imaginary  com 
plaints.  At  other  times  he  would  insist 
on  abdicating  his  throne,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  his  royal  spouse,  who  had 
a  strong  relish  for  the  splendours  of  a 
court  and  the  glories  of  a  crown,  and 
guided  the  sceptre  of  her  imbecile  lord 
with  an  expert  and  steady  hand. 

Nothing  was  found  to  be  so  efficacious 
in  dispelling  the  royal  megrims  as  the 
powers  of  music ;  the  queen  took  care, 
therefore,  to  have  the  best  performers, 
both  vocal  and  instrumental,  at  hand, 
and  retained  the  famous  Italian  singer, 
Farinelli,  about  the  court  as  a  kind  of 
royal  physician. 

At  the  moment  we  treat  of,  however, 
a  freak  had  come  over  the  mind  of  this 
sapient  and  illustrious  Bourbon  that  sur 
passed  all  former  vagaries.  After  a  long 
spell  of  imaginary  illness,  which  set  all 
the  strains  of  Farinelli,  and  the  con 
sultations  of  a  whole  orchestra  of  court 
fiddlers  at  defiance,  the  monarch  fairly, 


490 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


in  idea,  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  considered 
himself  absolutely  dead. 

This  would  have  been  harmless  enough, 
and  even  convenient  both  to  his  queen 
and  courtiers,  had  he  been  content  to 
remain  in  the  quietude  befitting  a  dead 
man,  but  to  their  annoyance  he  insisted 
upon  having  the  funeral  ceremonies  per 
formed  over  him,  and,  to  their  inexpres 
sible  perplexity,  began  to  grow  impatient 
and  to  revile  bitterly  at  them  for  negli 
gence  and  disrespect,  in  leaving  him 
unburied.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  To 
disobey  the  king's  positive  commands 
was  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  ob 
sequious  courtiers  of  a  punctilious  court 
— but  to  obey  him  and  bury  him  alive, 
would  be  downright  regicide  ! 

In  the  midst  of  this  fearful  dilemma  a 
rumour  reached  the  court,  of  the  female 
minstrel  who  was  turning  the  brains  of 
all  Andalusia.  The  queen  despatched 
missions  in  all  haste  to  summon  her  to 
St.  Ildefonso,  where  the  court  at  that  time 
resided. 

Within  a  few  days,  as  the  queen,  with 
her  maids  of  honour,  was  walking  in 
those  stately  gardens  intended,  with  their 
avenues  and  terraces  and  fountains,  to 
eclipse  the  glories  of  Versailles,  the  far- 
famed  minstrel  was  conducted  into  her 
presence.  The  imperial  Elizabetta  gazed 
with  surprise  at  the  youthful  and  un 
pretending  appearance  of  the  little  being 
that  had  set  the  world  madding.  She 
was  in  her  picturesque  Andalusian  dress, 
her  silver  lute  was  in  her  hand,  and  she 
stood  with  modest  and  downcast  eyes, 
but  with  a  simplicity  and  freshness  of 
beauty  that  still  bespoke  her  "  the  Rose 
of  the  Alhambra." 

As  usual  she  was  accompanied  by  the 
ever  vigilant  Fredegonda,  who  gave  the 
whole  history  of  her  parentage  and  de 
scent  to  the  inquiring  queen.  If  the 
stately  Elizabetta  had  been  interested  by 
the  appearance  of  Jacinta,  she  was  still 
more  pleased  when  she  learnt  that  she 
was  of  a  meritorious  though  impoverished 
line,  and  that  her  father  had  bravely 
fallen  in  the  service  of  the  crown.  "  If 
thy  powers  equal  their  renown,"  said 
she,  "  and  thou  canst  cast  forth  this  evil 
spirit  that  possesses  thy  sovereign,  thy 
fortunes  shall  henceforth  be  my  care, 
and  honours  and  wealth  attend  thee." 


Impatient  to  make  trial  of  her  skill, 
she  led  the  way  at  once  to  the  apartment 
of  the  moody  monarch. 

Jacinta  followed  with  downcast  eyes 
through  files  of  guards  and  crowds  of 
courtiers.  They  arrived  at  length  at  a 
great  chamber  hung  with  black.  The 
windows  were  closed  to  exclude  the  light 
of  day  :  a  number  of  yellow  wax  tapers 
in  silver  sconces  diffused  a  lugubrious 
light,  and  dimly  revealed  the  figures  of 
mutes  in  mourning  dresses,  and  courtiers 
who  glided  about  with  noiseless  step  and 
wo-begone  visage.  On  the  midst  of  a 
funeral  bed  or  bier,  his  hands  folded  on 
his  breast,  and  the  tip  of  his  nose  just 
visible,  lay  extended  this  would-be-buried 
monarch. 

The  queen  entered  the  chamber  in  si 
lence,  and  pointing  to  a  footstool  in  an 
obscure  corner,  beckoned  to  Jacinta  to 
sit  down  and  commence. 

At  first  she  touched  her  lute  with  a 
faltering  hand,  but  gathering  confidence 
and  animation  as  she  proceeded,  drew 
forth  such  soft  aerial  harmony,  that  all 
present  could  scarce  believe  it  mortal. 
As  to  the  monarch,  who  had  already 
considered  himself  in  the  world  of  spirits, 
he  set  it  down  for  some  angelic  melody 
or  music  of  the  spheres.  By  degrees  the 
theme  was  varied,  and  the  voice  of  the 
minstrel  accompanied  the  instrument. 
She  poured  forth  one  of  the  legendary 
ballads  treating  of  the  ancient  glories  of 
the  Alhambra  and  the  achievements  of 
the  Moors.  Her  whole  soul  entered  into 
the  theme,  for  with  the  recollections  of 
the  Alhambra  was  associated  the  story 
of  her  love.  The  funeral  chamber  re 
sounded  with  the  animating  strain.  It 
entered  into  the  gloomy  heart  of  the 
monarch.  He  raised  his  head  and  gazed 
around :  he  sat  up  on  his  couch,  his  eye 
began  to  kindle — at  length,  leaping  upon 
the  floor,  he  called  for  sword  and  buckler. 

The  triumph  of  music,  or  rather  of  the 
enchanted  lute  was  complete  ;  the  demon 
of  melancholy  was  cast  forth;  and,  as  it 
were,  a  dead  man  brought  to  life.  The 
windows  of  the  apartment  were  thrown 
open ;  and  the  glorious  effulgence  of 
Spanish  sunshine  burst  into  the  late  lu 
gubrious  chamber ;  all  eyes  sought  the 
lovely  enchantress,  but  the  lute  had  fallen 
from  her  hand,  she  had  sunk  upon  the 


E- 


TIIE  ALHAMBRA. 


491 


earth,  and  the  next  moment  was  clasped 
to  the  bosom  of  Ruyz  de  Alcarcon, 

The  nuptials  of  the  happy  couple  were 
shortly  after  celebrated  with  great  splen 
dour  ;  but  hold — I  hear  the  reader  ask, 
how  did  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  account  for 
his  long  neglect  'I  O  that  was  all  owing 
to  the  opposition  of  a  proud  pragmatical 
old  father:  besides,  young  people,  who 
really  like  one  another,  soon  come  to  an 
amicable  understanding,  and  bury  all 
past  grievances  when  once  they  meet. 

But  how  was  the  proud  pragmatical 
old  father  reconciled  to  the  match  ? 

O  his  scruples  were  easily  overcome 
by  a  word  or  two  from  the  queen,  espe 
cially  as  dignities  and  rewards  were 
showered  upon  the  blooming  favourite  of 
royalty.  Besides,  the  lute  of  Jacinta, 
you  know,  possessed  a  magic  power, 
and  could  control  the  most  stubborn 
head  and  hardest  breast. 

And  what  came  of  the  enchanted  lute? 

O  that  is  the  most  curious  matter  of 
all,  and  plainly  proves  the  truth  of 
all  this  story.  That  lute  remained  for 
some  time  in  the  family,  but  was  pur 
loined  and  carried  off,  as  was  supposed, 
by  the  great  singer  Farinelli,  in  pure 
jealousy.  At  his  death  it  passed  into 
other  hands  in  Italy,  who  were  ignorant 
of  its  mystic  powers,  and  melting  down 
the  silver,  transferred  the  strings  to  an 
old  Cremona  fiddle.  The  strings  still 
retain  something  of  their  magic  virtues. 
A  word  in  the  reader's  ear,  but  let  it  go 
no  further — that  fiddle  is  now  bewitching 
the  whole  world — it  is  the  fiddle  of  Pa- 
ganini ! 


THE  VETERAN. 

AMONG  the  curious  acquaintances  I 
have  made  in  my  rambles  about  the  for 
tress,  is  a  brave  and  battered  old  colonel 
of  Invalids,  who  is  nestled  like  a  hawk 
in  one  of  the  Moorish  towers.  His  his 
tory,  which  he  is  fond  of  telling,  is  a 
tissue  of  those  adventures,  mishaps,  and 
vicissitudes  that  render  the  life  of  almost 
every  Spaniard  of  note  as  varied  and 
whimsical  as  the  pages  of  Gil  Bias. 

He  was  in  America  at  twelve  years  of 
age,  and  reckons  among  the  most  signal 


and  fortunate  events  of  his  life,  his  having 
seen  General  Washington.     Since  then 
he  has  taken  a  part  in  all  the  wars  of  his 
!  country ;  he  can  speak  experimentally  of 
|  most  of  the  prisons  and  dungeons  of  the 
|  Peninsula ;   has  been  lamed  of  one  leg, 
!  crippled  in  his  hands,  and  so  cut  up  and 
|  carbonadoed,  that  he  is  a  kind  of  walk- 
i  ing  monument  of  the  troubles  of  Spain, 
I  on  which  there  is  a  scar  for  every  battle 
I  and  broil,  as  every  year  was  notched 
I  upon  the  tree  of  Robinson  Crusoe.     The 
I  greatest  misfortune  of  the  brave  old  cava 
lier,  however,  appears  to  have  been  his 
having  commanded  at  Malaga  during  a 
I  time  of  peril  and  confusion,  and  been 
I  made  a  general  by  the  inhabitants,  to 
protect  them   from  the  invasion  of  the 
French.     This  has  entailed  upon  him  a 
number  of  just  claims  upon  government, 
that  I   fear  will  employ   him   until   his 
dying  day  in  writing  and  printing  peti 
tions  and  memorials,  to  the  great  disquiet 
of  his  mind,  exhaustion  of  his  purse,  and 
penance  of  his  friends  ;  not  one  of  whom 
can  visit  him  without  having  to  listen  to 
a  mortal   document  of  half  an  hour  in 
length,  and  to  carry  away  half  a  dozen 
paraphlets  in  his  pocket.    This,  however, 
is   the   case   throughout   Spain  :    every 
where  you  meet  with  some  worthy  wight 
brooding   in  a  corner   and   nursing  up 
some  pet  grievance  and  cherished  wrong. 
Besides,  a  Spaniard  who  has  a  lawsuit, 
or   a  claim  upon   government,  may  be 
considered  as  furnished  with  employment 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

I  visited  the  veteran  in  his  quarters,  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  Torre  del  Vino,  or 
Wine  Tower.  His  room  was  small  but 
snug,  and  commanded  a  beautiful  view 
of  the  Vega.  It  was  arranged  with  a 
soldier's  precision.  Three  muskets  and 
a  brace  of  pistols,  all  bright  and  shining, 
were  suspended  against  the  wall  with  a 
sabre  and  a  cane,  hanging  side  by  side, 
and  above  them,  two  cocked  hats,  one 
for  parade,  and  one  for  ordinary  use.  A 
small  shelf,  containing  some  half  dozen 
books,  formed  his  library,  one  of  which, 
a  little  old  mouldy  volume  of  philoso 
phical  maxims,  was  his  favourite  read 
ing.  This  he  thumbed  and  pondered 
over  day  by  day:  applying  every  maxim 
to  his  own  particular  case,  provided  it 
had  a  little  tinge  of  wholesome  bitterness, 


4.92 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


and  treated  of  the  injustice  of  the  world. 
Yet  he  is  social  and  kind-hearted,  and 
provided  he  can  be  diverted  from  his 
wrongs  and  his  philosophy,  is  an  enter 
taining  companion.  I  like  these  old 
weatherbeaten  sons  of  fortune,  and  en 
joy  their  rough  campaigning  anecdotes. 
In  the  course  of  my  visit  to  the  one  in 
question,  I  learnt  some  curious  facts 
about  an  old  military  commander  of  the 
fortress,  who  seems  to  have  resembled 
him  in  some  respects,  and  to  have  had 
similar  fortunes  in  the  wars.  These  par 
ticulars  have  been  augmented  by  inquiries 
among  some  of  the  old  inhabitants  of  the 
place,  particularly  the  father  of  Mateo 
Ximenes,  of  whose  traditional  stories  the 
worthy  I  am  about  to  introduce  to  the 
reader,  is  a  favourite  hero. 


THE 

GOVERNOR  AND  THE  NOTARY. 

IN  former  times  there  ruled  as  gover 
nor  of  the  Alhambra,  a  doughty  old 
cavalier,  who,  from  having  lost  one  arm 
in  the  wars,  was  commonly  known  by 
the  name  of  el  Gobernador  Manco,  or 
"  the  one-armed  governor."  He  in  fact 
prided  himself  upon  being  an  old  soldier, 
wore  his  mustachios  curled  up  to  his 
eyes,  a  pair  of  campaigning  boots,  and  a 
Toledo  as  long  as  a  spit,  with  his  pocket 
handkerchief  in  the  basket  hilt. 

He  was,  moreover,  exceedingly  proud 
and  punctilious,  and  tenacious  of  all  his 
privileges  and  dignities.  Under  his  sway 
the  immunities  of  the  Alhambra,  as  a 
royal  residence  and  domain,  were  rigidly 
exacted.  No  one  was  permitted  to  enter 
the  fortress  with  fire-arms,  or  even  with 
a  sword  or  staff,  unless  he  were  of  a 
certain  rank ;  and  every  horseman  was 
obliged  to  dismount  at  the  gate,  and  lead 
his  horse  by  the  bridle.  Now  as  the  hill 
of  the  Alhambra  rises  from  the  very 
midst  of  the  city  of  Granada,  being,  as  it  | 
were,  an  excrescence  of  the  capital,  it 
must  at  all  times  be  somewhat  irksome 
to  the  captain-general,  who  commands 
the  province,  to  have  thus  an  imperium 
in  imperio,  a  petty  independent  post  in 
the  very  centre  of  his  domains.  It  was 


t  - 


rendered  the  more  galling  in  the  present 
instance,  from  the  irritable  jealousy  of 
the  old  governor,  that  took  fire  on  the 
least  question  of  authority  and  jurisdic 
tion,  and  from  the  loose  vagrant  charac 
ter  of  the  people  that  had  gradually 
nestled  themselves  within  the  fortress,  as 
in  a  sanctuary,  and  from  thence  carried 
on  a  system  of  roguery  and  depredation 
at  the  expense  of  the  honest  inhabitants 
of  the  city. 

Thus  there  was  a  perpetual  feud  and 
heart-burning  between  the  captain-gene 
ral  and  the  governor,  the  more  virulent 
on  the  part  of  the  latter,  inasmuch  as  the 
smallest  of  two  neighbouring  potentates 
is  always  the  most  captious  about  dig 
nity.  The  stately  palace  of  the  captain- 
general  stood  in  the  Plaza  Nueva,  imme 
diately  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  the 
Alhambra,  and  here  was  always  a  bustle 
and  parade  of  guards,  and  domestics, 
and  city  functionaries.  A  beetling  bas 
tion  of  the  fortress  overlooked  the  palace 
and  public  square  in  front  of  it ;  and  on 
this  bastion  the  old  governor  would  occa 
sionally  strut  backwards  and  forwards, 
with  his  Toledo  girded  by  his  side,  keep 
ing  a  wary  eye  down  upon  his  rival,  like 
a  hawk  reconnoitring  his  quarry  from 
his  nest  in  a  dry  tree. 

Whenever  he  descended  into  the  city 
it  was  in  grand  parade,  on  horseback 
surrounded  by  his  guards,  or  in  his  state 
coach,  an  ancient  and  unwieldy  Spanish 
edifice  of  carved  timber  and  gilt  leather, 
drawn  by  eight  mules,  with  running  foot 
men,  out-riders  and  lackeys,  on  which 
occasions  he  flattered  himself  he  impress 
ed  every  beholder  with  awe  and  admira 
tion  as  vicegerent  of  the  king,  though  the 
wits  of  Granada,  particularly  those  who 
loitered  about  the  palace  of  the  captain- 
general,  were  apt  to  sneer  at  his  petty 
parade,  and  in  allusion  to  the  vagrant 
character  of  his  subjects,  to  greet  him 
with  the  appellation  of  "  the  king  of  the 
beggars."  One  of  the  most  fruitful 
sources  of  dispute  between  these  two 
doughty  rivals,  was  the  right  claimed  by 
the  governor  to  have  all  things  passed 
free  of  duty  through  the  city,  that  were 
intended  for  the  use  of  himself  or  his 
garrison.  By  degrees  this  privilege  had 
given  rise  to  extensive  smuggling.  A  nest 
of  contrabandistas  took  up  their  abode 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


493 


in  the  hovels  of  the  fortress,  and  the  nu 
merous  caves  in  its  vicinity,  and  drove  a 
thriving  business  under  the  connivance 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison. 

The  vigilance  of  the  captain-general 
was  aroused.  He  consulted  his  legal 
adviser  and  factotum,  a  shrewd  meddle 
some  escribano,  or  notary,  who  rejoiced 
in  an  opportunity  of  perplexing  the  old 
potentate  of  the  Alhambra,  and  involving 
him  in  a  maze  of  legal  subtilties.  He  ad 
vised  the  captain-general  to  insist  upon 
the  right  of  examining  every  convoy 
passing  through  the  gates  of  his  city, 
and  he  penned  a  long  letter  for  him  in 
vindication  of  his  right.  Governor  Manco 
was  a  straight-forward  cut-and-thrust  old 
soldier,  who  hated  an  escribano  worse 
than  the  devil,  and  this  one  in  particular 
worse  than  all  other  escribanos.  "  What !" 
said  he,  curling  up  his  mustachios  fierce- 

I  ly,  "  does  the  captain-general  set  his  man 
of  the  pen  to  practise  confusions  upon 
me  ?  Ill  let  him  see  that  an  old  soldier  is 
not  to  be  baffled  by  schoolcraft." 

He  seized  his  pen  and  scrawled  a  short 
letter  in  a  crabbed  hand,  in  which,  with 
out  deigning  to  enter  into  argument,  he 
insisted  on  the  right  of  transit  free  of 
search,  and  denounced  vengeance  on  any 
custom-house  officer  who  should  lay  his 
unhallowed  hand  on  any  convoy  pro 
tected  by  the  flag  of  the  Alhambra. 
While  this  question  was  agitated  between 
the  two  pragmatical  potentates,  it  so  hap 
pened  that  a  mule  laden  with  supplies  for 
the  fortress  arrived  one  day  at  the  gate 
of  Xenil,  by  which  it  was  to  traverse  a 
suburb  of  the  city  on  its  way  to  the 
Alhambra.  The  convoy  was  headed  by 
a  testy  old  corporal,  who  had  long  served 
under  the  governor,  and  was  a  man  after 
his  own  heart ;  as  rusty  and  staunch  as 
an  old  Toledo  blade.  As  they  approach 
ed  the  gate  of  the  city,  the  corporal 
placed  the  banner  of  the  Alhambra  on 
the  pack-saddle  of  the  mule,  and,  draw 
ing  himself  up  to  a  perfect  perpendicular, 
advanced  with  his  head  dressed  to  the 
front,  but  with  the  wary  sideglance  of  a 
cur  passing  through  hostile  ground,  ready 
for  a  snap  or  a  snarl. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  said  the  sentinel 
at  the  gate. 

"  Soldier  of  the  Alhambra,"  said  the 

I  corporal,  without  turning  his  head. 

VOL.  n.  42 


"  What  have  you  in  charge  ?" 

"  Provisions  for  the  garrison." 

"  Proceed." 

The  corporal  marched  straight  for 
ward,  followed  by  the  convoy,  but  had 
not  advanced  many  paces  before  a  posse 
of  custom-house  officers  rushed  out  of  a 
small  toll-house. 

"  Hallo  there  !"  cried  the  leader. 
"  Muleteer,  halt,  and  open  those  pack 
ages." 

The  corporal  wheeled  round,  and  drew 
himself  up  in  battle  array.  "  Respect 
the  flag  of  the  Alhambra,"  said  he ; 
"  these  things  are  for  the  governor." 

"  A  figo  for  the  governor,  and  a  figo 
for  his  flag.  Muleteer,  halt,  I  say." 

"  Stop  the  convoy  at  your  peril !"  cried 
the  corporal,  cocking  his  musket ;  "  Mu 
leteer,  proceed." 

The  muleteer  gave  his  beast  a  hearty 
thwack  ;  the  custom-house  officer  sprang 
forward  and  seized  the  halter ;  whereupon 
the  corporal  levelled  his  piece  and  shot 
him  dead. 

The  street  was  immediately  in  an  up 
roar. 

The  old  corporal  was  seized,  and  after 
undergoing  sundry  kicks  and  cuffs  and 
cudgellings,  which  are  generally  given 
impromptu  by  the  mob  in  Spain,  as  a 
foretaste  of  the  after  penalties  of  the 
law,  he  was  loaded  with  irons,  and  con 
ducted  to  the  city  prison;  while  his  com 
rades  were  permitted  to  proceed  with  the 
convoy,  after  it  had  been  well  rummaged, 
to  the  Alhambra. 

The  old  governor  was  in  a  towering 
passion  when  he  heard  of  this  insult  to 
his  flag  and  capture  of  his  corporal. 
For  a  time  he  stormed  about  the  Moor 
ish  halls,  and  vapoured  about  the  bas 
tions,  and  looked  down  fire  and  sword 
upon  the  palace  of  the  captain-general.. 
Fluving  vented  the  first  ebullition  of  bis. 
wrath,  he  despatched  a  message  demand 
ing  the  surrender  of  the  corporal,  as^  to 
him  alone  belonged  the  right  of  sitting  in 
judgment  on  the  offences  of  those  under 
his  command.  The  captain-general, 
aided  by  the  pen  of  the  delighted  escri 
bano,  replied  at  great  length,  arguing 
that  as  the  offence  had  been  committed 
within  the  walls  of  his  city,  and  against 
one  of  his  civil  officers,  it  was  clearly 
within  his  proper  jurisdiction.  The 


494 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


governor  rejoined  by  a  repetition  of  his 
demand ;  the  captain-general  gave  a 
sur-rejoinder  of  still  greater  length  and 
legal  acumen;  the  governor  became 
hotter  and  more  peremptory  in  his  de 
mands,  and  the  captain-general  cooler 
and  more  copious  in  his  replies ;  until 
the  old  lion-hearted  soldier  absolutely 
roared  with  fury  at  being  thus  entangled 
in  the  meshes  of  legal  controversy. 

While  the  subtle  escribano  was  thus 
amusing  himself  at  the  expense  of  the 
governor,  he  was  conducting  the  trial  of 
the  corporal,  who,  mewed  up  in  a  narrow 
dungeon  of  the  prison,  had  merely  a  small 
grated  window  at  which  to  show  his  iron- 
bound  visage  and  receive  the  consolations 
of  his  friends. 

A  mountain  of  written  testimony  was 
diligently  heaped  up,  according  to  Spanish 
form,  by  the  indefatigable  escribano;  the 
corporal  was  completely  overwhelmed  by 
it.  He  was  convicted  of  murder  and 
sentenced  to  be  hanged. 

It  was  in  vain  the  governor  sent  down 
remonstrance  and  menace  from  the  Al- 
hambra.  The  fatal  day  was  at  hand, 
and  the  corporal  was  put  in  capilla,  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  chapel  of  the  prison,  as 
is  always  done  with  culprits  the  day 
before  execution,  that  they  may  meditate 
on  their  approaching  end  and  repent 
them  of  their  sins. 

Seeing  things  drawing  to  an  extremity, 

the  old  governor  determined  to  attend  to 

I  the  affair  in  person.    For  this  purpose  he 

ordered  out  his  carriage  of  state,  and, 

surrounded  by  his  guards,  rumbled  down 

I  the  avenue  of  the  Alhambra  into  the  city. 

Driving  to  the  house  of  the  escribano,  he 

summoned  him  to  the  portal. 

The  eye  of  the  old  governor  gleamed 
like  a  coal  at  beholding  the  smirking 
man  of  the  law  advancing  with  an  air  of 
exultation. 

"What  is  this  I  hear,"  cried  he,  "that 
you  are  about  to  put  to  death  one  of  my 
soldiers?" 

"  All   according  to  law — all   in  strict 

form  of  justice,"  said  the  self-sufficient 

escribano,   chuckling   and    rubbing    his 

hands.     "  I   can   show  your  excellency 

|  the  written  testimony  in  the  case." 

"  Fetch  it  hither,"  said  the  governor. 
The  escribano  bustled  into  his  office,  de 
lighted  with  having  another  opportunity 


of  displaying  his  ingenuity  at  the  expense 
of  the  hard-headed  veteran. 

He  returned  with  a  satchel  full  of 
papers,  and  began  to  read  a  long  deposi 
tion  with  professional  volubility.  By 
this  time  a  crowd  had  collected,  listen 
ing  with  outstretched  necks  and  gaping 
mouths. 

"  Pr'ythee,  man,  get  into  the  carriage, 
out  of  this  pestilent  throng,  that  I  may 
the  better  hear  thee,"  said  the  governor. 

The  escribano  entered  the  carriage, 
when,  in  a  twinkling,  the  door  was 
closed,  the  coachman  smacked  his  whip 
— mules,  carriage,  guards  and  all  dashed 
off  at  a  thundering  rate,  leaving  the 
crowd  in  gaping  wonderment ;  nor  did 
the  governor  pause  until  he  had  lodged 
his  prey  in  one  of  the  strongest  dun 
geons  of  the  Alhambra. 

He  then  sent  down  a  flag  of  truce  in 
military  style,  proposing  a  cartel  or 
exchange  of  prisoners — the  corporal  for 
the  notary.  The  pride  of  the  captain- 
general  was  piqued  ;  he  returned  a  con 
temptuous  refusal,  and  forthwith  caused 
a  gallows,  tall  and  strong,  to  be  erected 
in  the  centre  of  the  Plaza  Nueva  for  the 
execution  of  the  corporal. 

"  Oho  !  is  that  the  game?"  said  Gover 
nor  Marico.  He  gave  orders,  and  imme 
diately  a  gibbet  was  reared  on  the  verge 
of  the  great  beetling  bastion  that  over 
looked  the  Plaza.  "  Now,"  said  he,  in  a 
message  to  the  captain-general,  "  hang 
my  soldier  when  you  please ;  but  at  the 
same  time  that  he  is  swung  off  in  the 
square,  look  up  to  see  your  escribano 
dangling  against  the  sky." 

The  captain-general  was  inflexible ; 
troops  were  paraded  in  the  square ;  the 
drums  beat,  the  bell  tolled.  An  immense 
multitude  of  amateurs  had  collected  to 
behold  the  execution.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  governor  paraded  his  garrison  on  the 
bastion,  and  tolled  the  funeral -dirge  of 
the  notary  from  the  Torre  de  la  Cam- 
pana,  or  Tower  of  the  Bell. 

The  notary's  wife  pressed  through  the 
crowd  with  a  whole  progeny  of  little 
embryo  escribanos  at  her  heels,  and 
throwing  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  cap 
tain-general,  implored  him  not  to  sacri 
fice  the  life  of  her  husband  and  the  welfare 
of  her  numerous  little  ones,  to  a  point  of 
pride;  "  for  you  know  the  old  governor 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


495 


too  well,"  said  she,  "  to  doubt  that  he 
will  put  his  threat  in  execution,  if  you 
hang  the  soldier." 

The  captain-general  was  overpowered 
by  her  tears  and  lamentations,  and  the 
clamours  of  her  callow  brood.  The 
corporal  was  sent  up  to  the  Alhambra, 
under  a  guard,  in  his  gallows'  garb,  like 
a  hooded  friar,  but  with  head  erect  and  a 
face  of  iron.  The  escribano  was  de 
manded  in  exchange,  according  to  the 
cartel.  The  once  bustling  and  self-suffi 
cient  man  of  the  law  was  drawn  forth 
from  his  dungeon  more  dead  than  alive. 
All  his  flippancy  and  conceit  had  evapo 
rated  ;  his  hair,  it  is  said,  had  nearly 
turned  gray  with  affright,  and  he  had  a 
downcast,  dogged  look,  as  if  he  still  felt 
the  halter  round  his  neck. 

The  old  governor  stuck  his  one  arm 
a-kimbo,  and  for  a  moment  surveyed 
him  with  an  iron  smile.  "  Henceforth, 
my  friend,"  said  he,  "  moderate  your 
zeal  in  hurrying  others  to  the  gallows ; 
be  not  too  certain  of  your  safety,  even 
though  you  should  have  the  law  on  your 
side;  and  above  all,  take  care  how  you 
play  off  your  school-craft  another  time 
upon  an  old  soldier." 


GOVERNOR  MANGO  AND  THE 
SOLDIER. 

WHEN  Governor  Manco,  or  "  the  one- 
armed,"  kept  up  a  show  of  military  state 
in  the  Alhambra,  he  became  nettled  at 
the  reproaches  continually  cast  upon  his 
fortress,  of  being  a  nestling-place  of 
rogues  and  contrabandistas.  On  a  sud 
den,  the  old  potentate  determined  on 
reform,  and  setting  vigorously  to  work, 
ejected  whole  nests  of  vagabonds  out  of 
the  fortress  and  the  gipsy  caves  with 
which  the  surrounding  hills  are  honey 
combed.  He  sent  out  soldiers,  also,  to 
patrol  the  avenues  and  footpaths,  with 
orders  to  take  up  all  suspicious  persons. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  a  patrol, 
consisting  of  the  testy  old  corporal  who 
had  distinguished  himself  in  the  affair  of 
the  notary,  a  trumpeter  and  two  privates, 
was  seated  under  the  garden  wall  of  the 
Generalife,  beside  the  road  which  leads 


down  from  the   Mountain   of  the   Sun, 
when  they  heard  the  tramp  of  a  horse,  j 
and  a  male  voice  singing  in  rough,  though  j 
not  unmusical  tones,  an  old  Castilian  cam 
paigning  song. 

Presently  they  beheld  a  sturdy,  sun 
burnt  fellow,  clad  in  the  ragged  garb  of  | 
a  foot  soldier,  leading  a  powerful  Arabian  ! 
horse,  caparisoned  in  the  ancient  Moresco  j 
fashion. 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  strange 
soldier  descending  steed  in  hand,  from 
that  solitary  mountain,  the  corporal 
stepped  forth  and  challenged  him. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?" 

«  A  friend." 

"  Who  and  what  are  you?" 

"  A  poor  soldier  just  from  the  wars, 
with  a  cracked  crown  and  empty  purse 
for  a  reward." 

By  this  time  they  were  enabled  to  view 
him  more  narrowly.  He  had  a  black 
patch  across  his  forehead,  which,  with  a 
grizzled  beard,  added  to  a  certain  dare 
devil  cast  of  countenance,  while  a  slight 
squint  threw  into  the  whole  an  occasional 
gleam  of  roguish  good  humour. 

Having  answered  the  question  of  the 
patrol,  the  soldier  seemed  to  consider 
himself  entitled  to  make  others  in  return. 
"  May  I  ask,"  said  he,  "  what  city  is  that 
which  I  see  at  the  foot  of  the  hill?" 

"  What  city  !"  cried  the  trumpeter  ; 
"  come,  that's  too  bad.  Here's  a  fellow 
lurking  about  the  Mountain  of  the  Sun, 
and  demands  the  name  of  the  great  city 
of  Granada !" 

"  Granada !  Madre  di  Dios  !  can  it 
be  possible  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not !"  rejoined  the  trum 
peter  ;  "  and  perhaps  you  have  no  idea 
that  yonder  are  the  towers  of  the  Alham 
bra." 

"  Son  of  a  trumpet,"  replied  the 
stranger,  "  do  not  trifle  with  me  ;  if  this 
be  indeed  the  Alhambra,  I  have  some 
strange  matters  to  reveal  to  the  gover 
nor." 

"  You  will  have  an  opportunity,"  said 
the  corporal,  "  for  we  mean  to  take  you 
before  him."  By  this  time  the  trumpeter 
had  seized  the  bridle  of  the  steed,  the  two 
privates  had  each  secured  an  arm  of  the 
soldier,  the  corporal  put  himself  in  front, 
gave  the  word,  "  Forward — march !"  and 
away  they  marched  for  the  Alhambra. 


496 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  sight  of  a  ragged  foot  soldier  and 
a  fine  Arabian  horse,  brought  in  captive 
by  the  patrol,  attracted  the  attention  of 
all  the  idlers  of  the  fortress,  and  of  those 
gossip  groups  that  generally  assemble 
about  wells  and  fountains  at  early  dawn. 
The  wheel  of  the  cistern  paused  in  its 
rotations,  and  the  slip-shod  servant-maid 
stood  gaping,  with  pitcher  in  hand,  as  the 
corporal  passed  by  with  his  prize.  A 
motley  train  gradually  gathered  in  the 
rear  of  the  escort. 

Knowing  nods  and  winks  and  conjec 
tures  passed  from  one  to  another.  "  It 
is  a  deserter,"  said  one  ;  "  A  contraban- 
dista,"  said  another;  "A  bandalero,"  said 
a  third  ; — until  it  was  affirmed  that  a  cap 
tain  of  a  desperate  band  of  robbers  had 
been  captured  by  the  prowess  of  the  cor 
poral  and  his  patrol.  "  Well,  well,"  said 
the  old  crones,  one  to  another,  "  captain 
or  not,  let  him  get  out  of  the  grasp  of  old 
Governor  Manco  if  he  can,  though  he  is 
but  one-handed." 

Governor  Manco  was  seated  in  one  of 
the  inner  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  taking 
his  morning's  cup  of  chocolate  in  com 
pany  with  his  confessor,  a  fat  Franciscan 
friar,  from  the  neighbouring  convent.  A 
demure,  dark-eyed  damself  of  Malaga, 
the  daughter  of  his  housekeeper,  was 
attending  upon  him.  The  world  hinted 
that  the  damsel  who,  with  all  her  de- 
mureness,  was  a  sly  buxom  baggage, 
had  found  out  a  soft  spot  in  the  iron 
heart  of  the  old  governor,  and  held  com 
plete  control  over  him.  But  let  that  pass 
— the  domestic  affairs  of  these  mighty 
potentates  of  the  earth  should  .not  be  too 
narrowly  scrutinized. 

When  word  was  brought  that  a  suspi 
cious  stranger  had  been  taken  lurking 
about  the  fortress,  and  was  actually  in 
the  outer  court,  in  durance  of  the  cor 
poral,  waiting  the  pleasure  of  his  ex 
cellency,  the  pride  and  stateliness  of 
office  swelled  the  bosom  of  the  governor. 
Giving  back  his  chocolate  cup  into  the 
hands  of  the  demure  damsel,  he  called 
for  his  basket-hilted  sword,  girded  it  to 
his  side,  twirled  up  his  mustachios,  took 
his  seat  in  a  large  high-backed  chair, 
assumed  a  bitter  and  forbidding  aspect, 
and  ordered  the  prisoner  into  his  pre 
sence.  The  soldier  was  brought  in,  still 
closely  pinioned  by  his  captors,  and 


guarded  by  the  corporal.  He  maintain 
ed,  however,  a  resolute  self-confident  air, 
and  returned  the  sharp,  scrutinizing  look 
of  the  governor  with  an  easy  squint, 
which  by  no  means  pleased  the  punc 
tilious  old  potentate. 

"  Well,  culprit,"  said  the  governor, 
after  he  had  regarded  him  for  a  moment 
in  silence,  "  what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself — who  are  you  ?" 

"  A  soldier,  just  from  the  wars,  who 
has  brought  away  nothing  but  scars  and 
bruises." 

"  A  soldier — humph — a  foot  soldier  by 
your  garb.  I  understand  you  have  a 
fine  Arabian  horse.  I  presume  you 
brought  him  too  from  the  wars,  beside 
your  scars  and  bruises." 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,  I 
have  something  strange  to  tell  about  that 
horse.  Indeed  I  have  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  things  to  relate.  Something 
too  that  concerns  the  security  of  this 
fortress,  indeed  of  all  Granada.  But  it 
is  a  matter  to  be  imparted  only  to  your 
private  ear,  or  in  the  presence  of  such 
only  as  are  in  your  confidence." 

The  governor  considered  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  directed  the  corporal  and 
his  men  to  withdraw,  but  to  post  them 
selves  outside  of  the  door,  and  be  ready 
at  a  call.  "  This  holy  friar,"  said  he, 
"  is  my  confessor,  you  may  say  any 
thing  in  his  presence — and  this  damsel," 
nodding  towards  the  handmaid,  who  had 
loitered  with  an  air  of  great  curiosity, 
"  this  damsel  is  of  great  secrecy  and 
discretion,  and  to  be  trusted  with  any 
thing." 

The  soldier  gave  a  glance  between  a 
squint  and  a  leer  at  the  demure  hand 
maid.  "  I  am  perfectly  willing,"  said 
he,  "  that  the  damsel  should  remain." 

When  all  the  rest  had  withdrawn,  the 
soldier  commenced  his  story.  He  was  a 
fluent,  smooth-tongued  varlet,  and  had  a 
command  of  language  above  his  appa 
rent  rank. 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,"  said 
he,  "  I  am,  as  I  before  observed,  a  sol 
dier,  and  have  seen  some  hard  service, 
but  my  term  of  enlistment  being  expired, 
I  was  discharged,  not  long  since,  from 
the  army  at  Valladolid,  and  set  out  on 
foot  for  my  native  village  in  Andalusia. 
Yesterday  evening  the  sun  went  down 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


497 


as  1  was  traversing  a  great  dry  plain  of , 
Old  Castile." 

"  Hold,"  cried  the  governor,  ««  what  is 
this  you  say  ?  Old  Castile  is  some  two 
or  three  hundred  miles  from  this." 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  soldier  coolly,  • 
"  I  told  your  excellency  I  had  strange  ! 
things  to  relate ;    but  not  more  strange  ! 
than  true ;  as  your  excellency  will  find, 
if  you  will  deign  me  a  patient  hearing." 

"  Proceed,  culprit !"  said  the  governor, 
tv/irling  up  his  mustachios. 

"  As  the  sun  went  down,"  continued 
the  soldier,  "  I  cast  my  eyes  about  in 
search  of  some  quarters  for  the  night, 
but  far  as  my  sight  could  reach,  there 
were  no  signs  of  habitation.  I  saw  that 
I  should  have  to  make  my  bed  on  the 
naked  plain,  with  my  knapsack  for  a 
pillow ;  but  your  excellency  is  an  old 
soldier,  and  knows  that  to  one  who  has 
been  in  the  wars,  such  a  night's  lodging 
is  no  great  hardship." 

The  governor  nodded  assent,  as  he 
drew  his  pocket-handkerchief  out  of  the 
basket-hilt,  to  drive  away  a  fly  that  buz 
zed  about  his  nose. 

"  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short," 
continued  the  soldier,  "  1  trudged  for 
ward  for  several  miles  until  I  came  to  a 
bridge  over  a  deep  ravine,  through  which 
ran  a  little  thread  of  water,  almost  dried 
up  by  the  summer  heat.  At  one  end  of 
the  bridge  was  a  Moorish  tower,  the 
upper  end  all  in  ruins,  but  a  vault  in  the 
foundation  quite  entire.  Here,  thinks  I, 
is  a  good  place  to  make  a  halt ;  so  I 
went  down  to  the  stream,  took  a  hearty 
drink,  for  the  water  was  pure  and  sweet, 
and  I  was  parched  with  thirst ;  then, 
opening  my  wallet,  I  took  out  an  onion 
and  a  few  crusts,  which  were  all  my 
provisions,  and  seating  myself  on  a  stone 
on  the  margin  of  the  stream,  began  to 
make  rny  supper;  intending  afterwards 
to  quarter  myself  for  the  night  in  the 
vault  of  the  tower  ;  and  capital  quarters 
they  would  have  been  for  a  campaigner 
just  from  the  wars,  as  your  excellency, 
who  is  an  old  soldier,  may  suppose." 

"  I  have  put  up  gladly  with  worse  in 
my  time,"  said  the  governor,  returning 
his  pocket-handkerchief  into  the  hilt  of 
his  sword. 

"While  I  was  quietly  crunching  my 
crust,"  pursued,  the  soldier,  "  I  heard 


something  stir  within  the  vault ;  I  listen 
ed — it  was  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  By 
and  by,  a  man  came  forth  from  a  door  in 
the  foundation  of  the  tower,  close  by  the 
water's  edge,  leading  a  powerful  horse 
by  the  bridle.  I  could  not  well  make 
out  what  he  was  by  starlight.  It  had  a 
suspicious  look  to  be  lurking  among  the 
ruins  of  a  tower,  in  that  wild  solitary 
place.  He  might  be  a  mere  wayfarer,  j 
like  myself;  he  might  be  a  contraban- 
dista  ;  he  might  be  a  bandalero !  what  of  | 
that?  thank  heaven  and  my  poverty,  I 
had  nothing  to  lose;  so  I  sat  still  and 
crunched  my  crusts. 

"  He  led  his  horse  to  the  water,  close 
by  where  I  was  sitting,  so  that  I  had  a 
fair  opportunity  of  reconnoitring  him. 
To  my  surprise  he  was  dressed  in  a 
Moorish  garb,  with  a  cuirass  of  steel, 
and  a  polished  skullcap,  that  I  distin 
guished  by  the  reflection  of  the  stars 
upon  it.  His  horse,  too,  was  harnessed 
in  the  Moresco  fashion,  with  great  shovel 
stirrups.  He  led  him,  as  I  said,  to  the 
side  of  the  stream,  into  which  the  animal 
plunged  his  head  almost  to  the  eyes,  and 
drank  until  I  thought  he  would  have 
burst. 

"  '  Comrade,'  said  I,  '  your  steed  drinks 
well ; .  it's  a  good  sign  when  a  horse 
plunges  his  muzzle  bravely  into  the 
water.' 

" « He  may  well  drink,'  said  the 
stranger,  speaking  with  a  Moorish  ac 
cent,  « it  is  a  good  year  since  he  had  his 
last  draught.' 

" «  By  Santiago,'  said  I,  <  that  beats 
even  the  camels  that  I  have  seen  in 
Africa.  But  come,  you  seem  to  be  some 
thing  of  a  soldier,  will  you  sit  down  and 
take  part  of  a  soldier's  fare  ?'  In  fact  I 
felt  the  want  of  a  companion  in  this  lonely 
place,  and  was  willing  to  put  up  with  an 
infidel.  Besides,  as  your  excellency  well 
knows,  a  soldier  is  never  very  particular 
about  the  faith  of  his  company,  and  sol 
diers  of  all  countries  are  comrades  on 
peaceable  ground." 

The  governor  again  nodded  assent. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  invited  him 
to  share  my  supper,  such  as  it  was,  for  I 
could  do  no  less  in  common  hospitality. 
4 1  have  no  time  to  pause  for  meat  or 
drink,'  said  he,  *  I  have  a  long  journey 
to  make  before  morning.' 

42* 


498 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


"  '  In  which  direction,'  said  I. 

"  '  Andalusia,'  said  he. 

"  '  Exactly  my  route,'  said  I,  '  so,  as 
you  won't  stop  and  eat  with  me,  perhaps 
you  will  let  me  mount  and  ride  with  you. 
I  see  your  horse  is  of  a  powerful  frame, 
I'll  warrant  he'll  carry  double.' 

"  « Agreed,'  said  the  trooper ;  and  it 
would  not  have  been  civil  and  soldier 
like  to  refuse,  especially  as  I  had  offered 
to  share  my  supper  with  him.  So  up  he 
mounted,  and  up  I  mounted  behind  him. 

"  *  Hold  fast,'  said  he,  *  my  steed  goes 
like  the  wind.' 

"  *  Never  fear  me,'  said  I,  and  so  off 
we  set. 

"  From  a  walk  the  horse  soon  passed 
to  a  trot,  from  a  trot  to  a  gallop,  and 
from  a  gallop  to  a  harum-scarum  scam 
per.  It  seemed  as  if  rocks,  trees,  houses, 
every  thing,  flew  hurry-scurry  behind  us. 

"  '  What  town  is  this?  said  I. 

"  '  Segovia,'  said  he  ;  and  before  the 
word  was  out  of  his  mouth,  the  towers  of 
Segovia  were  out  of  sight.  We  swept  up 
the  Guadarama  mountains,  and  down  by 
the  Escurial;  and  we  skirted  the  walls  of 
Madrid,  and  we  scoured  away  across  the 
plains  of  La  Mancha.  In  this  way  we 
went  up  hill  and  down  dale,  by  towers 
and  cities,  all  buried  in  deep  sleep,  and 
across  mountains,  and  plains,  and  rivers, 
just  glimmering  in  the  starlight. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not 
to  fatigue  your  excellency,  the  trooper 
suddenly  pulled  up  on  the  side  of  a  moun 
tain.  *  Here  we  are,'  said  he,  l  at  the 
end  of  our  journey.'  I  looked  about,  but 
could  see  no  signs  of  habitation  ;  nothing 
but  the  mouth  of  a  cavern.  While  I 
looked  I  saw  multitudes  of  people  in 
Moorish  dresses,  some  on  horseback, 
some  on  foot,  arriving  as  if  borne  by  the 
wind  from  all  points  of  the  compass,  and 
hurrying  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern, 
like  bees  into  a  hive.  Before  I  could  ask 
a  question,  the  trooper  struck  his  long 
Moorish  spurs  into  the  horse's  flanks 
and  dashed  in  with  the  throng.  We 
passed  along  a  steep  winding  way,  that 
descended  into  the  very  bowels  of  the 
mountain.  As  we  pushed  on,  a  light 
began  to  glimmer  up,  by  little  and  little, 
like  the  first  glimmerings  of  day,  but 
what  caused  it  I  could  not  discern.  It 
grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and  enabled 


me  to  see  every  thing  around.  I  now 
noticed,  as  we  passed  along,  great  ca 
verns,  opening  to  the  right  and  left,  like 
halls  in  an  arsenal.  In  some  there  were 
shields,  and  helmets,  and  cuirasses,  and 
lances,  and  cimeters,  hanging  against 
the  wall ;  in  others  there  were  great 
heaps  of  warlike  munitions,  and  camp 
equipage  lying  upon  the  ground. 

"  It  would  have  done  your  excellency's 
heart  good,  being  an  old  soldier,  to  have 
seen  such  grand  provision  for  war.  Then, 
in  other  caverns,  there  were  long  rows 
of  horsemen  armed  to  the  teeth,  with 
lances  raised  and  banners  unfurled  all 
ready  for  the  field  ;  but  they  all  sat  mo 
tionless  in  their  saddles  like  so  many 
statues.  In  other  halls  were  warriors 
sleeping  on  the  ground  beside  their  horses, 
and  foot  soldiers  in  groups  ready  to  fall 
into  the  ranks.  All  were  in  old-fashioned 
Moorish  dresses  and  armour. 

"  Well,  your  excellency,  to  cut  a  long 
story  short,  we  at  length  entered  an  im 
mense  cavern,  or  I  may  say  palace,  of 
grotto  work,  the  walls  of  which  seemed 
to  be  veined  with  gold  and  silver,  and  to 
sparkle  with  diamonds  and  sapphires  and 
all  kinds  of  precious  stones.  At  the  upper 
end  sat  a  Moorish  king  on  a  golden 
throne,  with  his  nobles  on  each  side,  and 
a  guard  of  African  blacks  with  drawn 
cimeters.  All  the  crowd  that  continued 
to  flock  in,  and  amounted  to  thousands 
and  thousands,  passed  one  by  one  before 
his  throne,  each  paying  homage  as  he 
passed.  Some  of  the  multitude  were 
dressed  in  magnificent  robes,  without 
stain  or  blemish,  and  sparkling  with 
jewels ;  others  in  burnished  and  ena 
melled  armour ;  while  others  were  in 
mouldered  and  mildewed  garments,  and 
in  armour  all  battered  and  dented  and 
covered  with  rust. 

"  I  had  hitherto  held  my  tongue,  for 
your  excellency  well  knows,  it  is  not  for 
a  soldier  to  ask  many  questions  when  on 
duty,  but  I  could  keep  silent  no  longer. 

"  l  Pr'ythee,  comrade,'  said  I,  '  what  is 
the  meaning  of  all  this  ?' 

"  «  This,'  said  the  trooper,  '  is  a  great 
and  fearful  mystery.  Know,  O  Chris 
tian,  that  you  see  before  you  the  court 
and  army  of  Boabdil,  the  last  king  of 
Granada.' 

"  '  What  is  this  you  tell  me?'  cried  I. 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


499 


<  Boabdil  and  his  court  were  exiled  from 
the  land  hundreds  of  years  agone,  and 
all  died  in  Africa.' 

" '  So  it  is  recorded  in  your  lying 
chronicles,'  replied  the  Moor,  '  but  know 
that  Boabdil  and  the  warriors  who  made 
the  last  struggle  for  Granada  were  all 
shut  up  in  the  mountain  by  powerful  en 
chantment.  As  for  the  king  and  army 
that  marched  forth  from  Granada  at  the 
time  of  the  surrender,  they  were  a  mere 
phantom  train  of  spirits  and  demons,  per 
mitted  to  assume  those  shapes  to  deceive 
the  Christian  sovereigns.  And  further 
more  let  me  tell  you,  friend,  that  all 
Spain  is  a  country  under  the  power  of 
enchantment.  There  is  not  a  mountain 
cave,  not  a  lonely  watchtower  in  the 
plains,  nor  ruined  castle  on  the  hills,  but 
has  some  spellbound  warriors  sleeping 
from  age  to  age  within  its  vaults,  until 
the  sins  are  expiated  for  which  Allah 
permitted  the  dominion  to  pass  for  a  time 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  faithful.  Once 
every  year,  on  the  eve  of  St.  John,  they 
are  released  from  enchantment,  from 
sunset  to  sunrise,  and  permitted  to  repair 
here  to  pay  homage  to  their  sovereign  ! 
and  the  crowds  which  you  behold  swarm 
ing  into  the  cavern  are  Moslem  warriors 
from  their  haunts  in  all  parts  of  Spain. 
For  my  own  part,  you  saw  the  ruined 
tower  of  the  bridge  in  Old  Castile,  where 
I  have  now  wintered  and  summered  for 
many  hundred  years,  and  where  I  must 
be  back  again  by  daybreak.  As  to  the 
battalions  of  horse  and  foot  which  you 
behold  drawn  up  in  array  in  the  neigh 
bouring  caverns,  they  are  spellbound 
warriors  of  Granada.  It  is  written  in 
the  book  of  fate,  that  when  the  enchant 
ment  is  broken,  Boabdil  will  descend 
from  the  mountain  at  the  head  of  this 
army,  resume  his  throne  in  the  Alhambra 
and  his  sway  of  Granada,  and  gathering 
together  the  enchanted  warriors  from  all 
parts  of  Spain,  will  reconquer  the  Penin 
sula  and  restore  it  to  Moslem  rule.' 

"  *  And  when  shall  this  happen  ?' 
said  I. 

"  '  Allah  alone  knows  :  we  had  hoped 
the  day  of  deliverance  was  at  hand  ;  but 
there  reigns  at  present  a  vigilant  governor 
in  the  Alhambra,  a  staunch  old  soldier, 
well  known  as  Governor  Manco.  While 
such  a  warrior  holds  command  of  the 


very  outpost,  and  stands  ready  to  check 
the  irruption  from  the  mountain,  I  fear 
Boabdil  and  his  soldiery  must  be  content 
to  rest  upon  their  arms.' " 

Here  the  governor  raised  himself  some 
what  perpendicularly,  adjusted  his  sword, 
and  twirled  up  his  mustachios. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not 
to  fatigue  your  excellency,  the  trooper, 
having  given  me  this  account,  dismounted 
from  his  steed. 

"  « Tarry  here,'  said  he,  <  and  guard 
my  steed  while  I  go  and  bow  the  knee  to 
Boabdil.'  So  saying,  he  strode  away 
among  the  throng  that  pressed  forward 
to  the  throne. 

"  «  What's  to  be  done  ?'  thought  I, 
when  thus  left  to  myself;  « shall  I  wait 
here  until  this  infidel  returns  to  whisk 
me  off  on  his  goblin  steed,  the  Lord 
knows  where  ;  or  shall  I  make  the  most 
of  my  time  and  beat  a  retreat  from  this 
hobgoblin  community  V  A  soldier's  mind 
is  soon  made  up,  as  your  excellency  well 
knows.  As  to  the  horse,  he  belonged  to 
an  avowed  enemy  of  the  faith  and  the 
realm,  and  was  a  fair  prize  according  to 
the  rules  of  war.  So  hoisting  myself 
from  the  crupper  into  the  saddle,  I  turned 
the  reins,  struck  the  Moorish  stirrups  into 
the  sides  of  the  steed,  and  put  him  to 
make  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the 
passage  by  which  he  had  entered.  As 
we  scoured  by  the  halls  where  the  Mos 
lem  horsemen  sat  in  motionless  battalions, 
I  thought  I  heard  the  clang  of  armour 
and  a  hollow  murmur  of  voices.  I  gave 
the  steed  another  taste  of  the  stirrups, 
and  doubled  my  speed.  There  was  now 
a  sound  behind  me  like  a  rushing  blast ; 
I  heard  the  clatter  of  a  thousand  hoofs ; 
a  countless  throng  overtook  me.  I  was 
borne  along  in  the  press,  and  hurled 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  while 
thousands  of  shadowy  forms  were  swept 
off  in  every  direction  by  the  four  winds 
of  heaven. 

"  In  the  whirl  and  confusion  of  the 
scene  I  was  thrown  senseless  to  the 
earth.  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was 
lying  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  with  the  Ara 
bian  steed  standing  beside  me ;  for,  in 
falling,  my  arm  had  slipt  within  the 
bridle,  which,  I  presume,  prevented  his 
whisking  off  to  Old  Castile. 

"  Your  excellency  may  easily  judge  of 


500 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


i  my  surprise  on  looking  round,  to  behold 
,  hedges  of  aloes  and  Indian  figs  and  other 
proofs  of  a  southern  climate,  and  to  see  j 
a  great  city  below  me,  with  towers,  and 
palaces,  and  a  grand  cathedral. 

"  I  descended  the  hill  cautiously,  lead 
ing  my  steed,  for  I  was  afraid  to  mount 
him  again,  lest  he  should  play  me  some 
slippery  trick.  As  I  descended  I  met 
with  your  patrol,  who  let  me  into  the 
secret  that  it  was  Granada  that  lay  before  j 
me ;  and  that  I  was  actually  under  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra,  the  fortress  of 
the  redoubted  Governor  Manco,  the  ter 
ror  of  all  enchanted  Moslems.  When  I 
heard  this,  I  determined  at  once  to  seek 
your  excellency,  to  inform  you  of  all  that 
I  had  seen,  and  to  warn  you  of  the  perils 
that  surround  and  undermine  you,  that 
you  may  take  measures  in  time  to  guard 
your  fortress,  and  the  kingdom  itself, 
from  this  intestine  army  that  lurks  in  the 
very  bowels  of  the  land." 

"  And  prythee,  friend,  you  who  are  a 
veteran  campaigner,  and  have  seen  so 
much  service,"  said  the  governor,  "  how 
would  you  advise  me  to  proceed,  in  order 
to  prevent  this  evil  ?" 

"  It  is  not  for  a  humble  private  of  the 
ranks,"  said  the  soldier  modestly,  "  to 
pretend  to  instruct  a  commander  of  your 
excellency's  sagacity ;  but  it  appears  to 
me  that  your  excellency  might  cause  all 
the  caves  and  entrances  into  the  moun 
tain  to  be  walled  up  with  solid  mason 
work,  so  that  Boabdil  and  his  army  might 
be  completely  corked  up  in  their  subter 
ranean  habitation.  If  the  good  father 
too,"  added  the  soldier,  reverently  bow 
ing  to  the  friar,  and  devoutly  crossing 
himself,  "  would  consecrate  the  barrica- 
does  with  his  blessing,  and  put  up  a  few 
crosses  and  relics  and  images  of  saints,  I 
think  they  might  withstand  all  the  power 
of  infidel  enchantments." 

"  They  doubtless  would  be  of  great 
avail,"  said  the  friar. 

The  governor  now  placed  his  arm 
a-kimbo  with  his  hand  resting  on  the  hilt 
of  his  toledo,  fixed  his  eye  upon  the 
soldier,  and  gently  wagging  his  head 
from  one  side  to  the  other, 

"  So,  friend,"  said  he, "  then  you  really 
suppose  I  am  to  be  gulled  with  this  cock- 
and-bull  story  about  enchanted  mountains 
and  enchanted  Moors  ?  Hark  ye,  culprit ! 


— not  another  word.  An  old  soldier  you 
may  be,  but  you'll  find  you  have  an  older 
soldier  to  deal  with,  and  one  not  easily 
out-general  led.  Ho  !  guards  there !  put 
this  fellow  in  irons." 

The  demure  handmaid  would  have  put 
in  a  word  in  favour  of  the  prisoner,  but 
the  governor  silenced  her  with  a  look. 

As  they  were  pinioning  the  soldier,  one 
of  the  guards  felt  something  of  bulk  in 
his  pocket,  and  drawing  it  forth,  found  a 
long  leathern  purse  that  appeared  to  be 
well  filled.  Holding  it  by  one  corner, 
he  turned  out  the  contents  upon  the  table 
before  the  governor,  and  never  did  free 
booter's  bag  make  more  gorgeous  de 
livery.  Out  tumbled  rings  and  jewels, 
and  rosaries  of  pearls,  and  sparkling 
diamond  crosses,  and  a  profusion  of  an 
cient  golden  coin,  some  of  which  fell 
jingling  to  the  floor,  and  rolled  away  to 
the  uttermost  part  of  the  chamber. 

For  a  time  the  functions  of  justice 
were  suspended ;  there  was  a  universal 
scramble  after  the  glittering  fugitives. 
The  governor  alone,  who  was  imbued 
with  true  Spanish  pride,  maintained  his 
stately  decorum,  though  his  eye  betrayed 
a  little  anxiety  until  the  last  coin  and 
jewel  was  restored  to  the  sack. 

The  friar  was  not  so  calm  ;  his  whole 
face  glowed  like  a  furnace,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled  and  flashed  at  sight  of  the  rosa 
ries  and  crosses. 

"  Sacrilegious  wretch  that  thou  art !" 
exclaimed  he ;  "  what  church  or  sanc 
tuary  hast  thou  been  plundering  of  these 
sacred  relics  ?" 

"  Neither  one  nor  the  other,  holy 
father.  If  they  be  sacrilegious  spoils, 
they  must  have  been  taken  in  times  long 
past,  by  the  infidel  trooper  I  have  men 
tioned.  I  was  just  going  to  tell  his  excel 
lency  when  he  interrupted  me,  that  on 
taking  possession  of  the  trooper's  horse, 
I  unhooked  a  leathern  sack  which  hung 
at  the  saddlebow,  and  which  I  presume 
contained  the  plunder  of  his  campaign- 
ings  in  days  of  old,  when  the  Moors  over 
ran  the  country." 

"  Mighty  well ;  at  present  you  will 
make  up  your  mind  to  take  up  your 
quarters  in  a  chamber  of  the  Vermilion 
Towers,  which,  though  not  under  a  magic 
spell,  will  hold  you  as  safe  as  any  cave 
of  your  enchanted  Moors." 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


501 


"  Your  excellency  will  do  as  you  think 
proper,"  said  the  prisoner,  coolly.  "  I 
shall  be  thankful  to  your  excellency  for 
any  accommodation  in  the  fortress.  "  A 
soldier  who  has  been  in  the  wars,  as  your 
excellency  well  knows,  is  not  particular 
about  his  lodgings :  provided  I  have  a 
snug  dungeon  and  regular  rations,  1  shall 
manage  to  make  myself  comfortable.  I 
would  only  entreat  that  while  your  excel 
lency  is  so  careful  about  me,  you  would 
have  an  eye  to  your  fortress,  and  think 
on  the  hint  I  dropped  about  stopping  up 
the  entrances  to  the  mountain." 

Here  ended  the  scene.  The  prisoner 
was  conducted  to  a  strong  dungeon  in 
the  Vermilion  Towers,  the  Arabian  steed 
was  led  to  his  excellency's  stable,  and 
the  trooper's  sack  was  deposited  in  his 
excellency's  strong  box.  To  the  latter, 
it  is  true,  the  friar  made  some  demur, 
questioning  whether  the  sacred  relics, 
which  were  evidently  sacrilegious  spoils, 
should  not  be  placed  in  custody  of  the 
church ;  but  as  the  governor  was  per 
emptory  on  the 'subject,  and  was  absolute 
lord  in  the  Alhambra,  the  friar  discreetly 
dropped  the  discussion,  but  determined  to 
convey  intelligence  of  the  fact  to  the 
church  dignitaries  in  Granada. 

To  explain  these  prompt  and  rigid 
measures  on  the  part  of  old  Governor 
Manco,  it  is  proper  to  observe,  that  about 
this  time  the  Alpuxarra  mountains  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Granada  were  terribly 
infested  by  a  gang  of  robbers,  under  the 
command  of  a  daring  chief,  named  Ma 
nuel  Borasco,  who  were  accustomed  to 
prowl  about  the  country,  and  even  to 
enter  the  city  in  various  disguises,  to  gain 
intelligence  of  the  departure  of  convoys 
of  merchandise,  or  travellers  with  well- 
lined  purses,  whom  they  took  care  to 
waylay  in  distant  and  solitary  passes  of 
their  road.  These  repeated  and  daring 
outrages  had  awakened  the  attention  of 
government,  and  the  commanders  of  the 
various  posts  had  received  instructions 
to  be  on  the  alert  and  to  take  up  all  sus 
picious  stragglers.  Governor  Manco  was 
particularly  zealous  in  consequence  of 
the  various  stigmas^  that  had  been  cast 
upon  his  fortress,  and  he  now  doubted 
not  that  he  had  entrapped  some  formida 
ble  desperado  of  this  gang. 

In  the  mean  time  the  story  took  wind, 


and  became  the  talk,  not  merely  of  the 
fortress,  but  of  the  whole  city  of  Gra 
nada.  It  was  said  that  the  noted  robber, 
Manuel  Borasco,  the  terror  of  the  Al- 
puxarras,  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of 
old  Governor  Manco,  and  been  cooped 
up  by  him  in  a  dungeon  of  the  Vermilion 
Towers ;  and  every  one  who  had  been 
robbed  by  him  flocked  to  recognise  the 
marauder.  The  Vermilion  Towers,  as 
is  well  known,  stand  apart  from  the  Al 
hambra  on  a  sister  hill,  separated  from 
the  main  avenue.  There  were  no  outer 
walls,  but  a  sentinel  patrolled  before  the 
tower.  The  window  of  the  chamber  in 
which  the  soldier  was  confined,  was 
strongly  grated,  and  looked  upon  a  small 
esplanade.  Here  the  good  folks  of 
Granada  repaired  to  gaze  at  him,  as 
they  would  at  a  laughing  hyena,  grin 
ning  through  the  cage  of  a  menagerie. 
Nobody,  however,  recognised  him  for 
Manuel  Borasco,  for  that  terrible  robber 
was  noted  for  a  ferocious  physiognomy, 
and  had  by  no  means  the  good-humoured 
squint  of  the  prisoner.  Visiters  came 
not  merely  from  the  city,  but  from  all 
parts  of  the  country ;  but  nobody  knew 
him,  and  there  began  to  be  doubts  in  the 
minds  of  the  common  people  whether 
there  might  not  be  some  truth  in  his 
story.  That  Boabdil  and  his  army  were 
shut  up  in  the  mountain,  was  an  old  tra 
dition  which  many  of  the  ancient  inhabi 
tants  had  heard  from  their  fathers.  Num 
bers  went  up  to  the  Mountain  of  the  Sun, 
or  rather  of  St.  Elena,  in  search  of  the 
cave  mentioned  by  the  soldier ;  and  saw 
and  peeped  into  the  deep  dark  pit,  de 
scending,  no  one  knows  how  far,  into  the 
mountain,  and  which  remains  there  to 
this  day — the  fabled  entrance  to  the  sub 
terranean  abode  of  Boabdil. 

By  degrees  the  soldier  became  popular 
with  the  common  people.  A  freebooter 
of  the  mountains  is  by  no  means  the 
opprobrious  character  in  Spain  that  a 
robber  is  in  any  other  country :  on  the 
contrary,  he  is  a  kind  of  chivalrous 
personage  in  the  eyes  of  the  lower 
classes.  There  is  always  a  disposition, 
also,  to  cavil  at  the  conduct  of  those  in 
command,  and  many  began  to  murmur 
at  the  high-handed  measures  of  old 
Governor  Manco,  and  to  look  upon  the 
prisoner  in  the  light  of  a  martyr. 


502 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  soldier,  moreover,  was  a  merry, 
waggish  fellow,  that  had  a  joke  for  every 
one  who  came  near  his  window,  and  a 
soft  speech  for  every  female.  Fie  had 
procured  an  old  guitar,  also,  and  would 
sit  by  his  window,  and  sing  ballads  and 
love  ditties,  to  the  delight  of  the  women 
of  the  neighbourhood,  who  would  assem 
ble  on  the  esplanade  in  the  evenings  and 
dance  boleros  to  his  music.  Having 
trimmed  off  his  rough  beard,  his  sun 
burnt  face  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of 
the  fair,  and  the  demure  handmaid  of  the 
governor  declared  that  his  squint  was 
perfectly  irresistible.  This  kind-hearted 
damsel  had  from  the  first  evinced  a  deep 
sympathy  in  his  fortunes,  and  having  in 
vain  tried  to  mollify  the  governor,  had 
set  to  work  privately  to  mitigate  the 
rigour  of  his  dispensations.  Every  day 
she  brought  the  prisoner  some  crumbs 
of  comfort  which  had  fallen  from  the 
governor's  table,  or  been  abstracted  from 
his  larder,  together  with,  now  and  then, 
a  consoling  bottle  of  choice  Val  de  Penas, 
or  rich  Malaga. 

While  this  petty  treason  was  going  on, 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  old  governor's 
citadel,  a  storm  of  open  war  was  brewing 
up  among  his  external  foes.  The  cir 
cumstance  of  a  bag  of  gold  and  jewels 
having  been  found  upon  the  person  of  the 
supposed  robber,  had  been  reported,  with 
many  exaggerations,  in  Granada.  A 
question  of  territorial  jurisdiction  was 
immediately  started  by  the  governor's 
inveterate  rival,  the  captain-general.  He 
insisted  that  the  prisoner  had  been  cap 
tured  without  the  precincts  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  and  within  the  rules  of  his  authority. 
He  demanded  his  body,  therefore,  and 
the  spolia  opima  taken  with  him.  Due 
information  having  been  carried  likewise 
by  the  friar  to  the  grand  inquisitor  of  the 
crosses  and  rosaries,  and  other  relics 
contained  in  the  bag,  he  claimed  the  cul 
prit  as  having  been  guilty  of  sacrilege, 
and  insisted  that  his  plunder  was  due  to 
the  church,  and  his  body  to  the  next 
auto  da  fe.  The  feuds  ran  high,  the 
governor  was  furious,  and  swore,  rather 
than  surrender  his  captive,  he  would 
hang  him  up  within  the  Alhambra,  as  a 
spy  caught  within  the  purlieus  of  the 
fortress. 

The  captain-general  threatened  to  send 


a  body  of  soldiers  to  transfer  the  prisoner 
from  the  Vermilion  Towers  to  the  city. 
The  grand  inquisitor  was  equally  bent 
upon  despatching  a  number  of  the  fami 
liars  of  the  Holy  Office.  Word  was 
brought  late  at  night  to  the  governor  of 
these  machinations.  "  Let  them  come," 
said  he,  "  they'll  find  me  beforehand 
with  them  ;  he  must  rise  bright  and  early 
who  would  take  in  an  old  soldier."  He 
accordingly  issued  orders  to  have  the 
prisoner  removed  at  daybreak,  to  the 
donjon-keep  within  the  walls  of  the  Al 
hambra.  "  And  d'ye  hear  child'.'"  said 
he  to  his  demure  handmaid,  "  tap  at  my 
door,  and  wake  me  before  cock-crowing, 
that  I  may  see  to  the  matter  myself." 

The  day  dawned,  the  cock  crowed,  but 
nobody  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  gover 
nor.  The  sun  rose  high  above  the  moun 
tain  tops,  and  glittered  in  at  his  casement, 
ere  the  governor  was  wakened  from  his 
morning  dreams  by  his  veteran  corporal, 
who  stood  before  him  with  terror  stamped 
upon  his  iron  visage. 

"  He's  off!  he's  gone !"  cried  the  cor 
poral,  gasping  for  breath. 

«  Who's  off—who's  gone?" 

"  The  soldier,  the  robber — the  devil, 
for  aught  I  know  ;  his  dungeon  is  empty, 
but  the  door  locked  ;  no  one  knows  how 
he  has  escaped  out  of  it." 

"Who  saw  him  last?" 

"  Your  handmaid ;  she  brought  him 
his  supper." 

"  Let  her  be  called  instantly." 

Here  was  new  matter  of  confusion. 
The  chamber  of  the  demure  damsel  was 
likewise  empty,  her  bed  had  not  been 
slept  in  :  she  had  doubtless  gone  off  with 
the  culprit,  as  she  had  appeared,  for  some 
days  past,  to  have  frequent  conversations 
with  him. 

This  was  wounding  the  old  governor 
in  a  tender  part,  but  he  had  scarce  time 
to  wince  at  it,  when'  new  misfortunes 
broke  upon  his  view.  On  going  into  his 
cabinet  he  found  his  strong  box  open,  the 
leather  purse  of  the  trooper  abstracted, 
and  with  it,  a  couple  of  corpulent  bags 
of  doubloons. 

But  how  and  which  way  had  the  fugi 
tives  escaped?  An  old  peasant  who 
lived  in  a  cottage  by  the  roadside,  lead 
ing  up  into  the  Sierra,  declared  that  he 
had  heard  the  tramp  of  a  powerful  steed 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


503 


just  before  daybreak,  passing  up  into  the 
mountains.  He  had  looked  out  at  his 
casement,  and  could  just  distinguish,  a 
horseman,  with  a  female  seated  before 
him. 

"  Search  the  stables  !"  cried  Governor 
Manco.  The  stables  were  searched;  all 
the  horses  were  in  their  stalls,  excepting 
the  Arabian  steed.  In  his  place  was  a 
stout  cudgel  tied  to  the  manger,  and  on 
it  a  label  bearing  these  words,  "  A  gift 
to  Governor  Manco,  from  an  Old  Sol 
dier." 


LEGEND 

OF  THE 

TWO  DISCREET  STATUES. 

THERE  lived  once  in  a  waste  apart 
ment  of  the  Alhambra,  a  merry  little 
fellow  named  Lope  Sanchez,  who  work 
ed  in  the  gardens,  and  was  as  brisk  and 
blithe  as  a  grasshopper,  singing  all  day 
long.  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the 
fortress  ;  when  his  work  was  over,  he 
would  sit  on  one  of 'the  stone  benches  of 
the  esplanade  and  strum  his  guitar,  and 
sing  long  ditties  about  the  Cid,  and 
Bernard  del  Carpio,  and  Fernando  del 
Pulgar,  and  other  Spanish  heroes,  for 
the  amusement  of  the  old  soldiers  of  the 
fortress,  or  would  strike  up  a  merrier 
tune,  and  set  the  girls  dancing  boleros 
and  fandangos. 

Like  most  little  men,  Lope  Sanchez 
had  a  strapping  buxom  dame  for  a  wife, 
who  could  almost  have  put  him  in  her 
pocket ;  but  he  lacked  the  usual  poor 
man's  lot — instead  of  ten  children  he 
had  but  one.  This  was  a  little  black- 
eyed  girl  about  twelve  years  of  age, 
named  Sanchica,  who  was  as  merry  as 
himself,  and  the  delight  of  his  heart.  She 
played  about  him  as  he  worked  in  the 
gardens,  danced  to  his  guitar  as  he  sat 
in  the  shade,  and  ran  as  wild  as  a  young 
fawn  about  the  groves  and  alleys  and 
ruined  halls  of  the  Alhambra. 

It  was  now  the  eve  of  the  blessed  St. 
John,  and  the  holiday  loving  gossips  of 
the  Alhambra,  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren,  went  up  at  night  to  the  Mountain 
of  the  Sun,  which  rises  above  the  Gene- 
ralife,  to  keep  their  midsummer  vigil  on 


its  level  summit.  It  was  a  bright  moon 
light  night,  and  all  the  mountains  were 
gray  and  silvery,  and  the  city,  with  its 
domes  and  spires,  lay  in  shadows  below, 
arid  the  Vega  was  like  a  fairy  land,  with 
haunted  streams  gleaming  among  its 
dusky  groves.  On  the  highest  part  of 
the  mountain  they  lit  up  a  bonfire,  ac 
cording  to  an  old  custom  of  the  country 
handed  down  from  the  Moors.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  country 
were  keeping  a  similar  vigil,  and  bon 
fires,  here  and  there  in  the  Vega,  and 
along  the  folds  of  the  mountains,  blazed 
up  palely  in  the  moonlight. 

The  evening  was  gayly  passed  in 
dancing  to  the  guitar  of  Lope  Sanchez, 
who  was  never  so  joyous  as  when  on  a 
holiday  revel  of  the  kind.  While  the 
dance  was  going  on,  the  little  Sanchica 
with  some  of  her  playmates  sported 
among  the  ruins  of  an  old  Moorish  fort 
that  crowns  the  mountain,  when  in 
gathering  pebbles  in  the  fosse,  she  found 
a  small  hand  curiously  carved  of  jet,  the 
fingers  closed,  and  the  thumb  firmly 
clasped  upon  them.  Overjoyed  with  her 
good  fortune,  she  ran  to  her  mother  with 
her  prize.  It  immediately  became  a  sub 
ject  of  sage  speculation,  and  was  eyed  by 
some  with  superstitious  distrust.  "Throw 
it  away,"  said  one ;  "  it's  Moorish — de 
pend  upon  it  there's  mischief  and  witch-" 
craft  in  it."  "By  no  means,"  said 
another ;  "  you  may  sell  it  for  some 
thing  to  the  jewellers  of  the  Zacatin." 
In  the  midst  of  this  discussion  an  old 
tawny  soldier  drew  near,  who  had  served 
in  Africa,  and  was  as  swarthy  as  a  Moor. 
He  examined  the  hand  with  a  knowing 
look.  "  I  have  seen  things  of  this  kind," 
said  he,  "among  the  Moors  of  Barbary. 
It  is  a  great  virtue  to  guard  against  the 
evil  eye,  and  all  kinds  of  spells  and 
enchantments.  I  give  you  joy,  friend 
Lope,  this  bodes  good  luck  to  your 
child." 

Upon  hearing  this,  the  wife  of  Lope 
Sanchez  tied  the  little  hand  of  jet  to  a 
riband,  and  hung  it  round  the  neck  of 
her  daughter. 

The  sight  of  this  talisman  called  up 
all  the  favourite  superstitions  about  the 
Moors.  The  dance  was  neglected,  and 
they  sat  in  groups  on  the  ground,  telling 
old  legendary  tales  handed  down  from 


504 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


their  ancestors.  Some  of  their  stories 
turned  upon  the  wonders  of  the  very 
mountain  upon  which  they  were  seated, 
which  is  a  famous  hobgoblin  region. 
One  ancient  crone  gave  a  long  account 
of  the  subterranean  palace  in  the  bowels 
of  that  mountain,  where  Boabdil  and  all 
his  Moslem  court  are  said  to  remain 
enchanted.  "  Among  yonder  ruins," 
said  she,  pointing  to  some  crumbling 
walls  and  mounds  of  earth  on  a  distant 
part  of  the  mountain,  "  there  is  a  deep 
black  pit  that  goes  down  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  mountain.  For  all  the 
money  in  Granada  I  would  not  look 
down  into  it.  Once  upon  a  time  a  poor 
man  of  the  Alhambra,  who  tended  goats 
upon  this  mountain,  scrambled  down  into 
that  pit  after  a  kid  that  had  fallen  in.  He 
came  out  again  all  wild  and  staring,  and 
told  such  things  of  what  he  had  seen,  that 
every  one  thought  his  brain  was  turned. 
He  raved  for  a  day  or  two  about  the 
hobgoblin  Moors  that  had  pursued  him 
in  the  cavern,  and  could  hardly  be  per 
suaded  to  drive  his  goats  up  again  to  the 
mountain.  He  did  so  at  last,  but,  poor 
man,  he  never  came  down  again.  The 
neighbours  found  his  goats  browsing 
about  the  Moorish  ruins,  and  his  hat  and 
mantle  lying  near  the  mouth  of  the  pit, 
but  he  was  never  more  heard  of." 

The  little  Sanchica  listened  with  breath 
less  attention  to  this  story.  She  was  of  a 
curious  nature,  and  felt  immediately  a 
great  hankering  to  peep  into  this  danger 
ous  pit.  Stealing  away  from  her  com 
panions,  she  sought  the  distant  ruins,  and 
after  groping  for  some  time  among  them, 
came  to  a  small  hollow,  or  basin,  near 
the  brow  of  the  mountain,  where  it  swept 
steeply  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Darro. 
In  the  centre  of  this  basin  yawned  the 
mouth  of  the  pit.  Sanchica  ventured  to 
the  verge  and  peeped  in.  All  was  black 
as  pitch,  and  gave  an  idea  of  immeasura- 
able  depth.  Her  blood  ran  cold ;  she 
drew  back,  then  peeped  again,  then 
would  have  run  away,  then  took  another 
peep — the  very  horror  of  the  thing  was 
delightful  to  her.  At  length  she  rolled  a 
large  stone  and  pushed  it  over  the  brink. 
For  some  time  it  fell  in  silence  ;  then 
struck  some  rocky  projection  with  a  vio 
lent  crash,  then  rebounded  from  side  to 
side,  rumbling  and  tumbling,  with  a  noise 


like  thunder,  then  made  a  final  splash 
into  water,  far,  far  below — and  all  was 
again  silence. 

The  silence,  however,  did  not  long 
continue.  It  seemed  as  if  something 
had  been  awakened  within  this  dreary 
abyss.  A  murmuring  sound  gradually 
rose  out  of  the  pit,  like  the  hum  and  buzz 
of  a  bee-hive.  It  grew  louder  and  louder; 
there  was  the  confusion  of  voices,  as  of  a 
distant  multitude,  together  with  the  faint 
din  of  arms,  clash  of  cymbals,  and  clang 
our  of  trumpets,  as  if  some  army  were 
marshalling  for  battle  in  the  very  bowels 
of  the  mountain. 

The  child  drew  off  with  silent  awe,  and 
hastened  back  to  the  place  where  she  had 
left  her  parents  and  their  companions. 
All  were  gone.  The  bonfire  was  expiring, 
and  its  last  wreath  of  smoke  curling  up 
in  the  moonshine.  The  distant  fires  that 
had  blazed  along  the  mountains  and  in 
the  Vega  were  all  extinguished,  and  every 
thing  seemed  to  have  sunk  to  repose. 
Sanchica  called  her  parents  and  some  of 
her  companions  by  name,  but  received  no 
reply.  She  ran  down  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  and  by  the  gardens  of  the 
Generalife,  until  she  arrived  in  the  alley 
of  trees  leading  to  the  Alhambra,  when 
she  seated  herself  on  a  bench  of  a  woody 
recess  to  recover  breath.  The  bell  from 
the  watchtower  of  the  Alhambra,  tolled 
midnight.  There  was  a  deep  tranquillity, 
as  if  all  nature  slept  ;  excepting  the  low 
tinkling  sound  of  an  unseen  stream  that 
ran  under  the  covert  of  the  bushes.  The 
breathing  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere 
was  lulling  her  to  sleep,  when  her  eye 
was  caught  by  something  glittering  at  a 
distance,  and  to  her  surprise  she  beheld  a 
long  cavalcade  of  Moorish  warriors  pour 
ing  down  the  mountain  side  and  along 
the  leafy  avenues.  Some  were  armed 
with  lance  and  shields ;  others  with  ci- 
meters  and  battle-axes,  and  with  polished 
cuirasses  that  flashed  in  the  moonbeams. 
Their  horses  pranced  proudly  and  champ 
ed  upon  their  bits,  but  their  tramp  caused 
no  more  sound  than  if  they  had  been 
shod  with  felt,  and  the  riders  were  all  as 
pale  as  death.  Among  them  rode  a  beau 
tiful  lady,  with  a  crowned  head  and  long 
golden  locks  entwined  with  pearls.  The 
housings  of  her  palfrey  were  of  a  crimson 
velvet  embroidered  with  gold,  and  swept 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


505 


the  earth ;  but  she  rode  all  disconsolate, 
with  eyes  ever  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

Then  succeeded  a  train  of  courtiers 
magnificently  arrayed  in  rohes  and  tur 
bans  of  divers  colours,  and  amidst  them, 
on  a  cream-coloured  charger,  rode  King 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  in  a  royal  mantle  co 
vered  with  jewels,  and  a  crown  sparkling 
with  diamonds.  The  little  Sanchica 
knew  him  by  his  yellow  beard,  and  his 
resemblance  to  his  portrait,  which  she 
had  often  seen  in  the  picture-gallery  of 
the  Generalife.  She  gazed  in  wonder 
and  admiration  at  this  royal  pageant,  as 
it  passed  glistening  among  the  trees ;  but 
though  she  knew  these  monarchs  and 
courtiers  and  warriors,  so  pale  and  silent, 
were  out  of  the  common  course  of  nature, 
and  things  of  magic  and  enchantment, 
yet  she  looked  on  with  a  bold  heart,  such 
courage  did  she  derive  from  the  mystic 
talisman  of  the  hand,  which  was  sus 
pended  about  her  neck. 

The  cavalcade  having  passed  by,  she 
rose  and  followed.  It  continued  on  to 
the  great  Gate  of  Justice,  which  stood 
wide  open ;  the  old  invalid  sentinels  on 
duty  lay  on  the  stone  benches  of  the 
barbacan,  buried  in  profound  and  ap 
parently  charmed  sleep,  and  the  phantom 
pageant  swept  noiselessly  by  them  with 
flaunting  banner  and  triumphant  state. 
Sanchica  would  have  followed ;  but  to 
her  surprise  she  beheld  an  opening  in  the 
earth,  within  the  barbacan,  leading  down 
beneath  the  foundations  of  the  tower. 
She  entered  for  a  little  distance,  and  was 
encouraged  to  proceed  by  finding  steps 
rudely  hewn  in  the  rock,  and  a  vaulted 
passage  here  and  there  lit  up  by  a  silver 
lamp,  which,  while  it  gave  light,  diffused 
likewise  a  grateful  fragrance.  Venturing 
on,  she  came  at  last  to  a  great  hall, 
wrought  out  of  the  heart  of  the  mountain, 
magnificently  furnished  in  the  Moorish 
style,  and  lighted  up  by  silver  and  crystal 
lamps.  Here,  on  an  ottoman,  sat  an  old 
man  in  Moorish  dress,  with  a  long  white 
beard,  nodding  and  dozing,  with  a  staff  in 
his  hand,  which  seemed  ever  to  be  slip 
ping  from  his  grasp ;  while  at  a  little 
distance  sat  a  beautiful  lady,  in  ancient 
Spanish  dress,  with  a  coronet  all  spark 
ling  with  diamonds,  and  her  hair  entwined 
with  pearls,  who  was  softly  playing  on 
a  silver  lyre.  The  little  Sanchica  now  re- 
voi,.  ii.  43 


collected  a  story  she  had  heard  among  the 
old  people  of  the  Alhambra,  concerning 
a  Gothic  princess  confined  in  the  centre 
of  the  mountain  by  an  old  Arabian  ma 
gician,  whom  she  kept  bound  up  in  magic 
sleep  by  the  power  of  music. 

The  lady  paused  with  surprise  at  seeing 
a  mortal  in  that  enchanted  hall.  "  Is  it 
the  eve  of  the  blessed  St.  John  ?"  said 
she. 

"  It  is,"  replied  Sanchica. 

"  Then  for  one  night  the  magic  charm 
is  suspended.  Come  hither,  child,  and 
fear  not.  I  am  a  Christian  like  thyself, 
though  bound  here  by  enchantment. 
Touch  my  fetters  with  the  talisman  that 
hangs  about  thy  neck,  and  for  this  night 
I  shall  be  free." 

So  saying,  she  opened  her  robes  and 
displayed  a  broad  golden  band  round  her 
waist,  and  a  golden  chain  that  fastened 
her  to  the  ground.  The  child  hesitated 
not  to  apply  the  little  hand  of  jet  to  the 
golden  band,  and  immediately  the  chain 
fell  to  the  earth.  At  the  sound  the  old 
man  awoke  and  began  to  rub  his  eyes  ; 
but  the  lady  ran  her  fingers  over  the 
chords  of  the  lyre,  and  again  he  fell  into 
a  slumber  and  began  to  nod,  and  his  staff 
to  falter  in  his  hand.  "  Now,"  said  the 
lady,  "  touch  his  staff  with  the  talismanic 
hand  of  jet."  The  child  did  so,  and  it 
fell  from  his  grasp,  and  he  sunk  in  a  deep 
sleep  on  the  ottoman.  The  lady  gently 
laid  the  silver  lyre  on  the  ottoman,  lean 
ing  it  against  the  head  of  the  sleeping 
magician  ;  then  touching  the  chords  until 
they  vibrated  in  his  ear — "  O  potent  spirit 
of  harmony,"  said  she,  "  continue  thus 
to  hold  his  senses  in  thraldom  till  the 
return  of  day.  Now  follow  me,  my 
child,"  continued  she,  "  and  thou  shalt 
behold  the  Alhambra  as  it  was  in  the 
days  of  its  glory,  for  thou  hast  a  magic 
talisman  that  reveals  all  enchantments." 
Sanchica  followed  the  lady  in  silence. 
They  passed  up  through  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern  into  the  barbacan  of  the  Gate 
of  Justice,  and  thence  to  the  Plaza  de  los 
Algibes,  or  esplanade  within  the  fortress. 
This  was  all  filled  with  Moorish  soldiery, 
horse  and  foot,  marshalled  in  squadrons, 
with  banners  displayed.  There  were 
royal  guards  also  at  the  portal,  and  rows 
of  African  blacks  with  drawn  cimeters. 
No  one  spake  a  word,  and  Sanchica 


506 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


passed  on  fearlessly  after  her  conduc 
tress.  Her  astonishment  increased  on 
entering  the  royal  palace,  in  which  she 
had  been  reared.  The  broad  moonshine 
lit  up  all  the  halls,  courts,  and  gardens 
almost  as  brightly  as  if  it  were  day,  but 
revealed  a  far  different  scene  from  that 
to  which  she  was  accustomed.  The  wal's 
of  the  apartment  were  no  longer  stained 
and  rent  by  time.  Instead  of  cobwebs, 
they  were  now  hung  with  rich  silks  of 
Damascus,  and  the  gildings  and  arabesque 
paintings  were  restored  to  their  original 
brilliancy  and  freshness.  The  halls,  in 
stead  of  being  naked  and  unfurnished, 
were  set  out  with  divans  and  ottomans  of 
the  rarest  stuffs,  embroidered  with  pearls 
and  studded  with  precious  gems,  and  all 
the  fountains  in  the  courts  and  gardens 
were  playing. 

The  kitchens  were  again  in  full  ope 
ration  ;  cooks  were  busy  preparing  sha 
dowy  dishes,  and  roasting  and  boiling 
the  phantoms  of  pullets  and  partridges ; 
servants  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  with 
silver  dishes  heaped  up  with  dainties,  and 
arranging  a  delicious  banquet.  The  Court 
of  Lions  was  thronged  with  guards,  and 
courtiers,  and  alfaquis,  as  in  the  old  times 
of  the  Moors  ;  and  at  the  upper  end,  in 
the  Saloon  of  Judgment,  sat  Boabdil  on 
his  throne,  surrounded  by  his  court,  and 
swaying  a  shadowy  sceptre  for  the  night. 
Notwithstanding  all  this  throng  and  seem 
ing  bustle,  not  a  voice  nor  a  footstep  was 
to  be  heard ;  nothing  interrupted  the 
midnight  silence  but  the  splashing  of  the 
fountains.  The  little  Sanchica  followed 
her  conductress  in  mute  amazement  about 
the  palace,  until  they  came  to  a  portal 
opening  to  the  vaulted  passages  beneath 
the  great  Tower  of  Comares.  On  each 
side  of  the  portal  sat  the  figure  of  a 
Nymph,  wrought  out  of  alabaster.  Their 
1  heads  were  turned  aside,  and  their  re- 
i  gards  fixed  upon  the  same  spot  within  the 
I  vault.  The  enchanted  lady  paused,  and 
beckoned  the  child  to  her.  "  Here," 
said  she,  "  is  a  great  secret,  which  I  will 
reveal  to  thee  in  reward  for  thy  faith  and 
courage.  These  discreet  statues  watch 
over  a  mighty  treasure  hidden  in  old 
times  by  a  Moorish  king.  Tell  thy  father 
to  search  the  spot  on  which  their  eyes 
are  fixed,  and  he  will  find  what  will  make 
him  richer  than  any  man  in  Granada. 


Thy  innocent  hands  alone,  however, 
gifted  as  thou  art  also  with  the  talisman, 
can  remove  the  treasure.  Bid  thy  father 
use  it  discreetly,  and  devote  a  part  of  it 
to  the  performance  of  daily  masses  for 
my  deliverance  from  this  unholy  en 
chantment." 

When  the  lady  had  spoken  these  words, 
she  led  the  child  onward  to  the  little 
garden  of  Lindaraxa,  which  is  hard  by 
the  vault  of  the  statues.  The  moon 
trembled  upon  the  waters  of  the  solitary 
fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  garden,  and 
shed  a  tender  light  upon  the  orange  and 
citron  trees.  The  beautiful  lady  plucked 
a  branch  of  myrtle,  and  wreathed  it  round 
the  head  of  the  child.  "  Let  this  be  a 
memento,"  said  she,  "of  what  I  have 
revealed  to  thee,  and  a  testimonial  of  its 
truth.  My  hour  is  come — I  must  return 
to  the  enchanted  hall ;  follow  me  not,  lest 
evil  befall  thee — farewell.  Remember 
what  I  have  said,  and  have  masses  per 
formed  for  my  deliverance."  So  saying, 
the  lady  entered  a  dark  passage  leading 
beneath  the  Tower  of  Comares,  and  was 
no  longer  seen. 

The  faint  crowing  of  a  cock  was  now 
heard  from  the  cottages  below  the  Al- 
hambra,  in  the  valley  of  the  Darro,  and 
a  pale  streak  of  light  began  to  appear 
above  the  eastern  mountains.  A  slight 
wind  arose,  there  was  a  s®und  like  the 
rustling  of  dry  leaves  through  the  courts 
and  corridors,  and  door  after  door  shut 
to  with  a  jarring  sound. 

Sanchica  returned  to  the  scenes  she 
had  so  lately  beheld  thronged  with  the 
shadowy  multitude,  but  Boabdil  and  his 
phantom  court  were  gone.  The  moon 
shone  into  empty  halls  and  galleries 
stripped  of  their  transient  splendour,  stain 
ed  and  dilapidated  by  time,  and  hung 
with  cobwebs.  The  bat  flitted  about  in 
the  uncertain  light,  and  the  frog  croaked 
from  the  fishpond. 

Sanchica  now  made  the  best  of  her 
way  to  a  remote  staircase  that  led  up  to 
the  humble  apartment,  occupied  by  her 
family.  The  door  as  usual  was  open,  for 
Lope  Sanchez  was  too  poor  to  need  bolt 
or  bar  ;  she  crept  quietly  to  her  pallet, 
and,  putting  the  myrtle  wreath  beneath 
her  pillow,  soon  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning  she  related  all  that  had 
befallen  her  to  her  father.  Lope  Sanchez, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


507 


however,  treated  the  whole  as  a  mere  to  see  if  every  thing  was  secure,  bat  the 
dream,  and  laughed  at  the  child  for  her  sight  of  the  statues  would  again  call  forth 
credulity.  He  went  forth  to  his  cus-  his  indignation.  "  Ay,  there  they  stand," 
tomary  labours  in  the  garden,  but  had  not  would  he  say,  "always  looking,  and  look- 
been  there  long  when  his  little  daughter  ing,  and  looking,  just  where  they  should 


came  running  to  him  almost  breathless. 
"Father!    father!"    cried  she,    "behold 


not.     Confound  them  !  they  are  just  like 
all  their  sex  ;  if  they  have  not  tongues  to 


the    myrtle    wreath    which  the  Moorish    tattle  with,  they'll  be  sure  to  do  it  with 


lady  bound  round  my  head." 


their  eyes." 


Lope    Sanchez    gazed    with  astonish-  j      At  length,  to  his  relief,  the  long  anx- 
ment,  for  the  stalk  of  the  myrtle  was  of  '  ious  day  drew  to  a  close.     The  sound  of 


pure  gold,  and  every  leaf  was  a  sparkling 
emerald !     Being  not  much  accustomec 


footsteps   was   no    longer   heard   in   the 
echoing  halls  of  the  Alhambra ;  the  last 


to  precious  stones,  he  was  ignorant  of  the  ,  stranger  passed  the  threshold,  the  great 


real  value  of  the  wreath,   but   he   saw 
enough  to  convince  him  that  it  was  some- 


portal  was  barred  and   bolted,  and  the 
bat  and  the  frog,  and  the  hooting  owl, 


thing  more  substantial  than  the  stuff  that  gradually  resumed  their  nightly  voca- 
dreams  are  generally  made  of,  and  that  i  tions  in  the  deserted  palace, 
at  any  rate  the  child  had  dreamt  to  some  Lope  Sanchez  waited,  however,  until 
purpose.  His  first  care  was  to  enjoin  the  the  night  was  far  advanced,  before  he 
most  absolute  secrecy  upon  his  daughter ;  ventured  with  his  little  daughter  to  the 
in  this  respect,  however,  he  was  secure,  j  hall  of  the  two  Nymphs.  Fie  found  them 
for  she  had  discretion  far  beyond  her  j  looking  as  knowingly  and  mysteriously 
years  or  sex.  He  then  repaired  to  the  |  as  ever  at  the  secret  place  of  deposit, 
vault,  where  stood  the  statues  of  the  two  |  "  By  your  leaves,  gentle  ladies,"  thought 
alabaster  Nymphs.  He  remarked  that  Lope  Sanchez,  as  he  passed  between 
their  heads  were  turned  from  the  portal,  them,  "  I  will  relieve  you  from  this 
and  that  the  regards  of  each  were  fixed  charge  that  must  have  set  so  heavy  in 
upon  the  same  point  in  the  interior  of  the  j  your  minds  for  the  last  two  or  three  cen- 
building.  Lope  Sanchez  could  not  but  turies."  He  accordingly  went  to  work 


admire  this  most  discreet  contrivance  for 
guarding  a  secret.  He  drew  a  line  from 
the  eyes  of  the  statues  to  the  point  of 
regard,  made  a  private  mark  on  the  wall, 
and  then  retired. 

All  day,  however,  the  mind  of  Lope 
Sanchez  was  distracted  with  a  thousand 
cares.  He  could  not  help  hovering  within 
distant  view  of  the  two  statues,  and  be 
came  nervous  from  the  dread  that  the 
golden  secret  might  be  discovered.  Every 
footstep  that  approached  the  place  made 
him  tremble.  He  would  have  given  any 
thing  could  he  but  have  turned  the  heads 
of  the  statues,  forgetting  that  they  had 
looked  precisely  in  the  same  direction  for 
some  hundreds  of  years,  without  any 
person  being  the  wiser. 

"  A  plague  upon  them,"  he  would  say 
to  himself,  "  they'll  betray  all ;  did  ever 
mortal  hear  of  such  a  mode  of  guarding 
a  secret?"  Then  on  hearing  any  one 
advance,  he  would  steal  off,  as  though 
his  very  lurking  near  the  place  would 
awaken  suspicions.  Then  he  would  re 
turn  cautiously,  and  peep  from  a  distance 


at  the  part  of  the  wall  which  he  had 
marked,  and  in  a  little  while  laid  open 
a  concealed  recess,  in  which  stood  two 
great  jars  of  porcelain.  He  attempted 
to  draw  them  forth,  but  they  were  im- 
movabfe,  until  touched  by  the  innocent 
hand  of  his  little  daughter.  With  her 
aid  he  dislodged  them  from  their  niche, 
and  found,  to  his  great  joy,  that  they 
were  filled  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold, 
mingled  with  jewels  and  precious  stones. 
Before  daylight  he  managed  to  convey 
them  to  his  chamber,  and  left  the  two 
guardian  statues  with  their  eyes  fixed  on 
the  vacant  wall. 

Lope  Sanchez  had  thus  on  a  sudden 
become  a  rich  man ;  but  riches,  as  usual, 
brought  a  world  of  cares  to  which  he  had 
hitherto  been  a  stranger.  How  was  he 
to  convey  away  his  wealth  with  safety  ? 
I  How  was  he  even  to  enter  upon  the 
'  enjoyment  of  it  without  awakening  sus 
picion?  Now  too,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  the  dread  of  robbers  entered  into 
his  mind.  He  looked  with  terror  at  the 
insecurity  of  his  habitation,  and  went  to 


508 


TPIE  ALHAMBRA. 


work  to  barricado  the  doors  and  win 
dows  ;  yet  after  all  his  precautions  he 
could  not  sleep  soundly.  His  usual  gay- 
ety  was  at  an  end,  he  had  no  longer  a 
joke  or  a  song  for  his  neighbours,  and, 
in  short,  became  the  most  miserable  ani 
mal  in  the  Alhambra.  His  old  comrades 
remarked  this  alteration,  pitied  him  hear 
tily,  and  began  to  desert  him ;  thinking 
he  must  be  falling  into  want,  and  in  dan 
ger  of  looking  to  them  for  assistance. 
Little  did  they  suspect  that  his  only  cala 
mity  was  riches. 

The  wife  of  Lope  Sanchez  shared  his 
anxiety,  but  then  she  had  ghostly  com 
fort.  We  ought  before  this  to  have  men 
tioned  that  Lope,  being  rather  a  light  in 
considerate  little  man,  his  wife  was  ac 
customed,  in  all  grave  matters,  to  seek 
the  counsel  and  ministry  of  her  confessor 
Fray  Simon,  a  sturdy  broad-shouldered, 
blue-bearded,  bullet-headed  friar  of  the 
neighbouring  convent  of  San  Francisco, 
who  was  in  fact  the  spiritual  comforter 
of  half  the  good  wives  of  the  neighbour 
hood.  He  was,  moreover,  in  great  esteem 
among  divers  sisterhoods  of  nuns ;  who 
requited  him  for  his  ghostly  services  by 
frequent  presents  of  those  little  dainties 
and  knicknacks  manufactured  in  con 
vents,  such  as  delicate  confections,  sweet 
biscuits,  and  bottles  of  spiced  cordials, 
found  to  be  marvellous  restoratives  after 
fasts  and  vigils. 

Fray  Simon  thrived  in  the  exercise  of 
his  functions.  His  oily  skin  glistened  in 
the  sunshine  as  he  toiled  up  the  hill  of 
the  Alhambra  on  a  sultry  day.  Yet  not 
withstanding  his  sleek  condition,  the  knot 
ted  rope  round  his  waist  showed  the  aus 
terity  of  his  self-discipline  ;  the  multitude 
doffed  their  caps  to  him  as  a  mirror  of 
piety,  and  even  the  dogs  scented  the 
odour  of  sanctity  that  exhaled  from  his 
garments,  and  howled  from  their  kennels 
as  he  passed. 

Such  was  Fray  Simon,  the  spiritual 
counsellor  of  the  comely  wife  of  Lope 
Sanchez ;  and  as  the  father  confessor  is 
the  domestic  confidant  of  woman  in  hum 
ble  life  in  Spain,  he  was  soon  made  ac 
quainted,  in  great  secrecy,  with  the  story 
of  the  hidden  treasure. 

The  friar  opened  eyes  and  mouth  and 
crossed  himself  a  dozen  times  at  the  news. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  "  Daughter  of 


my  soul !"  said  he,  "  know  that  thy  hus 
band  has  committed  a  double  sin — a  sin 
against  both  state  and  church.  The  trea 
sure  he  hath  thus  seized  upon  for  himself, 
being  found  in  the  royal  domains,  belongs 
of  course  to  the  crown ;  but  being  infidel 
wealth,  rescued  as  it  were  from  the  very 
fangs  of  Satan,  should  be  devoted  to  the 
church.  Still,  however,  the  matter  may 
be  accommodated.  Bring  hither  the  myr 
tle  wreath." 

When  the  good  father  beheld  it,  his 
eyes  twinkled  more  than  ever  with  admi 
ration  of  the  size  and  beauty  of  the  eme 
ralds.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  being  the  first 
fruits  of  this  discovery,  should  be  dedi 
cated  to  pious  purposes.  I  will  hang  it 
up  as  a  votive  offering  before  the  image 
of  San  Francisco  in  our  chapel,  and  will 
earnestly  pray  to  him,  this  very  night, 
that  your  husband  be  permitted  to  remain 
in  quiet  possession  of  your  wealth." 

The  good  dame  was  delighted  to  make 
her  peace  with  heaven  at  so  cheap  a  rate, 
and  the  friar,  putting  the  wreath  under 
his  mantle,  departed  with  saintly  steps 
towards  his  convent. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  came  home,  his 
wife  told  him  what  had  passed.  He  was 
excessively  provoked,  for  he  lacked  his 
wife's  devotion,  and  had  for  some  time 
groaned  in  secret  at  the  domestic  visita 
tions  of  the  friar.  "  Woman,"  said  he, 
"  what  hast  thou  done  1  thou  hast  put 
every  thing  at  hazard  by  thy  tattling." 

"  What !"  cried  the  good  woman, 
"  would  you  forbid  my  disburdening  my 
conscience  to  my  confessor  ?" 

"  No,  wife !  confess  as  many  of  your 
own  sins  as  you  please ;  but  as  to  this 
money-digging,  it  is  a  sin  of  my  own, 
and  my  conscience  is  very  easy  under 
the  weight  of  it." 

There  was  no  use,  however,  in  com 
plaining;  the  secret  was  told,  and,  like 
water  spilled  on  the  sand,  was  not  again 
to  be  gathered.  The  only  chance  was, 
that  the  friar  would  be  discreet. 

The  next  day,  while  Lope  Sanchez 
was  abroad,  there  was  a  humble  knock 
ing  at  the  door,  and  Fray  Simon  entered 
with  meek  and  demure  countenance. 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  "  I  have  prayed 
earnestly  to  San  Francisco,  and  he  has 
heard  my  prayer.  In  the  dead  of  the  night 
the  saint  appeared  to  me  in  a  dream,  but 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


509 


with  a  frowning  aspect.  '  Why,'  said  he, 
1  dost  thou  pray  to  me  to  dispense  with 
this  treasure  of  the  Gentiles,  when  thou 
seest  the  poverty  of  my  chapel  ?  Go  to 
the  house  of  Lope  Sanchez,  crave  in  my 
name  a  portion  of  the  Moorish  gold,  to 
furnish  two  candlesticks  for  the  main 
altar,  and  let  him  possess  the  residue  in 
peace." 

When  the  good  woman  heard  of  this 
vision,  she  crossed  herself  with  awe,  and 
going  to  the  secret  place  where  Lope  had 
hid  the  treasure,  she  filled  a  great  leathern 
purse  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold,  and 
gave  it  to  the  friar.  The  pious  monk 
bestowed  upon  her,  in  return,  benedic 
tions  enough,  if  paid  by  Heaven,  to  en 
rich  her  race  to  the  latest  posterity  ;  then 
slipping  the  purse  into  the  sleeve  of  his 
habit,  he  folded  his  hands  upon  his  breast, 
and  departed  with  an  air  of  humble  thank 
fulness. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  heard  of  this 
second  donation  to  the  church,  he  had 
well  nigh  lost  his  senses.  "  Unfortunate 
man,"  cried  he,  "  what  will  become  of 
me  ?  I  shall  be  robbed  by  piecemeal ;  I 
shall  be  ruined  and  brought  to  beggary  !" 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
his  wife  could  pacify  him,  by  reminding 
him  of  the  countless  wealth  that  yet  re 
mained,  and  how  considerate  it  was  for 
San  Francisco  to  rest  contented  with  so 
very  small  a  portion. 

Unluckily,  Fray  Simon  had  a  number 
of  poor  relations  to  be  provided  for,  not 
to  mention  some  half-dozen  sturdy  bullet- 
headed  orphan  children,  and  destitute 
foundlings  that  he  had  taken  under  his 
care.  He  repeated  his  visits,  therefore, 
from  day  to  day,  with  solicitations  on 
behalf  of  Saint  Dominic,  Saint  Andrew, 
Saint  Jarnes,  until  poor  Lope  was  driven 
to  despair,  and  found  that,  unless  he  got 
out  of  the  reach  of  this  holy  friar,  he 
should  have  to  make  peace-offerings  to 
every  saint  in  the  calendar.  He  deter 
mined,  therefore,  to  pack  up  his  remain 
ing  wealth,  beat  a  secret  retreat  in  the 
night,  and  make  off  to  another  part  of 
the  kingdom. 

Full  of  his  project,  he  bought  a  stout 
mule  for  the  purpose,  and  tethered  it  in 
a  gloomy  vault  underneath  the  Tower  of 
the  Seven  Floors ;  the  very  place  from 
whence  the  Belludo,  or  goblin  horse  with 


out  a  head,  is  said  to  issue  forth  at  mid 
night,  and  to  scour  the  streets  of  Granada, 
pursued  by  a  pack  of  hell-hounds.  Lope 
Sanchez  had  little  faith  in  the  story,  but 
availed  himself  of  the  dread  occasioned 
by  it,  knowing  that  no  one  would  be 
likely  to  pry  into  the  subterranean  stable 
of  the  phantom  steed.  He  sent  off  his 
family  in  the  course  of  the  day,  with 
orders  to  wait  for  him  at  a  distant  village 
of  the  Vega.  As  the  night  advanced,  he 
conveyed  his  treasure  to  the  vault  under 
the  tower,  and  having  loaded  his  mule, 
he  led  it  forth,  and  cautiously  descended 
the  dusky  avenue. 

Honest  Lope  had  taken  his  measures 
with  the  utmost  secrecy,  imparting  them 
to  no  one  but  the  faithful  wife  of  his  bo 
som.  By  some  miraculous  revelation, 
however,  they  became  known  to  Fray 
Simon.  The  zealous  friar  beheld  these 
infidel  treasures  on  the  point  of  slipping 
for  ever  out  of  his  grasp^  and  determined 
to  have  one  more  dash  at  them  for  the 
benefit  of  the  church  and  San  Francisco. 
Accordingly,  when  the  bells  had  rung  for 
animas,  and  all  the  Alhambra  was  quiet, 
he  stole  out  of  his  convent,  and,  descend 
ing  through  the  Gate  of  Justice,  conceal 
ed  himself  among  the  thickets  of  roses 
and  laurels  that  border  the  great  avenue. 
Here  he  remained,  counting  the  quarters 
of  hours  as  they  were  sounded  on  the 
bell  of  the  watchtower,  and  listening  to 
the  dreary  hootings  of  owls  and  the 
distant  barking  of  dogs  from  the  gipsy 
caverns. 

At  length  he  heard  the  tramp  of  hoofs, 
and,  through  the  gloom  of  the  oversha 
dowing  trees,  imperfectly  beheld  a  steed 
descending  the  avenue.  The  sturdy  friar 
chuckled  at  the  idea  of  the  knowing  turn 
he  was  about  to  serve  honest  Lope. 

Tucking  up  the  skirts  of  his  habit,  and 
wriggling  like  a  cat  watching  a  mouse, 
he  waited  until  his  prey  was  directly  be 
fore  him,  when  darting  forth  from  his 
leafy  covert,  and  putting  one  hand  on 
the  shoulder  and  the  other  on  the  crup 
per,  he  made  a  vault  that  would  not  have 
disgraced  the  most  experienced  master  of 
equitation, and  alighted  well-forked  astride 
the  steed.  "  Aha  !"  said  the  sturdy  friar, 
"  we  shall  now  see  who  best  understands 
the  game."  He  had  scarce  uttered  the 
words  when  the  mule  began  to  kick,  and 

43* 


510 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


rear,  and  plunge,  and  then  set  off  full 
speed  down  the  hill.  The  friar  attempted 
to  check  him,  but  in  vain.  He  bounded 
from  rock  to  rock,  and  bush  to  bush  ; 
the  friar's  habit  was  torn  to  ribbands  and 
fluttered  in  the  wind,  his  shaven  poll 
received  many  a  hard  knock  from  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  many  a  scratch 
from  the  brambles.  To  add  to  his  ter 
ror  and  distress,  he  found  a  pack  of  seven 
hounds  in  full  cry  at  his  heels,  and  per 
ceived  too  late,  that  he  was  actually 
mounted  upon  the  terrible  Belludo ! 

Away  then  they  went,  according  to 
the  ancient  phrase,  "  pull  devil,  pull 
friar,"  down  the  great  avenue,  across  the 
Plaza  Nueva,  along  the  Zacatin,  around 
the  Vivarrambla — never  did  huntsman 
and  hound  make  a  more  furious  run,  or 
more  infernal  uproar.  In  vain  did  the 
friar  invoke  every  saint  in  the  calendar, 
and  the  Holy  Virgin  into  the  bargain  ; 
every  time  he  mentioned  a  name  of  the 
kind,  it  was  like  a  fresh  application  of 
the  spur,  and  made  the  Belludo  bound  as 
high  as  a  house.  Through  the  remainder 
of  the  night-was  the  unlucky  Fray  Simon 
carried  hither  and  thither,  and  whither 
he  would  not,  until  every  bone  in  his 
body  ached,  and  he  suffered  a  loss  of 
leather  too  grievous  to  be  mentioned.  At 
length  the  crowing  of  a  cock  gave  the 
signal  of  returning  day.  At  the  sound 
the  goblin  steed  wheeled  about,  arid  gal 
loped  back  for  his  tower.  Again  he 
scoured  the  Vivarrambla,  the  Zacatin, 
the  Plaza  Nueva,  and  the  avenue  of 
fountains,  the  seven  dogs  yelling,  and 
barking,  and  leaping  up,  and  snapping 
at  the  heels  of  the  terrified  friar.  The 
first  streak  of  day  had  just  appeared  as 
they  reached  the  tower ;  here  the  goblin 
steed  kicked  up  his  heels,  sent  the  friar 
a  somerset  through  the  air,  plunged  into 
the  dark  vault,  followed  by  the  infernal 
pack,  arid  a  profound  silence  succeeded 
to  the  late  deafening  clamour. 

Was  ever  so  diabolical  a  trick  played 
off  upon  a  holy  friar?  A  peasant  going 
to  his  labours  at  early  dawn  found  the 
unfortunate  Fray  Simon  lying  under  a 
fig-tree  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  but  so 
bruised  and  bedevilled  that  he  could 
neither  speak  nor  move.  He  was  con 
veyed  with  all  care  and  tenderness  to  his 
cell,  and  the  story  went  that  he  had  been 


waylaid  and  maltreated  by  robbers.  A 
day  or  two  elapsed  before  he  recovered 
the  use  of  his  limbs ;  he  consoled  him 
self,  in  the  mean  time,  with  the  thought 
that  though  the  mule  with  the  treasure 
had  escaped  him,  he  had  previously  had 
some  rare  pickings  at  the  infidel  spoils. 
His  first  care  on  being  able  to  use  his 
limbs,  was  to  search  beneath  his  pallet, 
where  he  had  secreted  the  myrtle  wreath 
and  the  leathern  pouches  of  gold  ex 
tracted  from  the  piety  of  dame  Sanchez. 
What  was  his  dismay  at  finding  the 
wreath,  in  effect,  but  a  withered  branch 
of  myrtle,  and  the  leathern  pouches  filled 
with  sand  and  gravel  1 

Fray  Simon,  with  all  his  chagrin,  had 
the  discretion  to  hold  his  tongue,  for  to 
betray  the  secret  might  draw  on  him  the 
ridicule  of  the  public,  and  the  punishment 
of  his  superior :  it  was  not  until  many 
years  afterwards,  on  his  death-bed,  that 
he  revealed  to  his  confessor  his  nocturnal 
ride  on  the  Belludo. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  Lope  Sanchez 
for  a  long  time  after  his  disappearance 
from  the  Alhambra.  His  memory  was 
always  cherished  as  that  of  a  merry 
companion,  though  it  was  feared,  from 
the  care  and  melancholy  observed  in  his 
conduct  shortly  before  his  mysterious 
departure,  that  poverty  and  distress  had 
driven  him  to  some  extremity.  Some 
years  afterwards  one  of  his  old  compa 
nions,  an  invalid  soldier,  being  at  Malaga, 
was  knocked  down  and  nearly  run  over 
by  a  coach  and  six.  The  carriage  stop 
ped  ;  an  old  gentleman  magnificently 
dressed,  with  a  bag  wig  and  sword, 
stepped  out  to  assist  the  poor  invalid. 
W7hat  was  the  astonishment  of  the  latter 
to  behold  in  this  grand  cavalier  his  old 
friend  Lope  Sanchez,  who  was  actually 
celebrating  the  marriage  of  his  daughter 
Sanchica  with  one  of  the  first  grandees 
in  the  land  ! 

The  carriage  contained  the  bridal 
party.  There  was  dame  Sanchez,  now 
grown  as  round  as  a  barrel,  and  dressed 
out  with  feathers  and  jewels,  and  neck 
laces  of  pearls  and  necklaces  of  dia 
monds,  and  rings  on  every  finger,  and 
altogether  a  finery  of  apparel  that  had 
not  been  seen  since  the  days  of  the 
Queen  of  Sheba.  The  little  Sanchica 
had  now  grown  to  be  a  woman,  and  for 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


511 


grace  and  beauty  might  have  been  mis 
taken  for  a  duchess,  if  not  a  princess 
outright.  The  bridegroom  sat  beside  -her 
— rather  a  withered,  spindle-shanked  lit 
tle  man,  but  this  only  proved  him  to  be 
I  of  the  true  blood  ;  a  legitimate  Spanish 
grandee  being  rarely  above  three  cubits 
in  stature.  The  match  had  been  of  the 
mother's  making. 

Riches  had  not  spoiled  the  heart  of 
honest  Lope.  He  kept  his  old  comrade 
with  him  for  several  days ;  feasted  him 
like  a  king,  took  him  to  plays  and  bull 
fights,  and  at  length  sent  him  away  re 
joicing,  with  a  big  bag  of  money  for  him 
self,  and  another  to  be  distributed  among 
his  ancient  messmates  of  the  Alhambra. 

Lope  always  gave  out  that  a  rich  bro 
ther  had  died  in  America  and  left  him 
heir  to  a  copper  mine  ;  but  the  shrewd 
gossips  of  the  Alhambra  insist  that  his 
wealth  was  all  derived  from  his  having 
discovered  the  secret  guarded  by  the  two 
marble  Nymphs  of  the  Alhambra.  It  is 
remarked,  that  these  very  discreet  statues 
continue,  even  unto  the  present  day,  with 
their  eyes  fixed  most  significantly  on  the 
same  part  of  the  wall ;  which  leads  many  j 
to  suppose  there  is  still  some  hidden  j 
treasure  remaining  there  well  worthy  the 
attention  of  the  enterprising  traveller. 
Though  others,  and  particularly  all  fe 
male  visitors,  regard  them  with  great 
complacency,  as  lasting  monuments  of 
the  fact  that  women  can  keep  a  secret. 


MUHAMED   ABU   ALAHMAR, 

THE 

FOUNDER  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

HAVING  dealt  so  freely  in  the  marvel 
lous  legends  of  the  Alhambra,  I  feel  as  if 
bound  to  give  the  reader  a  few  facts 
concerning  its  sober  history,  or  rather 
the  history  of  those  magnificent  princes, 
its  founder  and  finisher,  to  whom  the 
world  is  indebted  for  so  beautiful  and 
romantic  an  Oriental  monument.  To 
obtain  these  facts,  I  descended  from  the 
region  of  fancy  and  fable  where  every 
thing  is  liable  to  take  an  imaginative  tint, 
and  carried  my  researches  among  the 
dusty  tomes  of  the  old  Jesuits'  library  in 


the  university.  This  once  boasted  repo 
sitory  of  erudition  is  now  a  mere  shadow 
of  its  former  self,  having  been  stript  of 
its  manuscripts  and  rarest  works  by  the 
French,  when  masters  of  Granada.  Still 
it  contains,  among  many  ponderous  tomes 
of  polemics  of  the  Jesuit  fathers,  several 
curious  tracts  of  Spanish  literature ;  and 
above  all,  a  number  of  those  antiquated, 
dusty,  parchment-bound  chronicles,  for 
which  I  have  a  peculiar  veneration. 

In  this  old  library  I  have  passed  many 
delightful  hours  of  quiet,  undisturbed  lite 
rary  foraging,  for  the  keys  of  the  doors 
and  book-cases  were  kindly  entrusted  to 
me,  and  I  was  left  alone  to  rummage  at 
my  leisure — a  rare  indulgence  in  these 
sanctuaries  of  learning,  which  too  often 
tantalize  the  thirsty  student  with  the 
sight  of  sealed  fountains  of  knowledge. 

In  the  course  of  these  visits  I  gleaned 
the  following  particulars  concerning  the 
historical  characters  in  question. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  regarded  the 
Alhambra  as  a  miracle  of  art,  and  had  a 
tradition  that  the  king  who  founded  it  I 
dealt  in  magic,  or,  at  least,  was  versed 
in  alchemy,  by  means  whereof  he  pro 
cured  the  immense  sums  of  gold  expended 
in  its  erection.  A  brief  view  of  his  reign 
will  show  the  real  secret  of  his  wealth. 

The  name  of  this  monarch,  as  in 
scribed  on  the  walls  of  some  of  the 
apartments,  was  Abu  Abd'allah  (i.  e.  the 
father  of  Abdallah),  but  he  is  commonly 
known  in  the  Moorish  history  as  Mu- 
hamed  Abu  Alahmar  (or  Muhamed,  son 
of  Alahmar),  or  simply,  Abu  Alahmar, 
for  the  sake  of  brevity. 

He  was  born  in  Arjoua,  in  the  year 
of  the  Hegira  591,  of  the  Christian  era 
1195,  of  the  noble  family  of  the  Beni 
Nasar,  or  children  of  Nasar,  and  no  ex 
pense  was  spared  by  his  parents  to  fit 
him  for  the  high  station  to  which  the 
opulence  and  dignity  of  his  family  enti 
tled  him.  The  Saracens  of  Spain  were 
greatly  advanced  in  civilization,  every 
principal  city  was  a  seat  of  learning  an'd 
the  arts,  so  that  it  was  easy  to  command 
the  most  enlightened  instructors  for  a 
youth  of  rank  and  fortune.  Abu  Alah 
mar,  when  he  arrived  at  manly  years, 
was  appointed  alcaydc  or  governor  of 
Arjoua  and  Jacn,  and  gained  great  po-  j 
pularity  by  his  benignity  and  justice. 


512 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


Some  years  afterwards,  on  the  death  of 
Abu  Hud,  the  Moorish  power  in  Spain 
was  broken  into  factions,  and  many 
places  declared  for  Muhamed  Abu  Alah- 
mar.  Being  of  a  sanguine  spirit,  and 
lofty  ambition,  he  seized  upon  the  occa 
sion,  made  a  circuit  through  the  country, 
and  was  every  where  received  with  ac 
clamations.  It  was  in  the  year  1238, 
that  he  entered  Granada  amidst  the  en 
thusiastic  shouts  of  the  multitude.  He 
was  proclaimed  king  with  every  demon 
stration  of  joy,  and  soon  became  the  head 
of  the  Moslems  in  Spain,  being  the  first 
of  the  illustrious  line  of  Beni  Nasar,  that 
had  sat  upon  the  throne.  His  reign  was 
such  as  to  render  him  a  blessing  to  his 
subjects.  He  gave  the  command  of  his 
various  cities  to  such  as  had  distinguished 
themselves  by  valour  and  prudence,  and 
who  seemed  most  acceptable  to  the  peo 
ple.  He  organized  a  vigilant  police,  and 
established  rigid  rules  for  the  administra 
tion  of  justice.  The  poor  and  the  dis 
tressed  always  found  ready  admission  to 
his  presence,  and  he  attended  personally 
to  their  assistance  and  redress.  He 
erected  hospitals  for  the  blind,  the  aged, 
and  infirm,  and  all  those  incapable  of 
labour,  and  visited  them  frequently ;  not 
on  set  days,  with  pomp  and  form,  so  as 
to  give  time  for  every  thing  to  be  put  in 
order,  and  every  abuse  concealed,  but 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  informing 
himself,  by  actual  observation  and  close 
inquiry,  of  the  treatment  of  the  sick,  and 
the  conduct  of  those  appointed  to  admi 
nister  to  their  relief.  He  founded  schools 
and  colleges,  which  he  visited  in  the  same 
manner,  inspecting  personally  the  in 
struction  of  the  youth.  He  established 
butcheries  and  public  ovens,  that  the 
people  might  be  furnished  with  whole 
some  provisions  at  just  and  regular 
prices.  He  introduced  abundant  streams  I 
of  water  into  the  city,  erecting  baths  and  j 
fountains,  and  constructing  aqueducts  and 
canals  to  irrigate  and  fertilize  the  Vega. 
By  these  means  prosperity  and  abundance 
prevailed  in  this  beautiful  city,  its  gates  j 
were  thronged  with  commerce,  and  its  ! 
warehouses  filled  with  luxuries  and  mer 
chandise  of  every  clime  and  country. 

While  Muhamed  Abu  Alahmar  was 
ruling  his  fair  domains  thus  wisely  and 
prosperously,  he  was  suddenly  menaced 


by  the  horrors  of  war.  The  Christians 
at  that  time,  profiting  by  the  dismember 
ment  of  the  Moslem  power,  were  rapidly 
regaining  their  ancient  territories.  James 
the  Conqueror  had  subjected  all  Valencia, 
and  Ferdinand  the  Saint  was  carrying 
his  victorious  arms  into  Andalusia.  The 
latter  invested  the  city  of  Jaen,  and  swore 
not  to  raise  his  camp  until  he  had  gained 
possession  of  the  place.  Muhamed  Abu 
Alahmar  was  conscious  of  the  insuffi 
ciency  of  his  means  to  carry  on  a  war 
with  the  potent  sovereign  of  Castile. 
Taking  a  sudden  resolution,  therefore, 
he  repaired  privately  to  the  Christian 
camp,  and  made  his  unexpected  appear 
ance  in  the  presence  of  King  Ferdinand. 
"  In  me,"  said  he,  "  you  behold  Mu 
hamed,  king  of  Granada ;  I  confide  in 
your  good  faith,  and  put  myself  under 
your  protection.  Take  all  I  possess,  and 
receive  me  as  your  vassal."  So  saying, 
he  knelt  and  kissed  the  king's  hand  in 
token  of  submission. 

King  Ferdinand  was  touched  by  this 
instance  of  confiding  faith,  and  deter 
mined  not  to  be  outdone  in  generosity. 
He  raised  his  late  rival  from  the  earth, 
and  embraced  him  as  a  friend,  nor  would 
he  accept  the  wealth  he  offered,  but  re 
ceived  him  as  a  vassal,  leaving  him 
sovereign  of  his  dominions,  on  condition 
of  paying  a  yearly  tribute,  attending  the 
Cortes  as  one  of  the  nobles  of  the  empire, 
and  serving  him  in  war  with  a  certain 
number  of  horsemen. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Muhamed 
was  called  upon  for  his  military  services, 
to  aid  King  Ferdinand  in  his  famous 
siege  of  Seville.  The  Moorish  king  sal 
lied  forth  with  five  hundred  chosen  horse 
men  of  Granada,  than  whom  none  in  the 
world  knew  better  how  to  manage  the 
steed  or  wield  the  lance.  It  was  a  me 
lancholy  and  humiliating  service,  how 
ever,  for  they  had  to  draw  the  sword 
against  their  brethren  of  the  faith. 

Muhamed  gained  a  melancholy  dis 
tinction  by  his  prowess  in  this  renowned 
conquest,  but  more  true  honour  by  the 
humanity  which  he  prevailed  upon  Fer 
dinand  to  introduce  into  the  usages  of 
war.  When  in  1248  the  famous  city  of 
Seville  surrendered  to  the  Castilian  mo 
narch,  Muhamed  returned  sad  and  full 
of  care  to  his  dominions.  He  saw  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


513 


gathering  ills  that  menaced  the  Moslem 
cause ;  and  uttered  an  ejaculation  often 
used  by  him  in  moments  of  anxiety  and 
trouble — "  How  straitened  and  wretch 
ed  would  be  our  life,  if  our  hope  were  not 
so  spacious  and  extensive  !" 

"  Que-angosta  y  miserabile  seria  nues- 
tra  vida,  sino  fuera  tan  dilatada  y  espa- 
ciosa  nuestra  esperanza !" 

When  the  melancholy  conqueror  ap 
proached  his  beloved  Granada,  the  people 
thronged  forth  to  see  him  with  impatient 
joy  ;  for  they  loved  him  as  a  benefactor. 
They  had  erected  arches  of  triumph  in 
honour  of  his  martial  exploits,  and 
wherever  he  passed  he  was  hailed  with 
acclamations  as  El  Ghalib,  or  the  Con 
queror.  Muhamed  shook  his  head  when 
he  heard  the  appellation.  "  Wa  la  gha- 
lib  ila  Allah!"  exclaimed  he.  (There  is 
no  conqueror  but  God  !)  From  that  time 
forward  he  adopted  this  exclamation  as  a 
motto. 

He  inscribed  it  on  an  oblique  band 
across  his  escutcheon,  and  it  continued 
to  be  the  motto  of  his  descendants. 

Muhamed  had  purchased  peace  by 
submission  to  the  Christian  yoke ;  but 
he  knew  that  where  the  elements  were 
so  discordant,  and  the  motives  for  hos 
tility  so  deep  and  ancient,  it  could  not  be 
secure  or  permanent.  Acting  therefore 
upon  an  old  maxim,  "  Arm  thyself  in 
peace,  and  clothe  thyself  in  summer,"  he 
improved  the  present  interval  of  tran 
quillity  by  fortifying  his  dominions  and 
replenishing  his  arsenals,  and  by  pro 
moting  those  useful  arts  which  give 
wealth  and  real  power  to  an  empire. 
He  gave  premiums  and  privileges  to  the 
best  artisans ;  improved  the  breed  of 
|  horses  and  other  domestic  animals ;  en 
couraged  husbandry ;  and  increased  the 
natural  fertility  of  the  soil  two-fold  by 
his  protection,  making  the  lovely  valleys 
of  his  kingdom  to  bloom  like  gardens. 
He  fostered  also  the  growth  and  fabrica 
tion  of  silk,  until  the  looms  of  Granada 
surpassed  even  those  of  Syria  in  the 
fineness  and  beauty  of  their  productions. 
He  moreover  caused  the  mines  of  gold 
and  silver  and  other  metals,  found  in  the 
mountainous  regions  of  his  dominions, 
to  be  diligently  worked,  and  was  the 
first  king  of  Granada  who  struck  money 
of  gold  and  silver  with  his  name,  taking 


great  care  that  the  coins  should  be  skil 
fully  executed. 

It  was  about  this  time,  towards  the 
middle  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and 
just  after  his  return  from  the  siege  of 
Seville,  that  he  commenced  the  splendid 
palace  of  the  Alhambra  ;  superintending 
the  building  of  it  in  person,  mingling  fre 
quently  among  the  artists  and  workmen, 
and  directing  their  labours. 

Though  thus  magnificent  in  his  works 
and  great  in  his  enterprises,  he  was  sim 
ple  in  his  person  and  moderate  in  his 
enjoyments.  His  dress  was  not  merely 
void  of  splendour,  but  so  plain  as  not  to 
distinguish  him  from  his  subjects.  His 
harem  boasted  but  few  beauties,  and 
these  he  visited  but  seldom,  though  they 
were  entertained  with  great  magnificence. 
His  wives  were  daughters  of  the  princi 
pal  nobles,  and  were  treated  by  him  as 
iriends  and  rational  companions.  What 
is  more,  he  managed  to  make  them  live 
as  friends  with  one  another.  He  passed 
much  of  his  time  in  his  gardens ;  espe 
cially  in  those  of  the  Alhambra,  which 
he  had  stored  with  the  rarest  plants  and 
the  most  beautiful  and  aromatic  flowers. 
Here  he  delighted  himself  in  reading  his 
tories,  or  in  causing  them  to  be  read  and 
related  to  him,  and  sometimes,  in  inter 
vals  of  leisure,  employed  himself  in  the 
instruction  of  his  three  sons,  for  whom 
he  had  provided  the  most  learned  and 
virtuous  masters. 

As  he  had  frankly  and  voluntarily 
offered  himself  a  tributary  vassal  to  Fer 
dinand,  so  he  always  remained  loyal  to 
his  word,  giving  him  repeated  proofs 
of  fidelity  and  attachment.  When  that 
renowned  monarch  died  in  Seville,  in 
1254,  Muhamed  Abu  Alahmar  sent  am 
bassadors  to  condole  with  his  successor 
Alonso  X.,  and  with  them  a  gallant  train 
of  a  hundred  Moorish  cavaliers  of  dis 
tinguished  rank,  who  were  to  attend, 
each  bearing  a  lighted  taper,  round  the 
bier,  during  the  funeral  ceremonies. 
This  grand  testimonial  of  respect  was 
repeated  by  the  Moslem  monarch  during 
the  remainder  of  his  life  on  each  anni 
versary  of  the  death  of  King  Ferdinand 
el  Santo,  when  the  hundred  Moorish  ! 
knights  repaired  from  Granada  to  Se 
ville,  and  took  their  stations  with  lighted 
tapers  in  the  centre  of  the  sumptuous 


514 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


cathedral  round  the  cenatoph  of  the 
illustrious  deceased. 

Muhamed  Abu  Alahmar  retained  his 
faculties  and  vigour  to  an  advanced  age. 
In  his  seventy-ninth  year  he  took  the 
field  on  horseback,  accompanied  by  the 
flower  of  his  chivalry,  to  resist  an  inva 
sion  of  his  territories.  As  the  army 
sallied  forth  from  Granada,  one  of  the 
principal  adalides,  or  guides,  who  rode 
in  the  advance,  accidentally  broke  his 
lance  against  the  arch  of  the  gate.  The 
councillors  of  the  king,  alarmed  by  this 
circumstance,  which  was  considered  an 
evil  omen,  entreated  him  to  return. 
Their  supplications  were  in  vain.  The 
king  persisted,  and  at  noontide  the  omen, 
say  the  Moorish  chroniclers  was  fatally 
fulfilled.  Muhamed  was  suddenly  struck 
with  illness,  and  had  nearly  fallen  from 
his  horse.  He  was  placed  on  a  litter, 
and  borne  back  towards  Granada,  but 
his  illness  increased  to  such  a  degree 
that  they  were  obliged  to  pitch  his  tent 
in  the  Vega.  His  physicians  were  filled 
with  consternation,  not  knowing  what 
remedy  to  prescribe.  In  a  few  hours  he 
died,  vomiting  blood  and  in  violent  con 
vulsions.  The  Castilian  prince,  Don 
Philip,  brother  of  Alonso  X.,  was  by  his 
side  when  he  expired.  His  body  was  em 
balmed,  enclosed  in  a  silver  coffin,  and 
buried  in  the  Alhambra  in  a  sepulchre 
of  precious  marble,  amidst  the  unfeigned 
lamentations  of  his  subjects,  who  bewail 
ed  him  as  a  parent. 

Such  was  the  enlightened  patriot  prince 
who  founded  the  Alhambra,  whose  name 
remains  emblazoned  among  its  most  deli 
cate  and  graceful  ornaments,  and  whose 
memory  is  calculated  to  inspire  the  lof 
tiest  associations  in  those  who  tread  these 
fading  scenes  of  his  magnificence  and 
glory.  Though  his  undertakings  were 
vast,  and  his  expenditures  immense,  yet 
his  treasury  was  always  full ;  and  this 
seeming  contradiction  gave  rise  to  the 
story  that  he  was  versed  in  magic  art, 
and  possessed  of  the  secret  for  trans 
muting  baser  metals  into  gold.  Those 
who  have  attended  to  his  domestic  policy, 
as  here  set  forth,  will  easily  understand 
the  natural  magic  and  simple  alchemy 
which  made  his  ample  treasury  to  over 
flow. 


YUSEF  ABUL  HAGIG, 

THE 

FINISHER  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

BENEATH  the  governor's  apartment  in 
the  Alhambra,  is  the  royal  mosque, 
where  the  Moorish  monarchs  performed 
their  private  devotions.  Though  conse 
crated  as  a  Catholic  chapel,  it  still  bears 
traces  of  its  Moslem  origin  ;  the  Sara 
cenic  columns  with  their  gilded  capitals, 
and  the  latticed  gallery  for  the  females 
of  the  harem,  may  yet  be  seen,  and  the 
escutcheons  of  the  Moorish  kings  are 
mingled  on  the  walls  with  those  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns. 

In  this  consecrated  place  perished  the 
illustrious  Yusef  Abul  Hagig,  the  high- 
minded  prince  who  completed  the  Alham 
bra,  and  who  for  his  virtues  and  endow 
ments,  deserves  almost  equal  renown 
with  its  magnanimous  founder.  It  is  with 
pleasure  I  draw  forth  from  the  obscurity 
in  which  it  has  too  long  remained,  the 
name  of  another  of  those  princes  of  a 
departed  and  almost  forgotten  race,  who 
reigned  in  elegance  and  splendour  in 
Andalusia,  when  all  Europe  was  in  com 
parative  barbarism. 

Yusef  Abul  Hagig,  (or,  as  it  is  some 
times  written,  Haxis)  ascended  the  throne 
of  Granada  in  the  year  1333,  and  his 
personal  appearance  and  mental  qualities 
were  such,  as  to  win  all  hearts,  and  to 
awaken  anticipations  of  a  beneficent  and 
prosperous  reign.  He  was  of  a  noble 
presence,  and  great  bodily  strength, 
united  to  manly  beauty  ;  his  complexion 
was  exceeding  fair,  and,  according  to  the 
Arabian  chroniclers,  he  heightened  the 
gravity  and  majesty  of  his  appearance 
by  suffering  his  beard  to  grow  to  a  dig 
nified  length,  and  dyeing  it  black.  tT^ 
had  an  excellent  memory,  well  stored 
with  science  and  erudition  ;  he  was  of  a 
lively  genius,  and  accounted  the  best  poet 
of  his  time,  and  his  manners  were  gentle, 
affable,  and  urbane.  Yusef  possessed 
the  courage  common  to  all  generous 
spirits,  but  his  genius  was  more  calcu 
lated  for  peace  than  war,  and  though 
obliged  to  take  up  arms  repeatedly  in  his 
time,  he  was  generally  unfortunate.  He 
carried  the  benignity  of  his  nature  into 
warfare,  prohibiting  all  wanton  cruelty, 


-H 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


515 


and  enjoining  mercy  and  protection  to-  j 
wards   women   and   children,    the   aged 
and  infirm,  and  all  friars  and  persons,  of  j 
holy  and  recluse  life.     Among  other  ill- 
starred  enterprises,  he  undertook  a  great 
campaign,  in  conjunction  with  the  King  of  | 
Morocco,    against   the  kings   of  Castile  ; 
and  Portugal,  but  was  defeated    in  the  j 
memorable  battle  of  Salado  ;  a  disastrous  j 
reverse,    which    had    nearly    proved    a  \ 
death-blow   to    the    Moslem    power    in  j 
Spain. 

Yusef  obtained  a  long  truce  after  this  j 
defeat,    during   which    time    he   devoted 
himself  to  the  instruction  of  his  people,  I 
and    the   improvement   of  their   morals  | 
and  manners.     For  this  purpose  he  had  j 
established   schools  in   all    the  villages,  ! 
with  simple  and  uniform  systems  of  edu-  i 
cation  ;  he  obliged  every  hamlet  of  more 
than  twelve  houses  to  have  a   mosque, 
and  prohibited  various  abuses  and  inde 
corums  that  had  been  introduced  into  the 
ceremonies  of  religion  and  the  festivals 
and  public  amusements   of  the   people. 
He  attended  vigilantly  to  the  police  of 
the  city,  establishing   nocturnal  guards 
and  patrols,  and  superintending  all  muni 
cipal  concerns.     His  attention  was  also 
directed  towards  finishing  the  great  archi 
tectural  works  commenced  by  his  prede 
cessors,  and  erecting  others  on  his  own 
plans.     The  Alhambra,  which  had  been 
founded  by  the  good  Abu  Alahmar,  was  ! 
now  completed.     Yusef  constructed  the 
beautiful    Gate  of  Justice,    forming  the  | 
grand  entrance  to  the  fortress,  which  he  j 
finished  in  1348.     He  likewise  adorned 
many   of  the   courts   and    halls   of  the 
palace,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  inscrip-  j 
tions  on  the  walls,  in  which   his  name  • 
repeatedly   occurs.      He   built   also    the 
noble  Alcazar  or  citadel  of  Malaga,  now  ! 
nfortunately  a  mere  mass  of  crumbling 
ruins,  but  which  most  probably  exhibited 
in  its  interior,  similar  elegance  and  mag-  | 
nificence  with  the  Alhambra. 

The  genius  of  a  sovereign   stamps  a 
character  upon  his  time.     The  nobles  of 
Granada,  imitating  the  elegant  and  grace-  i 
ful  taste  of  Yusef,  soon  filled  the  city  of 
Granada  with  magnificent  palaces;  the  i 
halls  of  which  were  paved  with  mosaic, 
the  walls  and  ceilings  wrought  in   fret-  : 
work,  and  delicately  gilded  and  painted 
with  azure,  vermilion,  and  other  brilliant 


colours,  or  minutely  inlaid  with  cedar 
and  other  precious  woods  ;  specimens  of 
which  have  survived,  in  all  their  lustre, 
the  lapse  of  several  centuries.  Many  of 
the  houses  had  fountains,  which  threw 
up  jets  of  water  to  refresh  and  cool  tjie 
air.  They  had  lofty  towers  also,  of  wood 
or  stone,  curiously  carved  and  ornament 
ed,  and  covered  with  plates  of  metal  that 
glittered  in  the  sun.  Such  was  the  re 
fined  and  delicate  taste  in  architecture 
that  prevailed  among  this  elegant  people: 
insomuch  that  to  use  the  beautiful  simile 
of  an  Arabian  writer,  "  Granada  in  the 
days  of  Yusef  was  as  a  silver  vase, 
filled  with  emeralds  and  jacynths." 

One  anecdote  will  be  sufficient  to  show 
the  magnanimity  of  this  generous  prince. 
The  long  truce  which  had  succeeded 
the  battle  of  Salado  was  at  an  end,  and 
every  effort  of  Yusef  to  renew  it  was  in 
vain.  His  deadly  foe  Alonso  XI.  of 
Castile  took  the  field  with  great  force, 
and  laid  siege  to  Gibraltar.  Yusef  re 
luctantly  took  up  arms  and  sent  troops 
to  the  relief  of  the  place ;  when  in  the 
midst  of  his  anxiety,  he  received  tidings 
that  his  dreaded  foe  had  suddenly  fallen 
a  victim  to  the  plague.  Instead  of  mani 
festing  exultation  on  the  occasion,  Yusef 
called  to  mind  the  great  qualities  of  the 
deceased,  and  was  touched  with  a  noble 
sorrow.  "  Alas  !"  cried  he,  "  the  world 
has  lost  one  of  its  most  excellent  princes  ; 
a  sovereign  who  knew  how  to  honour 
merit,  whether  in  friend  or  foe !" 

The  Spanish  chroniclers  themselves 
bear  witness  to  this  magnanimity.  Ac 
cording  to  their  accounts,  the  Moorish 
cavaliers  partook  of  the  sentiment  of  their 
king,  and  put  on  mourning  for  the  death 
of  Alonso.  Even  those  of  Gibraltar  who 
had  been  so  closely  invested,  when  they 
knew  that  the  hostile  monarch  lay  dead 
in  his  camp,  determined  among  them 
selves  that  no  hostile  movement  should 
be  made  against  the  Christians.  The 
day  on  which  the  camp  was  broken  up, 
and  the  army  departed  bearing  the  corpse 
of  Alonzo,  the  Moors  issued  in  multitudes 
from  Gibraltar,  and  stood  mute  and  me 
lancholy,  watching  the  mournful  pageant. 
The  same  reverence  for  the  deceased  was 
observed  by  all  the  Moorish  commanders 
on  the  frontiers,  who  suffered  the  funeral 
train  to  pass  in  safety,  bearing  the  corpse 


516 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


of  the  Christian  sovereign  from  Gibraltar 
to  Seville.* 

Yusef  did  not  long  survive  the  enemy 
he  had  so  generously  deplored.  In  the 
year  1354,  as  he  was  one  day  praying 
in  the  royal  mosque  of  the  Alhambra,  a 
maniac  rushed  suddenly  from  behind  and 
plunged  a  dagger  in  his  side.  The  cries 
of  the  king  brought  his  guards  and  cour 
tiers  to  his  assistance.  They  found  him 
weltering  in  his  blood,  and  in  convul 
sions.  He  was  borne  to  the  royal  apart 
ments,  but  expired  almost  immediately. 
The  murderer  was  cut  to  pieces,  and  his 
limbs  burnt  in  public  to  gratify  the  fury 
of  the  populace. 

*  "  Y  los  Moros  que  estaban  en  la  villa  y  castillo 
de  Gibraltar,  despues  que  sopieron  que  el  Rey  Don 
Alonso  era  muerto,  ordenaron  entre  si  que  ninguno 
no'Q  fuesse  osado  de  fazer  ningun  movimiento  con 
tra  los  Christianos,  nin  mover  pelea  contra  ellos, 
estovieron  todos  quedos,  y  dezian  entre  ellos  que 
aquel  dia  muriera  un  noble  rey  y  gran  principe  del 
mundo." 


The  body  of  the  king  was  interred  in 
a  superb  sepulchre  of  white  marble,  a 
long  epitaph  in  letters  of  gold  upon  an 
azure  ground  recorded  his  virtues.  "  Here 
lies  a  king  and  a  martyr,  of  an  illustrious 
line,  gentle,  learned,  and  virtuous  ;  re 
nowned  for  the  graces  of  his  person  and 
his  manners,  whose  clemency,  piety,  and 
benevolence,  were  extolled  throughout 
the  kingdom  of  Granada.  He  was  a  great 
prince ;  an  illustrious  captain  ;  a  sharp 
sword  of  the  Moslem;  a  valiant  stand 
ard-bearer  among  the  most  potent  mo- 
narchs,"  etc. 

The  mosque  still  remains  which  once 
resounded  with  the  dying  cries  of  Yusef, 
but  the  monument  which  recorded  his 
virtues  has  long  since  disappeared.  His 
name,  however,  remains  inscribed  among 
the  ornaments  of  the  Alhambra,  and  will 
be  perpetuated  in  connexion  with  this  re 
nowned  pile,  which  it  was  his  pride  and 
delight  to  beautify. 


THE  END. 


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